Morrisons Cove Herald - Putting cows on the front page since 1885.

By Roseann Zimmerman
Correspondent 

Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

 

April 18, 2019

A little couplet by William Cowper says that "Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rocked in the cradle of the western breeze."

Besides rocking baby buds, Old Mother West Wind touches me with freshly-washed spring air. Through the small opening of the window to my side, she also brings the sound of spring peeper songs.

"Like phantoms of a sweeter world

With ghostly bits of song,

Their chorus oft' reverberates

Throughout the evening long.

And such a sound as they can make!

Yet each with just one key –

And all together skyward rolls

A mighty symphony.

Now loud and clear, then flowing out

To misty lands beyond,

Those small musicians swell their throats

From yonder lonely pond.

Although I hear their transient song,

Invisible to me

Remain these tiny peeping things –

None did I ever see!"

This poem by Susan H. Hurst intrigued me, but I think she should get a big light to search the marshes for these thumbnail-sized singers, like I used to do with our children. Sometimes the tiny frogs hopped into the water to hide from us, but in their greatest frenzy of singing, we could easily approach them. Even in the glare of our big light, they would sing with bloated throats. I remember the ear-piercing sound of all those tiny amphibians. I recall the feeling of awe at seeing one of God's created marvels, performing as He designed them.

We depend heavily on God for his creation to perform as He designed it. When I dropped tiny carrot seeds into prepared soil, I hoped for rain and sunshine to swell them into roots downward and feathery leaves upward. In seed potatoes, I looked for eyes with sprouts before I cut them up and placed them evenly into furrows and covered them thickly with rich soil.

In the warm days last week, there was also ample time to rake and trim yard with my dad and the soil was fit for my husband to plow. For Tyson, age 6, Conner, age 3, and Lyla, age 20 months, who came to our farm on Wednesday, there were rides in the sun and wind, on bikes or trikes, the stroller or zip line. The sand box had some good excavating projects going and the oven baked the cookies Conner "helped" me mix.

When we went to feed the calves, Lyla cried in fear, but if she thought they were scary, the worst was yet to come. Being face to face with a big black cow caused great wails of distress to erupt from my blue-eyed baby girl. The tears flowed down her cheeks as we turned to go away. It was much safer indoors with her brothers who did puzzles and played memory with their grandmother.

One evening when the thunder rolled and rain splattered on the windshield I went with the guys who planned to sing at the home of my friend along Mountain View Road. Everything was spic and span when we arrived and we shook hands with my friend's dad who is living with their family for a time. He sat in the recliner in the corner and listened to the quartet songs but I could tell that age had taken a toll on his hearing. I watched him walk, frail and with the aid of a walker as his daughter hovered nearby. I looked on. I understood. My heart went out to my friend.

But when I hear of a friend's grandchild that needs a kidney transplant, I don't understand. But I do bake red raspberry pies for a fund raiser in an effort to help. On Thursday evening my fridge was filled with them. Every nook and cranny cooled a pie. But placing a pie on top of the gallon milk pitcher was too unusual. As a result, it went for an unplanned trip to the floor instead of Nolt's Bargain Barn the next day.

At Piney Creek church we were blessed with visitors from New Enterprise area who were invited to a sister's home nearby, to celebrate the birthday of their dad who was born in 1943. Noah and his wife also worshiped with us and two of his great-grandchildren blessed our presence, too.

 

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