Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

The rotary cutter in my hand stopped rolling along the square patch of fabric as I held it suspended in mid-air. What was I hearing? Was our neighbor scraping his lane? But the sound grew louder. The flapping and banging of metal intensified and I surmised that a flat tire (or something similar) wasn’t stopping a traveler on Piney Creek road. My quick move to open the window to peer into the dark evening was too late. Whoever was obliviously running a wheel to the rim was past our farm, but the sound was still here. The heifers stampeded out of their barn for the highest point of the meadow an...