Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

Dear July,

Thank you for the gifts of beauty in summer. There is no secret that your days were simply summer. Your 31 days went over 80 degrees and over half of them went over 90 degrees. Your hot sun seemed to scorch our world, especially on the dry days. But you did give us an inch more of that precious moisture than June did. Even as we dragged hoses to water in the hot dryness, your golden days spilled on us with treasures galore.

Unbelievably, my freezer is defrosted and organized, filled to capacity with more than our share of peas, beans, corn and more. Uncounted heads of lettuce and cabbage went away from my garden for salads where I did not know, but God did. From my garden went snippets of basil and shreds of zucchini into baby muffins. I never dreamed I would serve breakfast to my friends in my garden nook, where ferns hide a song sparrow nest and flowers entice the humming birds to sip nectar even as we sat and chatted over coffee grown cool. They asked me if I don't have weeds but I said yes, that I have an ongoing battle with it. You see, July, you always have weeds. It's puzzling to me why a garden without weeds implies that no weeds grow there.

In your days we share bouquets, from little ones with half pint jars for vases, to huge ones like my daughter gave me. Surrounding the towering white and pink gladiolus are burgundy lilies and dahlias with pink zinnias. The lisianthus are creamy pinkish-white among the airy cosmos and eucalyptus leaves. The pink asters hidden in the cherished splendors took me back to a day in May when I worked with my daughter to cover the seedlings in an effort to protect them from a killing frost. In the snowflurries, I questioned our sanity, but in your days, I know why we planted asters. God knew, too, when He planted daises, that I would pluck them for little Bella's pudgy hand to give to her mother.

He knew when He created you, July, that bright laughter of children would ring in your fresh, open air; that picnics would be shared, that cooling breezes on the porch swing would refresh grandma with her grandchildren.

When I helped to milk cows, I looked across emerald fields in the west and the creek-hugging woods, on up to the heights of Lock Mountain. Always my eyes soaked up the scene of living green of your days. Green alfalfa, dried and baled, is vital for winter feed, when there is no scene in windows, only the blackness of long nights. Your night is not night, says Longfellow, but sunless, unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness. Your beautiful twilight is long and mild, uniting today with yesterday like a silver clasp. Only five of your nights went below 60 degrees.

In your gentle days, love flutters, like a butterfly over my garden, alighting softly on flowers. On the wedding cake, blackberries, blushing before ripeness, speak of your sweetness, hidden in the wild, of the Father's love near us in the beauty of the land.

Some lawn mowing, some phone stories, a meal on wheels, two buckets full of gladiolus spears from my garden, two wheelbarrow loads of weeds from my asparagus patch and then you were gone. I knew your days would come to an end. The crickets and cicadas told me. Even though I thought I was somewhat overheated at times, I'm still sorry to see you go. You are a good month to be alive.

But there are others who see your spent days as so much closer to a dream come true. On Sunday two couples were published to be married. Sheldon Martin, son of Jere and Louella Martin, will be the groom on August 27, Lord willing, and the bride, Marilyn Burkholder, is the daughter of Marlin and Mary Burkholder. A son of Vernon and Lucille Martin, Kordell Martin will be the next groom on September 3, Lord willing. His bride is Kayla Zimmerman, daughter of Mark and Lucy Zimmerman.

Undeserving, we were, of everything, of your sunrises blushing beyond the silhouette of our son's new home next door and especially to be able to worship God in Piney Creek church in your four Sundays. I like Psalms 84:10, "........ I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness."

Good-bye.