Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

The week of winter weather seems to be gone. No ice was in the calf buckets on Sunday evening and the water bowls for the horses weren't frozen, even though their door was wide open. While we worshiped in Piney Creek church the sun shone brightly and snow melted slowly. When we came home at noon I was dismayed to see that the disappearing snow had uncovered the dirt on my patio. My doorstep didn't really look like I had prepared for company. But I had.

Besides my weekly cleaning, I had even washed windows. Even though my first batch of dinner rolls turned out somewhat like golf balls, my second attempt was much better, lighter and fluffier, waiting to be enjoyed with butter and strawberry jelly. Chuck roasts simmered in the oven and potatoes waited to be mashed. Sweet corn and noodles were on my menu and a lettuce salad was ready for dressing and pretzels or cheese. A fruit salad and strawberry-raspberry dessert was in the fridge and even a newly-tried recipe: butternut ice cream pie.

Helping to celebrate the lives of my sister Lorraine and my friend Mabel, was the butterfly cake on the middle of our table. I simply cut from corner to corner of a 9"x13" chocolate cake and positioned the resulting triangles into butterfly wings. Two shades of lavender frosting for decoration made a lovely butterfly imitation. But it looked lonely so I surrounded it with silk flowers to match. I remember now. We used to have real butterflies and flowers outdoors.

Reality, however, has none of the above. Seeping, creeping cold stole stealthily into our buggy as we clip-clopped to the funeral of Lavon Newswanger on Monday, Jan. 28. But with calm winds and sunshine, the travelers from far and near did not mind the cold too much.

The wind came later, whistling and screaming, making it feel even colder than it was. But it was calm again by Thursday when I went to my Dad's house. The frigid weather did not keep us from enjoying our time together. We cleaned some and shared lunch and walked some on memory lane. Sunshine flooded his mountain home and wild birds were at his feeders.

As an individual in the sandwich generation, I anticipated a similar time with my grandchildren the next day, but snowflakes canceled the excursion. The birthday celebration for granddaughter Cassidy is still waiting.

In the evening hours there were three places to go: to Hickory Bottom pond to watch our son play ice hockey, or to shake hands with my friends at the viewing of Charlie Hershberger, or to sing at the home of our widow sister-in-law. In the end Rammy trotted to take us to the nearest place to share songs with friends. She waited patiently, blanketed and tied to the hitching post, till we came back out again. There was no wind so single digit temps covered her hairy muzzle with sparkling frost. The frosty beauty fell softly and clung to everything all night.

In the morning it dazzled us in the sunny light and beckoned us to come see, to marvel, to praise God for his marvelous creation. In my Little Book of Snowflakes by Kenneth Libbrecht I found a quote by John Muir (1838-1914) "This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere: The dew is never all dried at once: A shower is forever falling: vapor ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands. Each in its turn, as the round earth rolls."

Although I appreciate Muir's thought of a continuous grand show, it is not eternal. In his second letter Peter wrote "that the earth and the works that are in it shall be burned up. The heavens shall pass away with a great noise and the elements shall melt with fervent heat. This day of the Lord's will come as a thief in the night."