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

By Roseann Zimmerman
Correspondent 

Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

 

The zipper of my jacket wouldn't go up any farther because I had yanked it to the limit. Clutching at the clothes around my throat helped, but I needed both hands to maintain my two-wheeled balance on the unpredictable terrain of my bluebird trail. So the spring breezes chilled me on my search for bluebird eggs. The rain drops of Sunday's gray skies now clung to the tall grasses along the meadow fence and swished off to soak my feet as my pedals rose and fell.

As I crested the hill, I saw black blobs strutting, in the far field, turn to brown streaks retreating. The wild turkeys saw me coming and weren't risking any chances, especially not after Saturday's wind made a decoy do strange things. But on Lafayette Road at the foot of the mountain, a newly-painted decoy tricked a tom, to his demise but to the delight of the hunter's two little boys.

I was so busy watching the turkeys in our fields as I biked, I didn't see the deer right away. Three of them were frightened by my intrusion and took off across the fields in the only sunbeams of the day. The beauty of the blushing evening was breathtaking but transient, like petals of cherry blossoms floating to the ground.

Earlier in the week, coyotes yapped and yodeled. Their eerie calls drifted in through open windows out of the warm darkness, awakening chills and sending would-be hunters out the field lane.

In this land of wild, native animals, my husband worked in his fields last week, getting ready for a new crop of corn. Every time I had an excuse, I escaped the rigors of my housecleaning schedule and worked outside. The rewards of cleaning and mulching the raspberry patch have not yet been obtained but that is not so for the asparagus patch. My favorite way to prepare these tender shoots uses a bit of butter to stir fry them with salt and basil.

But on Thursday when Tyson, age 6, and Conner, age 3, with their sister Lyla, age 22 months, came to my house, they didn't want to try the spring veggie. Spaghetti was a much safer food.

Unlike wedding guests along Potter Creek Road that cloudy day, we were dressed for work, planting bubble gum petunias and playing at the swings and sandbox. Housecleaning the attic with the children to "help" me made the work much more enjoyable. We took all the stuffed animals out of the box and set them up to face us, around the edge of the big braided rug, bigger ones in the back, tiny ones in the front. Tyson called it church and when we finally set the last one up, he said it was way late for services.

At Piney Creek church, I didn't notice anyone way late. Granddaughter Bella, age 5 months, wasn't present, having been invited to her other grandparents in New Enterprise but Granddaughter Kaitlyn, age 8, sat beside me. We did have some young visitors, who stayed at this end of the community after attending the singing the night before. Locust Lane, for a young couple, was the place to walk together, officially, for the first time as the fierce winds of the last Saturday in April calmed into cloudy skies. But I reckon weather isn't usually a factor for young love, as for the new couple walking together on the rainy Good Friday evening in Bakers Summit.

But for farmers and gardeners, the weather is everything. It governs our lives and may call for loss of sleep, lest we miss the opportunity to plant when the ground is fit. In essence we bow to an Almighty God who is the Ruler of all the earth.

In my poetry collection I found a clipping about TULIP TIME.

"Secure and warmly sheltered, By my misty window pane, I marvel at the fury, Of the spring time wind and rain. The garden paths are littered, With the wreckage of the gale, Young leaves and buds and blossoms, Hapless victims of the hail. But there with stems unbroken, Though by winds lashed to and fro, Their rainbow colors gleaming, Are the tulips row on row. As ships on stormy seas, Can survive a furious blast, By keeping all their canvas, Snugly furled against the mast. Just so my valiant tulips, In their stormy spring time world, Are weathering out this tempest, With their petals tightly curled. I wonder how my tulips, Learned this wisdom seamen know? If winds become unfriendly, Trim your sails and let them blow" (author unknown).

 

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