Tales From Sage-Bunny Cottage

Obviously, dear readers, my header has changed this evening.  If you like flowered-y Victorianesque sorts of things, then you may like it.  If not, well, would you like a cup of tea? 

I’ve been a bit under the weather today, and it’s not a virus this day, but my thyroid.  Sigh.  I can feel my body playing tug of war – my poor thyroid trying to keep working and my poor immune system, confused and trying to destroy my would-be healthy thyroid.  They each are pulling against each other, causing everything from headaches to eczema to a racing heart.  It’s quite the exhausting thing.   But I digress…

My garden has been such a solace for me over the last year.  It has been a constant in my natural world when everything else (my health) has seemed crazy and out of whack.  Just thinking of my garden calms me down. 

What’s more, tucked into the little garden are two homemade bunny cages housing four bunnies that I have come to adore.  I am not sure if it’s their big brown eyes, or their soft fur, or the hunts I take around the yard each day, basket in hand, to find them their greens, but I am smitten.  The bunnies, or as Charlotte Mason would say, “something to love,” have been most therapeutic for me.  I can hardly picture myself without bunnies now. 

You are cordially invited to come with me to feed the bunnies.  Then we can find greens for them and then we can sit and have tea and talk about bunnies.   Well, we don’t have to talk about bunnies only, and I promise I haven’t lost my mind totally to bunnies.  I’m just trying to explain to you why my home has been christened, at least for internet purposes, Sage-Bunny Cottage. 

What is that you ask?  Sage?  Ah yes.  You’ve been on so many adventures with us here, from harvesting sage to gathering wild rosehips to painting with mulberries and plantain stems, you might know that an herb would be included in the name.  And sage is one of my favorites.  Not to mention Coco just looks so wise in the bright sunshine.  Don’t you think so?

It’s nearly bedtime here — time for snuggling and reading.  Poor Pa Ingalls!  He just lost his wheat crop to a million grasshoppers and has set out walking 100 miles in broken boots to look for work. We simply must see what happens next.