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...