Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

“Am I seeing one right now?” my husband asked suddenly on Monday, March 30, when breakfast was almost over. We had just been talking about the arrival of the purple martins because we anticipated their acrobatic flights over our farm. My eyes followed his gaze, which pierced through the kitchen window and into the clear sky, studying the feathered flier.

He left the table to crank up the martin house and open their little doors. When I was done washing dishes, I poked my head out the door in hopes of hearing their welcome songs. It was then that I noticed a calf trotting across the backyard. C...