City Rabbits

I have these rabbits. City rabbits for sure. The kids and Seda built them a pen to go to ground in – a pen that surrounds the hutch and a nice little ramp to take them to earth where they can dig.

That's what rabbits do, right? They dig. Home, hearth, food, all underground. They dig.

My rabbits dug a hole. They burrowed right into the center of the pen (good rabbits!) and did not try to escape. They worked every day, piling damp earth and rubble at its entrance. We watched the progress as deeper and deeper they went.

Then one day, girl bunny forced boy bunny down the ramp in a flourish and I swear this is what I saw: boy bunny jumped up and down on the ground over that burrow until it caved right in. No more happy home-to-be. And as far as I can tell, bunnies don't cry.

I'm over here in South Eugene, and I'm making home. I'm planting winter gardens and mulching paths, harvesting beans and fermenting them for cold-storage. I'm digging in.

But this year, I'm a city rabbit, too. We all are. The whole family. The boys are trying out public school again, both bravely stepping into their peer group in the most plebian sense – equal opportunity! Everyman's education. They know that doing so means that I can go to work (also in education) and we have a shot in funding Seda's surgery. We're all biting the bullet and working to meet our families basic needs.

We don't ask for too much, I think. At least most days. No TV, no Xbox, no regular vacations. We sign the kids up for sports, and that's a healthy stretch in itself. We eat mostly organic, including much that we've grown or gleaned. Our house payment is high (even for less than 1200 square feet), so we'd better make the yard pay.

Dandelions, plantain, and clover, none of it harvested by claw or tooth. That's what our rabbits eat. Enough to get by on and a natural diet, but not exactly the ways of their ancestors. Not exactly.

The rabbits have been digging again. City rabbits. They made another hole, and this time, they just kept digging. Maybe their GPS was off, or maybe their orientation was affected by too many commercial carrots (not a crop I've mastered). The hole went down then up. They built a tunnel.

Where's the home in that?

I've been planning all day for the social groups I'm leading at Bridgeway House. Hooked up a landline so the kids can call me when they come home from school with their latch keys. In case of emergency, now that I'm no longer available.

Where's the home in that?

It's a pass through. That's what the bunnies built. A detour, fun run, scenic route, temporary underground view of the rabbit world.

I dig in the garden to ground myself as the sun sinks weary. I pull calendula that I didn't mean to have growing next to the parsley. I tuck wood chips in the path next to the tomatoes. I have no energy for constructing supper, no patience for the indoors anymore. My twelve year old notices that in his 6.5 hour school day, they are allotted less than 30 minutes of outdoor play. Try explaining that. Is education healthy?

I know that a home-cooked meal would be very nourishing tonight, but I just need to be in the garden for an hour, just need to see the early autumn light reflected in dandelion puffs, eat raspberries from the vine. But the price for my reverie is now four take out burritos.

Where's the home in it? City rabbits.