Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

April continues to hold us at bay. A violent storm on her second Monday morning whistled up from the south and took off some roofs and pushed over some big trees, leaving their roots in the air. The small plants in my garden hunkered down and survived to meet the next cold, damp, sunless day.

On Wednesday, the 15th, the sun came but so did a cold wind from the west. But at the tree-surrounded home of Granddaughter Bella, age 18 months, the wind couldn't get us as we cleaned weeds and winter debris. Bella came running when she saw me come on my bike. She wasn't really interested in the groceries I brought for them, but she exclaimed in delight about the little roll of smarties candy I had in my pocket just for her. Looking back, it seems like a dream because it was the only day of the week that enticed us outdoors. In the evening, however, I had to wear my winter gloves to mow the lawn.

The next day it snowed. I moved some plants indoors but for others, there was no escape. Because they were acclimated, they survived but they aren't thriving. I ran past them on my garden path to and from the greenhouse, never lingering, unlike the happy March day I planted them. But April is paying for the warmth that March stole from May. Tulips hung their heads, like the pansies on my patio, humbled and submissive, only to rise again with bright springtime colors.

With the call of the outdoors muted, I stayed indoors, happily organizing drawers, closets, corners and boxes. The work for a farmer went on, regardless of a cold, damp world. In it he met Mrs. Coyote. Too hungry, she came too close.

The promised sunshine for Saturday came later than predicted and we surely noticed when it appeared. In my little greenhouse, sunshine and humidity mixed with soil and little plants and we forgot that this April is different.

But reality hit us again when Sunday dawned clear and frosty. My calendar said Piney Creek communion, but we didn't go. There was no feet-washing or bread and wine, no Bible stories. At the end of the sermons on the phone, another couple was published to be married in the future. Leon Shirk, son of Lester and Alta Shirk of Woodbury, doesn't have far to go to claim his bride, Kaitlyn Horst, daughter of Marvin and Lydia Horst, of Frosty Hollow Road.

The virus and the restrictions because of it, continued to haunt us, like winter in April. When Grandson Conner, age 4, learned that his mother is making masks for him and his siblings to wear to shop for groceries at Giant Eagle, he opted to stay at home. That is, until his mama enticed him with a quarter for the gumball machine. When he saw the new masks, however, he learned about different kinds of masks. Up to now, masks for Conner were whole faces of different animals or people, with peepholes for his eyes. In the store, the mute, masked boys were in a hurry to be done shopping for groceries, especially when a woman chewed them out for going the wrong way in that aisle.

Like there are different kinds of masks, so there are different kinds of chewing. For a poor, frightened shopper it was a sharp reprimand for my daughter's unintentional mistake, but for two bald eagles on Sunday evening, chewing (eating) was for coyote meat. Their carnivorous snack was disturbed when I came walking cross country on my bluebird trail. The cold west wind blew steadily in my face as I watched them take majestically to the cloudy skies.

We knew it all along. We heard it all our lives, that the everlasting God, the Lord, is the Creator of the ends of the earth and that He never faints or grows weary, like Isaiah writes in his 40th chapter. There is no searching of His understanding but somehow these words take on new meaning this spring: "But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as an eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint."