Deep in the Great Forest, past the Clear Blue Lake, and nestled between two of the Singing Mountains is a place called Mosswood. It’s a quiet little place of tall beech and maple trees, the Babbling Brook that runs through, and warm meadows that like to take naps in the afternoon sun. And if you happened to pass by the Rabbit Burrow, you might spy a young bunny—one who’d once been fond of flowers—tossing and catching tomatoes with glee.
Chapter 11: Begonia Basil
While you might think it difficult to keep track of twelve very lively rabbit kits, Father Rabbit will happily tell anyone listening what is wonderful and special about every bunny in his brood. Rosie is delightfully responsible. Poppy has a real knack for art. Dusty knows everything there is to know about rocks (isn’t that amazing!). And oh, he’ll chuckle, that little Basil with his begonias.
You see, when Basil was a wee kit, a visiting friend brought Mother Rabbit a small pot of the pink and orange blooms from down south. Baby Basil had been enthralled the moment he laid eyes on them. So even though it took some work to keep them happy in a place with cold, dark winters, Mother Rabbit continued to coax blossoms from the small plant–much to little Basil’s delight. Father Rabbit loved to tell the story of how “begonia” was Basil’s third word. Of course, it sounded like “go-nya” to everyone else.
Basil loved the flowers so much that his aunt stitched him a begonia quilt for his birthday, and from the time he could start eating at the table, he insisted on the seat closest to the petals he loved.
“My Begonia Basil,” Father Rabbit would say with a smile that could melt butter.
So one summer afternoon when Father Rabbit stopped by the Reading Oak, it was no surprise when he clapped his paws upon spying the book Beloved Begonias on the new arrivals shelf.
“Guess what I’ve got for you, my growing bunny?” said Father Rabbit when he got home.
Basil smiled. He was, after all, not a baby anymore, and he liked when his father highlighted how big he was now.
“What?” asked Basil.
His fluffed tail wiggled with anticipation.
“Ta-da!” said Father Rabbit as he pulled out the thick volume.
“Oh,” said Basil, doing his best to take the book as it thudded onto the kitchen table, “Um, thanks.”
Then he attempted an appreciative smile before lugging the tome off to his room where he wedged it into his already overflowing trunk.
“What’s that?” asked Fig, who was sitting on the floor making a tower with blocks.
“A book about begonias,” answered Basil.
“Your favorite thing,” winked Fig.
Because what Fig knew, and Rosie knew, and well, most of the other kits knew, was that while begonias had been Basil’s most favorite thing, they just weren’t quite so very interesting to him now.
Basil looked out the window and saw his father heading toward the garden.
“Wanna go to the Reading Oak?” he asked, yanking the heavy book out of the trunk.
“Sure!” said Fig.
“Great,” said Basil, “But let’s go out the back.”
So the two bunnies slipped out the side door as Father Rabbit whistled away on the other side of the burrow.
At the Reading Oak, Basil heaved the begonia book into the returns box before spotting Oliver Otter in a yellow armchair across the room. Nudging Fig, Basil hopped over to where Oliver was flipping through a book with colorful pages. Basil was not so much into reading on his own, but he did like to listen. So did Fig.
“Watcha reading?” asked Basil.
“The Circus Malurkus,” answered Oliver, looking up.
“Can you read to us?” asked Fig.
“Oh,” said Oliver, “sure. I just began. I can start over.”
“Thanks!” said Basil, and he flopped on the floor, ears stretched out on the rug and long feet batting the side of Oliver’s chair.
The young otter began again, and a few pages in, came to a part about two jugglers.
“What’s a juggler?” asked Basil.
Oliver turned the book so Basil could see the picture. Two lithe cottontails laughed on the pages as they twisted round towards each other, ten long objects spinning through the air between them. Basil’s eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath.
“That’s juggling,” said Oliver.
Two seconds later, Basil was asking Mrs. Owl for every book on juggling she had. They turned out to be more than he could carry, but she promised to set aside the ones he and Fig couldn’t fit in their arms for later. The rest of the day, Basil spent in his room on his belly, flipping through pages and trying tossing motions with his paws.
The next day, Father Rabbit asked Basil if he could take a pair of shears to Woodpecker as they needed a new handle.
“Oh, and how’s the begonia book?” he asked as Basil headed towards the door.
“Uh,” said Basil, looking down at the shears, “Great! Thanks!”
“Lovely,” said his father, “You know. I loved keeping indoor flowers back in the day. Too busy with the garden now, but there was a time when I had begonias, anthurium, even a bird of paradise plant in the sun room.”
“That’s great,” said Basil, biting his lower lip, “Guess I better get to Woodpecker’s!”
And he ducked out the Burrow door.
At the craftsbird’s workshop, Basil poked around while Woodpecker replaced the shears’ handle. A new rocker for Mama Hedgehog, a bedside table for Violet Skunk, and…oh!
“Woodpecker,” said Basil, “What’s this?”
The bunny held up a baton shaped object.
“Funny you should ask,” answered the craftsbird, “A cousin up the valley has a friend getting into juggling. Asked if I could make a set of clubs for him.”
Basil jumped so high he nearly knocked his head on the shelf above.
“Could you make me a pair?” he asked.
“Why certainly,” answered Woodpecker, “Come back in a couple days, and I’ll have them ready.”
“Thanks!” Basil shouted.
His paws barely touched the ground as he scampered home.
The next day, Basil had a juggling instruction book open on his bedroom floor and was attempting to toss two balls with one paw (much harder than it looked), when Father Rabbit knocked on the door.
“Hello, my Begonia Basil,” Father Rabbit said cheerfully, “We could use some barley rolls for lunch. Could you run to the Honey Bun for me?”
“Um, sure thing,” said Basil, kicking the book under his bed and tucking the balls behind his back.
“Thanks!” smiled Father Rabbit, “Oh, and you know, I’ve been thinking. That sun room has been sitting practically empty for so long. I don’t have the time to fill it back up properly, but I’d be happy to give it a good cleaning for you. We could move your begonia pot in there. Maybe even get you another. You could make it your own greenhouse.”
“Oh…” said Basil, shoving the balls under his blanket, “That’s real nice, Pa. Maybe we can talk about it later. I had, uh, better run and get those rolls!”
And off he scooted before Father Rabbit could reply.
At the Honey Bun, Mr. Badger was happy to supply the young rabbit with two dozen rolls. Basil noticed how delightfully round they were and couldn’t help trying the one paw toss as he headed for the door.
“Hold up there!” rumbled Mr. Badger.
Basil halted and hunched.
“Are you trying to juggle those?” asked Mr. Badger.
Basil turned around with lowered eyes.
“Um, well…”
“You know, I used to be a juggler back in the day,” said the baker.
Basil’s head shot up, and his ears snapped with excitement.
“For real?” he cried, “Could you teach me?”
Mr. Badger’s laugh boomed off the Honey Bun walls.
“Why certainly,” he answered, “What fun.”
Basil did a leap that nearly spun the rolls right out of his basket. Mr. Badger laughed again.
“Come by Saturday afternoon, and I’ll start showing you the ropes. Or the clubs, I mean,” the baker said with a wink.
Basil danced through the clouds all the way to the Burrow. A happy hum filled his lungs and his smile was so wide it hurt his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop. Ears tingling and tail wriggling, he practiced his two ball toss all afternoon. It was a doozy of a challenge, but when he finally got it, he yipped so loudly Mother Rabbit came running to make sure he was ok.
That evening at dinner, Basil could hardly contain himself as he slurped soup and tried to quietly toss a barley roll between his paws. His bottom bounced underneath him as if it couldn’t wait to get back to his room to practice again.
“Basil, my bunny!”
Father Rabbit’s voice cut through the chatter of the rest of the kits. Basil looked up.
“I have the best news,” his father continued.
Basil couldn’t think of what could possibly make his day better.
“What’s up, Pa?” he asked.
“There’s a begonia festival,” said his father, “This weekend! Down in Wintergreen Hollow. We can go on Saturday together and get more flowers for you. I could even take the wheelbarrow. Why, you’ll be able to fill the sun room if you want.”
Basil’s bottom shuddered to a halt, and his barley roll fell to the floor.
“We could make a grand day of it…” continued his father.
“Pa.”
“We could get you more colors.”
“Pa.”
“I could probably even expand the sun room on the east side.”
“PA!”
Basil’s shout brought the whole table to silence. Everyone stared at him.
“What?” asked Father Rabbit.
Basil felt like all the air had somehow escaped his lungs. His throat was tight as he stared into his soup, and he gave it a halfhearted stir.
“I don’t want to go,” he said quietly.
“But why?” asked his father, “You love begonias. This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. We really need to go this weekend because who knows when we’ll have a chance like this again. I mean, I suppose perhaps we could go Sunday afternoon, but…”
“I don’t want to go at all.”
Basil slumped in his chair. His spoon thudded to the table clattering against his plate. Father Rabbit stared at him. Fig started to say something, but Rosie kicked him under the table. The little ones began fussing as Mother Rabbit stopped adding beets to their plates.
“My dear,” Mother Rabbit said, “Maybe you and Basil should go for a walk.”
That was Mother Rabbit’s way of suggesting a private talk, and Father Rabbit nodded.
Basil slid from his spot. His appetite had abandoned him, and though he was thrilled to get away from twelve pairs of curious eyes, his feet dragged as he followed his father outside. The two padded down the path towards the pond in silence.
“So what’s going on?” his father finally asked once they reached the water.
Basil picked up a pebble and threw it out past the reeds. It plinked in the evening stillness.
“I don’t want to go,” he repeated, staring out at the ripples.
“But you love begonias.”
“I know I used to, but…” Basil hunted at his feet for another pebble. He found one and turned it over in his paws. “I…I just don’t so much anymore.”
“But your special seat by the pot and your quilt and the sun room…”
“Paaaaa,” Basil rolled his eyes and chucked the pebble hard.
Plunk!
Basil fixed his gaze where it had disappeared into the pond.
“I just…” started Father Rabbit, but stopped.
Then he looked at Basil for what felt like an eternity before turning his own eyes out to the water.
Basil scrounged two more pebbles and squeezed them in his paw. They scraped together as his fist tightened.
“I’m sorry,” his father said at last, turning back to look at him.
Basil looked up in surprise, and their eyes met. The rocks loosened in Basil’s grip.
“Of course you don’t have to love begonias anymore. You’re a growing bunny. Growing means changing…even when we grown creatures might miss it along the way.”
Basil’s brow furrowed, trying to read his father’s face in the softening light.
“So you’re not mad?”
“Only disappointed in myself for seeing my own passions and missing you, my beloved Basil.”
Basil’s throat squeezed, and he turned to rub a snuffle from his nose.
“Can you tell me what you love now?” asked Father Rabbit.
Basil felt a smile sneak over his face.
“Watch this,” he said.
His paw clutched the two stones and his eyes turned to the air. Up went the first stone. Up went the second. For a brief moment they hung in the air in turns as Basil caught and released.
Plop!
Plop!
The pebbles soon escaped and skedaddled away on the shore.
“Wow!” said Father Rabbit, “That’s amazing! When did you learn how to do that?”
“Today,” Basil grinned.
“Even more amazing!” said Father Rabbit.
“I wanna try!” came a voice from behind them.
Fig came bounding up the path and scooped up the escaped rocks. Basil and Father Rabbit ducked as Fig flung them in the air.
“Watch out!” cried Basil, but he was laughing.
“Sorry,” said Fig, chasing after the stones, “But hey, dessert’s on. You two coming back?”
“Yup,” said Basil, smiling at Father Rabbit.
“Can you teach me?” asked Fig, still fiddling with the rocks.
“Mr. Badger’s gonna teach me on Saturday,” answered Basil, “You should come.”
“Yes!” cried Fig, slinging a rock in the air.
“Two jugglers,” laughed Father Rabbit as he ducked again, “How delightful. Basil, you look like a natural. Why I bet you could perform at the Great Celebration!”
“Pa!”
“Sorry, sorry,” said Father Rabbit, “Just so excited for your excitement. You juggle however and wherever you wish…although maybe not inside the Burrow, deal?”
“Deal,” grinned Basil.
Then he looked at his brother chasing after the escaped stone and winked.
“You know maybe the Basil and Fig Juggling Show will come to the Great Celebration. We’ll be the Circus Berserkus!”
And the three laughed all the way home.
Epilogue Thoughts: On Seeing and Being Seen
When my firstborn was a toddler, the two of us whiled away many hours in the deep green shade of a raptor rescue near our home. I loved spending those long mornings with him, just as captivated by the majestic birds as he was. The “Owls” was our home away from home.
But then my toddler grew (as children do) and our stops by the Owls became shorter. The train caboose on the other side of the park was first to lure him away, followed by “fishing” with sticks in puddles. Eventually, I had to sneak in running waves to our old raptor friends as I chased after him towards the interest of the day.
I’m sad our owl days are behind us. Trains just don’t hold the same magic for me. But Fred Rogers always said, “Listening is where love begins.” The thing about humans is we change. To love a human, particularly a young one, we can never stop paying attention. We blink, and they grow. And when they do—if we really want to love them—embracing the person they’re becoming is the greatest gift we can give.
It’s not always easy. Often I feel like I’m playing catch up with the kids (and grownups) in my life. But when it feels hard to keep up and sad to let go, I think of how I feel when someone who loves me says “Oh, but I know how much you love _______,” while the truth is that I have not loved ______ for a very long time. My heart always sinks a little. Inside my head shakes. Do I tell them? Do I not? It’s awkward, isn’t it?
Still, I hope my children will have the courage to tell me when I’ve missed a step of their journey. Even when it means leaving a chapter I treasured behind, I wouldn’t miss a minute of them now for the world.
For more: The best book I know on listening is a picture book: The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld. It’s an exceptional model of how to respond to a hurting child.
*Thanks to Meg Oolders for the lovely silhouette banner at the beginning of this chapter.*