Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

"Little crocus blooming there

What a precious beauty fair,

Head held high – so brave are you

Hoping spring shall soon shine through,

Treasured beauty – in the sod

Surely from the heart of God."

Starting my letter with a verse from Garnett Ann Schultz's "Little Crocus" poem seems like the right thing to do after one week of March. In it we had both calm winds and wild winds. We had both freezing temps overnight and warm weather with sunshine that drew us outside. As I stooped and stood upright over and over again, to take dead stalks and leaves from the big, round flowerbed in the barnyard, my head began to spin and my legs shook. I persisted at a slower-than-usual pace with my winter-soft body. Finishing the big task was divided in half with lunch time in between. And still the sun shone. So I moved on to the raspberry patch to cut off the scratchy, old canes. Planting little lettuce seedlings in the hotbed was fun, too.

It was the day after I spent time with my friends. Cutting and sewing borders onto our finished giant dahlia quilts was only part of our time together. This time I remembered my wallet to buy my ham and bean soup and with my arm healed again, I was able to bike the distance between Traditions and our Piney Creek farm. Upon arriving home, I hurried to my greenhouse, hoping the bright sun hadn't dried up my little seedlings.

The first week in March meant different things for different people and/or animals. For my husband's 84-year-old cousin, Paul Zimmerman, it meant the end of life in his Missouri home. His brother and sister-in-law and other extended family of the Cove traveled west to attend his viewing and funeral.

For the bald eagle, it meant soaring over Curryville Road in a bright blue sky. For the branches of the silver maple, it meant bulging buds on the tips of the twigs as they swayed in the sharp, late winter winds. For hundreds of men it meant bundling up against that north wind to watch and listen to the auctioneers weaving in and around unwanted possessions at the produce auction grounds. Hopefully some items would be a treasure for another person.

For travelers, it meant taking to the skies. My husband pointed out 12 jetliner contrails in the western sky after the sun set on Saturday evening when we were done in the milk house. For our son and all his friends that evening, it meant taking a trip down Piney Creek Road where the singing for the youth was held. Some of the guests came from Churchtown of Lancaster County.

For bluebirds, it meant singing urgently for a mate because spring was coming. For robins, it meant coming out of the woods to reclaim parts of our yard and sing an evening song, tinged with a scolding. For us it meant rising an hour earlier to chore before traveling to Piney Creek church in the brilliant sunshine.

For nephew Eugene Stauffer and his wife Elsie, it meant having their son Lamar be published at Martinsburg church. The young groom from Henrietta Road will travel to Lancaster County to claim his bride on April 16, 2020. Amy Oberholtzer is the daughter of James and Ellen Oberholtzer of Leola.

For energetic youngsters, it meant playing ball in the warm afternoon sun. For us, after chores, the leftover daylight hour begged for a walk on field lanes, much to the delight of Chloe Pup. The fields were bare, as were the woods. The color brown still prevailed and no bits of dry hay lined any bluebird houses.