Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

"And we begin." The statement from my friend sounded more like a question in a winsome tone of voice as she turned to look at me before she left with kale from my garden for her roadside stand. I understood her perfectly. As counted among those who make their living from the land, we knew how dependent we were on a Higher Power that controls the weather. We knew how powerless we were to provide the needed sunshine and rain. We knew how simply inadequate we were to make a seed sprout and a seedling grow.

But without someone to sow seeds, there would be no harvest. With seeming disregard to threatening frosts and bruising winds we moved ahead with the rush of the season. Beginning on March 10 when my daughter and granddaughter helped me sow tiny, grayish-brown seeds, we hoped for carrots, if God so willed. Except to learn from our mistakes, agronomists don't look back, only forward.

Last week we swung back and forth in radical temperature fluctuations as we planted and sowed. I also unwound string around the stakes my husband pounded into the rows of peas. Their twirling tendrils now reach out and cling to new heights. The killdeer calls sounded victorious above us instead of distressed beside us since two of the three eggs in their nest have hatched in last Monday's glorious morning. I was delighted to witness again the miracle of a tiny chick, rolling speedily across my garden, like a downy puffball with legs. With my hand, I shaded my eyes from the bright sunlight to watch Mrs. Killdeer settle with spread wings on the remaining chick and egg in her nest. I could feel for her. Raising offspring requires many screams (prayers), much vigilance and patience. When they take to the skies with their own wings, the rewards stir deep within our hearts with love and gratefulness, knowing it was all by the grace of God.

When Bella, age 2, came to our house on Thursday when her parents attended the wedding along Hickory Bottom Road, we went to the attic for treasures. She didn't want to come away but I had to water plants in my greenhouse. When we were outside, she didn't want to come in, so we stayed in the backyard. As I trimmed edges by the garden and sandbox, she loved to try her new skill of swinging on the swing but for sliding on the slide she needed me to hold her. When it began to rain we came indoors to play doll and cut patches, enjoying the company we afforded to each other.

The meal she shared with her grandparents was obviously enjoyed, as were the stories. The protest about a nap was feeble before she conked out. In vain, I wished for her wakefulness before her parents came to take her away, but she told me she wants to come again. And she did.

The rest of the week without her, paled in comparison as I washed walls and windows. Hot winds dried clean curtains and laundry. Bruising winds from the north battered those of us who were duty bound to mow lawns. In all winds, if the soil was fit, my husband dropped corn seeds into his fields one more time, in faith, for there can be no harvest if no one sows seeds.

Sowing seeds, metaphorically, was also in Piney Creek church, for hungry hearts, recipients of God's word. From the walls of its sanctuary, we emerged into the bright sunlight, shedding our sweaters and shawls. Riding home with us in the buggy, were Kaitlyn, age 10, and Bella. Old Mother West Wind reached in through the open door as we read Bible stories all the way home.

In our cool kitchen, Kaitlyn arranged the bread neatly on a plate as I cooked asparagus and peas to compliment the pans of bubbling macaroni and cheese with sausage bits. Logan, age 8, put chocolate cake pieces on another plate to go with the fruit dessert as I poured cold water into 15 glasses. The lettuce salad with the purple cabbage, carrots and kale was all homegrown, as were the red beets to color the pickled eggs. As I washed the little girls' faces, I knew it was all by the grace of God.

After chores instead of going on my bluebird trail, four of us went to visit at the home of our friends along Grayson Road because of our empathy for accidents and the healing time they demand. Chloe Pup protested with vehement yaps and snarls as we rode away with our driver. I looked back to see her watching us go. I knew she would wait till I was ready to go on a later day.