Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

The memory capacity of a tyke, just-turned-2, isn't very developed yet. In fact, last fall when Granddaughter Bella was at our house for a time, she never asked about her parents who disappeared to Missouri to attend a wedding.

But that wasn't the case last week, just three months later. Not only did she get a dreamy look in her eyes at times and mention her parents, her pets or her dolls, she also remembered things about the last time she was here, like going to the attic. "Momie, come," she said, as she started up the stairs, willing me to follow her to that charming, toy-filled place.

She remembered that "Dawdy" has a barn with lots of cows living there and wanted to go along to chore. She was completely unafraid of the huge beasts, which is more than can be said about the cows, some of which were quite worked up about such a little human being running around behind them or by their faces.

But Puff, the long-haired cat, was willing to start up a friendship and the calves did not care who held their milk bottle. At any rate, Bella did not want to come back indoors that evening. At the door she paused when I said, "Come." She looked up to the sandbox and said, "Net coom." (Not come.) I tried to show her the darkness when I snapped off the light but she didn't care. I tried to tell her she'd get cold hands, but that did not entice her either. I watched her walk away and thought about the happy sandbox days that winter took away from her. She walked quietly around the ghost-like play area and looked at the swings before she turned toward me, "I'm coming," she said.

Earlier when we had taken a fresh air jaunt in the sunny, cold winter day, she cried when I said it's time to go indoors. I hadn't been expecting the tears so I was glad for the paints and the huge coloring book to help her forget that we were trapped indoors again.

Also from earlier times Bella remembered our large walk-in game closet with a window. All children do. She loved when I showed her everything, even though most of the puzzles and games and items of interest were far above her age level.

While I was rummaging in there, I came upon folders filled with notes I wrote to our two youngest children. I would leave them in the kitchen under the small stove light for them to find when they returned home from their late night singings and suppers before they married and moved away. Sometimes there were silly poems or apologies and always questions, always love for them. They would answer with the pen I left there. They knew I cared, even though I was fast asleep when they returned.

For us, the years have changed. For others, children coming home at night is still reality. Teenagers still bless our lives, however. They were at the table of my brother and his wife, where we shared a meal. They were at my cousin's house where we gathered to sing together. But always our children grow up and we grow older. Along Cove Lane Road, at Saturday night's singing, a new couple took their first walk together into the moonlit night. My sister, who has teenagers in her house, told me that news after Piney Creek church services the next morning.

In the sunny day, the foggy, sunless and gray days of the first part of the week seemed like a vanished dream. The candle light at the breakfast and supper table that Bella wanted to try and puff out with her bit of air, were not needed at noon. But the bread I baked with her 'help' was on our lunch menu when her youngest uncle and aunt came to share the meal. The raisin-filled cookies I baked with her 'help' are packed safely in a box, a gift to celebrate the 30th birthday of another of her uncles.