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Old Oder Mennonite Memoirs

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose,

Than wish a snow in May's newfangled shows,

But like of each thing that in season grows," wrote William Shakespeare long ago.

I "like of each thing that in season grows," too, although I'm not sure what is growing in season right now. Our outside world is gray and brown since all our leaves have died. The flowerbeds look like a dark-scabbed wound in our yard without flowers but beside my garden nook, three perennial ferns still wave their green fronds. Like the conifers beside the lane and the freshly-watered grassy lawns, their green colors draw my e...

 

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