All About Rosemary
Or, Who Put the Zip in Grandma Bunny’s Salad?

This broadcast is part fiction and part fact. It is the responsibility of the listener to tell the difference. We begin our story on a meadow far from Farmville. It is a frosty October night, but the creatures scampering around the meadow don’t seem to mind. Fur coats are wonderful! Suddenly there is silence, and the frolic came to an end. Now we can see – the creatures are rabbits – rabbits of all sizes and colors – gathered around a rather large, ancient bunny sitting on a stump in the middle of the meadow. She is the legendary Rosemary Bunny the six thousandth (VIM), descended (so the stories go) from the very first Rosemary Bunny, R. B. the first (I). Because the Roman numerals for R.B. six thousand spelled “VIM,” and because, in her prime, R.B. six thousand was the most energetic bunny in the warren, reputedly producing 763 offspring all by herself – well, not quite all by her self – but you know what I mean. Anyway, because of all this she was known reverentially, but simply, as “Vim.”

“This is our annual gathering,” intoned Vim, “of the lineal descendants of Rosemary Bunny the first. It is a tradition to gather once a year to hear the history of our wonderful lineage – one of the longest, purest, and most exciting on Earth.” A low murmuring and gentle thumping reverberated over the meadow, as the favored bunnies signaled their approval. “Therefore,” quaked Vim, “let us begin!” Now the thumping became a roar, bouncing and echoing off the hills surrounding the meadow. And, as if on signal, a full moon rose over the brow of the hill to the east, flooding the meadow with shimmering light, and revealing a veritable sea of furry bunnies filling the entire meadow. Indeed, it was time to begin. Silence descended once more. One could hear a whisker drop.

“Our 100-times-great grandmother was named for a bush – a bush much higher than we are – a bush, some say, that grew to six feet tall! Because of its grey-green leaves, this bush looked like it was covered with dew all the time. And because it was growing along the edge of the sea, it was named Rosmarinus, or ‘dew of the sea,’ which was simply called
‘Rosemary’ later.” The listening rabbits settled lower at their places. They know Vim could be long winded, but she had never started this tale before
with such trivia, and they suspected they were in for a long night ahead. Some of the babies, snuggling close to their mothers, drifted off to sleep.

“R. B. the first and the Rosemary Bush became fast friends. After all, R. B. the first was born under Rosemary Bush, and because their names were both “R.B.” – well, how could they help not being bunny-bush buddies? R. B. the first taught the bush everything she knew, and the wisdom of R. B. the first has been handed down by generations of Rosemary Bushes through centuries and centuries until today!” Vim stopped momentarily to catch her breath. Silence reigned.

“A fellow named Shakespeare immortalized Rosemary Bush, but long before his day, cuttings from the bush were used for failing eyesight, jaundice and the healing of wounds! In ancient Greece, scholars wore garlands of rosemary because they thought it stimulated their brains and improved their memories! It was used as a symbol of fidelity for lovers, and was, for eons, used in wedding ceremonies in bouquets and wreaths for this reason. When someone died, rosemary was used in the funeral as a symbol of remembrance. As that fellow Shakespeare had Hamlet tell Ophelia: ‘That’s Rosemary, that’s for remembrance.’” Vim’s eyes misted over as she spoke those words. Kindly she continued: “And that’s why, my children – and grandchildren – and great grandchildren – and nieces and nephews – brothers and sisters – oh, well, that’s why, all of you, we have this ceremony – to remember.”

A small bunny sitting on the front row timidly raised his paw. “Where, great-great-great grandmother, did all this start?” Vim smiled. She loved these planted questions. “I’m so glad you asked, Thumper. Today rosemary bushes grow in southern climates, although some are adapted to more northerly ones. But because of this, it is thought that all of this began in the countries near the Mediterranean Sea – Greece, Italy, France, Spain – although even Yugoslavia claims that it was the birthplace of rosemary. All
of this happened so long ago that no one really knows. But the important point is that our revered ancestor, R. B. the first, taught Rosemary Bush everything she knew and handed down to her descendants. Why, she even gave her the power to ward off disease, so that folks used rosemary cuttings in sick rooms and hospitals. Such a tight relationship between rabbits and rosemary! So wonderful!”

Another paw went up, trembling a little. “Vim, I have heard that rosemary is used in cooking!” The tiny bunny shuddered, and added in a whisper, “even in rabbit stew!” The frightened rabbit burrowed deeper into its mother’s fur, afraid that it would be snatched up at any minute for the stew pot. “Now, now, Horatio,” Vim said soothingly. (Horatio had been given a very brave name at birth because he looked like he needed it, being a particularly scared baby.) “Don’t you worry your head one bit about that. We come from a long and clever line of bunnies, and to my knowledge, no descendant of R. B. the first has ever landed in a stew pot! What you are thinking of is lamb dishes – and fish – those are the things that are definitely enhanced by rosemary – not rabbit.” Horatio thought to himself that he was not particularly comforted by this, since he loved to frolic with lambs in their pasture. So he concentrated on the fish instead, since he never had frolicked with a fish. But he kept quiet, not wishing to incur the wrath of Vim, which did flare up occasionally.

A third paw shot up from the fifth row of spectators – this time a brash, teen-aged bunny asked the question, although when it came time to actually articulate it, he had difficulty finding just the right words. “Dear Vim,” he said. “Did our illustrious ancestor, R. B. the first, teach Rosemary Bush all about – uh – you know – what rabbits do best – that is. . .” Slowly, a glow of red spread over the rabbit’s face, quite visible in the moonlight. Words of encouragement were clearly audible. “You can do it, Stud!” “Ask her, Stud – we all want to know!” “Cat got your tongue, Stud?” Finally Stud found courage to speak again. “Reproduce!” He blurted out, and sat down amid muffled giggles.

The tittering faded, followed by a long silence as Vim fixed Stud with a steady stare. Finally she spoke. “I don’t know why you find it difficult to talk about the most natural process in the world, Stud. Did it every dawn on you that if we didn’t have reproduction, you wouldn’t exist?? Of course R. B. the first taught Rosemary Bush all about producing other bushes like herself. Otherwise, how on earth would we have rosemary bushes today if she hadn’t? The fantastic thing is, she taught her a new way to get children – a way rabbits can not do themselves! She taught her to break off one of her own stems and stick it in the ground. Or, if she couldn’t break off a piece, then just to place one of her branches on the ground under a rock. Soon a marvelous thing happens! New roots begin to grow on the broken off piece, or at the place held tight to the ground by the rock. And that new piece, nourished by the new roots, can become a new baby – the next generation! Rosemary can propagate through seed, but these new ways are much more popular. Imagine, Stud, if you could have a child by cutting off your paw and putting it in water – and having a new bunny grow from that paw! Wouldn’t that be fantastic!”

Stud didn’t answer. He knew Vim really didn’t expect one. Besides which, he wasn’t sure it would be all that fantastic. He liked the tried and true way used by bunnies since bunnies began. He nudged a particularly winsome girl bunny sitting beside him and winked knowingly. But he was careful not to raise his paw again. Someone might come along and snip it off, just to see if it would grow in water.

The moon had traveled all across the sky and had now reached the top of the western hill. Soon it would be pitch black dark – the dark before dawn – and all good bunnies needed to be snug in their burrows before that happened. There was time for just one more question, and a small brown rabbit on the second row timidly raised its paw, glancing all around to be sure no one had anything sharp that could suddenly cut it off. “Yes, Gertrude,” responded Vim. “Time for just one more!” Gertrude cleared her throat and asked, “Who put the zip in grandma bunny’s salad?” Stunned silence. This was the question that no one had ever dared to ask, because it implied that rabbits actually ate rosemary, which was like eating your cousin!” The moon sank lower and lower, but no one moved, or even dared to breathe.

Vim smiled. “That zip wasn’t rosemary, child. That zip was garlic!”

As if on signal, every rabbit dashed for its burrow, enormously relieved to have that age-old mystery solved at last.