Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

The purple fabric in my hand lost my attention as my eyes strayed to the woods. Its glittering, ice-coated scenery seemed to call me away from my sewing machine. When the sun began to shine through patches of blue sky, I gave in.

As my husband and I stomped through the crusty snow, missiles of ice shot down from the overhead power lines. Too weak to hold on and too weak to break through the crust where they landed, bits of broken ice skittered around us as we tramped to the woods.

A winter song reverberated through the trees as the ice fell like rain from every twig onto icy snow. When a breez...