The Groundhog Lied

The groundhog lied.  As if the blizzard last Saturday evening wasn’t enough; we had another round of snow last night and this morning.   Ohio is an interesting place to live.  One moment we think Spring is here -- the flowers are blooming, the Magnolias are in full glory, people are mowing the lawns for the first time -- the next thing you know, it is winter again, and the daffodils bow their heads in submission to the elements.  

April 9, 2016.  A late snowfall.

A horse-drawn plow sits in a snowdrift, waiting for better weather.

We thought the rough weather might put a damper on the amount of folks who would come for our annual Maple Syrup for Missions meal.   There may have been a few who decided to stay in the house, but there may have also been a few who decided the weather was too bad to do anything else, so they came to the meal.  Once again, our hearts are full of gratitude for all the folks who come out to support this event, and enjoy a great meal of superb pancakes, (not kidding, these are amazing pancakes), fresh stuffed sausage, Maine blueberry sauce, and the delightful flavor real maple syrup.  Ohio people are tough, and rugged weather is not going to stop too many of them from coming to this awesome meal.  Generosity is as abundant as the pancakes, and folks really support our efforts.  A great big thank you to all who came!!

We have a lot of family here this week -- mostly from out of state.  Children, grandchildren, inlaws and outlaws.  We love them all.  The house is full of the sounds of laughter, noisy children, and pleasant conversation.   Sisters and brothers who used to fight (our children), love to spend time together now.  Funny how that works.  This tribe brings us a lot of joy when we’re all together.  Then when they leave again, the house seems much too quiet.   There’s an old saying, “Grandchildren fill a space in your heart that you never knew was empty.”   So very true.  And it’s true with each new baby.  Eight of them now.  Eight wonderful blessings who call me Grandpa.

Seems like we eat a lot when family is here.  In fact, they tell me it is time to do some grilling.  A lot of hungry mouths to feed, and it is my pleasure to help.  Maybe we’ll post a few pictures, add some comments, and wrap it up for today.

From Kidron, Ohio, where the weather is fickle and the people are tough enough to take it, we wish you a blessed weekend.  Here’s to warmer weather.  (Please???)  So long.

Thank You Betty Crocker

Using coupons to save a few dollars seems to be a pretty universal habit of moms and wives.  And why not?  Coupons help to stretch the budget, and make some products possible that may not have reached the kitchen table otherwise.  We’re talking about food and household items, but more then that.  One of the most tangible evidences of Betty’s  coupons is the flatware that still graces our table. (We may call it silverware, but it’s not silver, it’s stainless.)  We acquired our tableware midway through the Betty Crocker flatware program that began in 1931 and ended in 2006.  Our set is over forty years old, and many pieces have been on the receiving end of the garbage disposal that is attached to our sink.  It’s a very disconcerting feeling to turn on the magic garbage eater, only to be startled out of your wits by  a loud, rapid clacking and clattering.  Your heart sinks as you quickly turn off the switch.  You reach down the hole to retrieve the piece of favorite flatware, and it is dinged, bent, chipped, and scarred for life.  An enterprising husband may be able to restore the piece for everyday use, but a guest will never eat from it again.  We all know that a quick inspection before hitting the switch would be a wise move, but my guess is that most of us have done it.

Betty’s program started with a spoon in boxes of Wheaties, and expanded from there.  Before long, coupons appeared on many General Mills products, and we (along with many of you) were collecting them.  I still remember the fat envelopes full of coupons we used to send to General Mills to get our next pieces.  But we were merely following in the footsteps of a lovely lady I call “Mom.”

It’s a hard habit to break after nearly eighty years of using coupons.  But it’s a good habit too, for frugal ladies like Mom - a habit that was likely precipitated by growing up during the depression when every penny was important.  Mom is ninety-seven now, and the weekly sale flyers still get perused under a reading machine that makes the print large enough for failing eyes.  Daughter-in-laws still occasionally get sent to the grocery store with some coupons to pick up sale items. It’s a habit that has saved many dollars.

And that’s why we want to thank you, Betty Crocker and General Mills.  Your stainless flatware program sold a lot of cereal to mothers and wives.

Until a few weeks ago, I had forgotten some of the details of how Mom got her nice twelve-piece set of Oneida stainless knives, forks, and spoons.  Here’s the rest of the story.

Between 1942 and 1953, five boys were born to Mom and Dad.  Seven years later, in 1960, boy number six came along. No girls.  There’s no need to say it, but boys eat a lot - especially healthy boys growing up with yard and garden work, animals to care for, and ball to play. We always had plenty to eat, thanks to Mom and her careful planning.  It was a good childhood, and we have no complaints.   

Mom had her sights on at a new set of beautiful stainless-ware to be used when we had guests.  To purchase them outright would have been fairly costly, but there was a way, and coupon Mama was on top of it with the help of General Mills, rolled wheat, and Betty Crocker coupons.

Mom wanted a twelve-place setting of the “Wheat” style of stainless ware, and it took a while, but she got it.  Here’s how, in her own words.

“I fed you boys rolled wheat until you were really tired of it.  But just about the time you wouldn’t eat it anymore, I was able to get the last pieces of silverware.”

See, she didn’t even have to purchase the more expensive General Mills products.   She settled on a less costly, and fairly healthy choice of cooked cereal.  And thanks to hungry boys, the twelve piece set that she had wanted for so long was now in her possession.  At last Mom could set the table for company, and not be ashamed of the “everyday” silverware.  

Now it is possible that my older brothers remember the rolled wheat.  I do not.  I remember a fair amount of rolled oats, and even questioned Mom if that was what she meant.  “No,” she said, “it was rolled wheat.”  I guess it didn’t harm us.  We’re all still living.

It was only a few weeks ago that I learned these details, when Mom moved into assisted living quarters at Maple Terrace in Orrville.  It was difficult to think about leaving her lovely home, but with a ninety-seven-year-old body, and poor eyesight, it was time.  On top of that, the move was precipitated by a fall. Thank goodness she wears a med-alert on her wrist.  She used it to signal for help.  After several days in the hospital, we decided together that assisted living was the best thing for her.   She misses her home a lot, but she is in a safer place now, where good nutritious meals are served, and nurses are available as needed.  Laundry is done for her, and the wonderful staff checks in on her a couple times during the day, and during the night as well.  It’s not quite like home, but it’s a good place with other residents that she’s known for a long time.  

During the move, we were trying to decide which set of silverware should go along with her.  There were everyday pieces still remaining from my childhood, but that set was out of the picture - incomplete and too old.  Then there was the everyday set that she had been using for quite a few years.  And there was also a like-new set that had seldom been used - just for special occasions and special friends.  (I wasn’t even aware that she had this set.)  And then.  And then there was the Betty Crocker/General Mills “good” set.

These are the old "everyday" pieces that I grew up with.
 And that paring knife was handed down from Mom's Mom.
It is only about 1/3 of the original size, but Mom still used it
for some things.  

These are part of the "good" set that Mom earned with Betty Crocker coupons.

General Mills coupons are now going for education.

We helped Mom decide that she should take the newest set along to assisted living.  After all, why not?  She might as well enjoy it for a while.  But after a few days she decided against it.  What she really wanted to use was the Oneida set earned from Betty Crocker and that’s when we learned the story.  That alone makes it special.  Perhaps that’s the reason she wants to use it.  It takes her back to the good days - perhaps the best days of her life - the years of raising boys, clipping coupons, and staying within the grocery budget.  

I still remember seeing Dad give Mom some cash every week for groceries.  She was a stay-at-home Mom, just like the majority of her peers.  Her skill in making the dollars stretch was second to none.  Not only did she manage to stay within budget, but she was able to purchase a bag of candy most weeks for a treat.  Do my brothers remember the candy?  You bet they do!  We’d argue over what kind we wanted her to bring home, and when it arrived, it would be carefully divided up into little plastic cups so each person got the same amount.  After all, fair is fair.  Sometimes the pieces wouldn’t come out even, and someone would get an extra piece.  But our sense of fairness in this exercise was so acute that most times the extra pieces got cut in two.  Those are good memories.

I’ve got to say it Mom.  You did good.  You did really good.  A long life with no regrets.  A humble and frugal life with a healthy sense of humor to go along with it.  A loving wife and mother.  A grandma with “marshmallow” cheeks to kiss.  A hardworking woman who has lived her life for the good of others.  It’s not Mother’s Day yet, (written in March), but l’m not going to wait to say it.  I love you Mom.  You’re still the best!

From Kidron, Ohio, we hope you have a wonderful weekend.  Tell the women in your life how much you appreciate them.  So long.

Epilogue: Mom passed away on April 30, one week before Mother's Day. She was in good health (for her age) and her mind was excellent. She rapidly went downhill in her last twenty-four hours, and died in her sleep, just as she had always hoped.

It was a Short Maple Season

As of this past Tuesday, the sap stopped running. Well, mostly that is. What little bit still ran was poor (bad) quality. Good clear sap will run for four or five weeks as long as the weather cooperates. You must have freezing and thawing, and we're not getting it. It got warm and stayed warm, and the extended forecast is for another week of warm weather. We love the warm Spring weather, but that ends the maple syrup project for this year. The trees are budding, and the yellowish, cloudy sap makes nasty-tasting syrup unfit for human taste-buds. I tried to use it one year, and never again. It was a waste of time and effort. You can take my word for it. When the sap goes bad, it is time to quit.

This is our little sugar shack.

One of the largest sugar maple trees that we tap.

This is the set up in our sugar shack with the reverse osmosis system on the left.  It removes two-thirds of the water from the sap before it goes into the evaporator.

We finished the season with thirty-nine gallons of syrup. That's lower than most years. On a big year, we've finished up to seventy gallons, although the average is usually around fifty to fifty-five.

Here's a batch just ready to come off.

Here's an interesting note that demonstrates how you must work with the weather: Do you remember the hard winter we had last year (2015)? And it just hung on and on. Normally, we will tap the trees mid-February, but last year, it was early March when we tapped, and March 8 until we got our first "run" of sap. The season was a late one, and we ended it last year on April 2.

This year was more typical for a start date. The winter was so mild that we even wondered if there would be a maple season. We tapped on February 18 and 19, and through the short season (ending March 8) we had only twelve days of sap "runs." Did you notice our ending date? Yes, it was the same day that we started in 2015. You just never know. And why only twelve days of runs? Because there were a couple times during the season when the temperature was too cold for the sap to run.

If you'd like to taste some of this delicious product, come to our "Maple Syrup for Missions" meal on the morning of April 9, 2016. We've been doing the meal at our church - Sonnenberg Mennonite - for quite a few years. This year will be the nineteenth consecutive year. It's always fun, and always a special treat with made-from-scratch buttermilk pancakes, fresh (never frozen) German sausage patties and links made by the men of the church, Maine blueberry sauce, and of course, real maple syrup.

The serving hours will be 7 A.M. to 10:30 A. M. and the price is whatever you wish to donate for the meal. There will also be extra sausage and syrup for sale. All proceeds go to our mission projects near and far.

* * * * *

The Hershberger family on Zuercher Road also makes maple syrup.  Here Johnny is gathering it.

This is the sugar house on the Dan Swartzentruber farm. They have a large evaporator in it.

My Amish friends and neighbors are busy in their fields, still hauling manure, and plowing. With horses, they can get an earlier start plowing than those with large tractors. But then, they need to. It takes them a lot longer to get the soil turned with a one-bottom plow.

From Kidron, Ohio, have a wonderful weekend! So long.

Machinery sale day in Kidron.

In the heart of downtown Kidron, on any day except Sunday, there will be an odd mixture people from all over.  Amish and English, locals and tourists, young and old.  Many folks visit Kidron to see the Amish and spend some time in the main attraction - Lehman’s - a hardware store (but much, much more) that is known far and wide for selling non-electric products.  The store parking lot will often have cars and trucks with license plates from several different states of the union, and sometimes from Canadian Provinces.

Today was exceptional though.  Three days a year we have special auctions that bring hoards of people to the Kidron Auction grounds just across the street from Lehman’s.  If you were here today, you experienced Kidron during one of it’s busiest times.  In fact, you may have been surprised by the near impossibility of navigating the two roads leading into-and-out-of our small town.

 

In addition to the sale traffic, we had some excitement this morning when a fire broke out in Gerber Lumber’s mill building.  It seemed like every fire department in the county was there.  Sort of reminded me of a parade.  At one point, there were thirteen fire trucks lined up, prepared for the worst.  There was potential for the mill to go up in flames, and along with it, the nearby buildings.  It could have been a catastrophe.  But thanks to the good work of the firemen, the fire was contained, and the building was saved.

They cut a hole in the roof.

A line of firetrucks from many local departments, standing by.

Today was the first of three annual Machinery sales at the Kidron Auction grounds in downtown Kidron.  On the first Saturday of March, first Saturday of April, and again in August (20th of August this year) there are machinery auctions where local folks (and not-so-local) can bring farm machinery, lawn mowers, cars, trucks, canoes, four-wheelers, bicycles, rabbit hutches, washing machines, lumber, building supplies, well...just about anything, to be auctioned off.  Anything but junk - and that is left up to the discretion of those who are checking in and tagging the offerings.  

Over the years, I’ve sold a number of items there myself.  You take a chance, selling at an auction like this.  You may get a good price, or you may not.

An old farm trailer that I had labored many hours over, rebuilding and repainting, brought fifteen dollars.  You read that right.  Some sellers will be there to bid their item up to the dollar amount that they want.  I suppose that’s wise in one sense, but it always seemed almost unethical to me.  Bidding up your own item just never seemed to me to be a completely honest policy.

Checking out a two-row horse-drawn John Deere planter.

A sea of buggies.

Another time I sold an item that I wasn’t even sure what it was.  When we moved to our mini-farm twenty-five years ago, there was a large contraption left there by the former owner.  It appeared to be some sort of round-bale carrier, but perhaps a design that was used in the infancy of round bales.  It was a gangly beast, all rusty and missing a wheel on one side.  Not being sure what it was, or what to do with it, I made up my mind to locate another wheel for it, de-rust it, paint it bright yellow, and send it to the Kidron machinery sale.  To me it was junk to dispose of, and this was the way to do it.  Amazingly, it brought one-hundred-and-fifty dollars!  Again, you just never know.

Here’s another anecdote from my machinery sale experiences.  I took some brand new sections of rain gutters there to sell one day.  Four lengths of it glimmered in the sun as the crowd moved down the line.  Now picture this.  The crowd is standing shoulder-to-shoulder, surrounding the auctioneer who is describing and selling each item. He chants rapidly as he plies his trade and works the crowd to get the most bucks.  His mouth is moving a mile-a-minute, and his eyes are darting around looking for the bidders.  He doesn’t hesitate long.  Bidders must jump in or get left behind.  “Sold!” he says, and moves to the next thing.

Packed in tight around the auctioneer.

Moving down the line of farm equipment.  And then I saw him.  See the guy with the bright orange cap, and carhart coat.  He looked just like Uncle Si of Duck Dynasty. 

From one item to the next, the auctioneer and the pack of people moved down the line, ever closer to my rain gutters, and I moved along with them.  I wanted to see what my gutters and downspouts would bring.  To my dismay, when the auctioneer got to my spouting, it had been trampled to death by the pack of people who didn’t watch where they were stepping, and it now laid flat and crumpled.  The auctioneer looked sadly at the forlorn rain gutters, and commented that this was perhaps an item that shouldn’t have been brought here.  He couldn’t get a bid, and I don’t blame anyone.  The mistake was mine.  I should have known.  

What do you think?  Is this Uncle Si?  I don't think it was, but he was a good doppelganger.

Okay, one more auction story.  Way back when my oldest son was a little guy, I wanted to buy him a tricycle.  There we’re several at the machinery sale.  I followed the crowd as it worked it’s way down the line, but it was impossible to see when the auctioneer was selling the trike that I wanted.  The crowd was noisy, and packed in tight.  I was too far back, and it was all over before I knew it.  That was a bit frustrating, so I made up my mind what I had to do.  I moved ahead of the pack to another trike, and literally straddled it, planting my feet firmly on either side.  As the crowd moved nearer, and then surrounded me, I refused to budge.  It took some doing to remain standing, but I managed.  As the auctioneer pronounced the offering of a trike, his eyes were level with mine, staring me in the face from about two feet away.  It was unnerving, but I got the trike, and my little boy was a happy camper.  This experience almost took on biblical proportions when I think of the crowds that often pressed around Jesus, just wanting His touch - His words of hope, and His hand of healing.  I can (in a small way) sympathize with those who were desperate enough to cut a hole in a roof and let a paralyzed man down right in front of Jesus.  Sometimes in a tight crowd you just have to do what you have to do.

A few well-used items.

Father and son checking out a planter ahead of the pack.

Aw shucks, can’t stop yet. One last story.  Many years ago my young son and I were at the Kidron livestock auction on a Thursday afternoon, in hopes of buying our first goat.  At that time, there was no “ring” for selling goats and sheep, and the auctioneer moved from pen to pen.  The old feller doing the auction-cry had likely been okay in his hey-day, but at this point in life his speech had become rather slurred and garbled.  It was next to impossible for me to understand what he was saying.  Some auctioneers have a chant that is loud and clear - pronouncing each vowel and consonant in a way that is completely remarkable for the speed in which they speak.  But not this gentleman.  It was frustrating to me, and my little boy kept pounding my leg and asking, “What is he saying?”  I didn’t know.  Then out of the blue, someone shouted, “I can’t understand you!”  At that, the startled auctioneer glared straight at me, and I realized those words had flown from my own mouth.  I looked at the ground, and then I looked behind me, as if someone back there had said it.  Nope.  It was me, and we ended up going home goatless.  It was not my finest hour.

On auction days like today, there are also vendors around at different places, hoping to make some sales.  Our church has a food trailer which serves the needs of the hungry masses, and at the same time, makes some money to support our mission projects.

A couple happy noodle eaters.

Okay, enough rambling.  Thought you might enjoy a few pictures taken today at the “Amish Reunion.”  (Didn’t mention that before, but that’s what the local people call these events.)  Take a look, you’ll see what I mean.  Read the captions for additional thoughts and observations.

From Kidron, Ohio, the little town in the country, where the men are homely but hopeful, the women are beautiful, and the much-loved children are full of energy and potential.  Let’s remember to treat these little ones with patience and kindness, folks.  Some day they will be our doctor or nurse, paramedic or fireman.  They might be our pastor or tax adviser - even our undertaker.  These little ones thrive on our attention and approval.  They need instruction with patience, sometimes correction with love; a Mommy’s warm hug, and a gentle Daddy holding their hand or wrestling with them on the living room floor.  

Until next time, so long.

How to Tie Your Shoes

For quite a while this has been on my mind, and I’ve wanted to write a few words about something we do everyday--and perhaps even bring some enlightenment to a mundane subject.  Yes, I know, you’ve been tying your shoes ever since kindergarten, so why waste time reading about it.  No problem, keep scrolling and read some more opinions about Trump or Clinton, or maybe watch some funny cat videos on YouTube.  Better yet, go for a walk or read a good book.  But wait, before you go, let me ask you a question.  How many times do you need to retie your shoes during the day?  Or do you double-knot them, and then fight with the knot the next time you want to put them on?  How many of you have simply given up, and gone to slip-on shoes, slip-on boots, or velcro straps.  If that’s you, listen up.

There is a better way.

I know.  There have been articles and videos about this,  so I’m certainly not the first to address it.  And some of you have had a good teacher who taught you the correct method, and your shoes stay tied.   But a few of you may find this helpful.

About twenty years ago, our family was planning a canoe trip to the Boundary Waters of Minnesota and Canada.  The thing is, the Boundary Area is not all about canoeing.  There are portages (some of them long and hilly, or muddy, or stony) between the lakes and rivers, and one must hike those trails while carrying a canoe and/or a large backpack.  The last thing you want is a shoelace coming undone.  And more than that, you want good shoes appropriate for the journey.

So we went to an outfitter-type store somewhere north of Wayne County, (can’t remember exactly where) to the shoe section.  I had in mind to buy a good pair of waterproof hiking boots, and began perusing the offerings.  Presently, a large man (that’s putting it kindly, God bless him--he was morbidly obese) ambled over to help.  This wasn’t Walmart.  At this store, the personnel still help with the fitting.  We chose a boot to try on, and he shuffled off to get the correct size.  Soon he was back and with great effort, got to his knees to help me put on the boot.  I slipped my foot into it and he proceeded to instruct me how to lace it up.

Allow me to confess what I was feeling at this point (and shame on me.)  This fellow was about forty-five years old, and looked as if even a short hike might do him in.  So how would he know how to advise me?  What could he possibly know about lacing up boots for hiking?  Truth be told--more than me.  I’ve been grateful ever since that day, and have been ashamed of my quick judgement.  Perhaps as a younger man, this fellow had been an avid hiker, and somehow things had gotten away from him.  Perhaps he had a health condition.  We should never judge a book by it’s cover.  We’ve heard that a thousand times, and it’s still a hard lesson.

Now back to the lacing of the boot.  The man taught me that if I were going to be primarily climbing uphill, there is a different method of lacing and tying than if I were primarily hiking down hill.  And although I’ve used those methods, and they work wonderfully, we won’t get into that right here.  What he taught me of most significance (and you will thank me for this) is how to tie my shoes--you know, the simple knot at the top, the one with bows that we learned how to do when we were five years old.

Most of us have never given a second thought how we do it.  We simply make the first half of a knot, and then the second half.  The second half includes loops of string so the shoe will be easy to untie at the end of the day.  And that’s that.   For a lot of us, the result is a knot that slips, and within a relatively short time, we will be tying our shoes again.

Take a look at your shoe right now.  Do the bows go across your foot or pretty much line up with your toes and ankles?  That’s the test.  If the bows line up with your toes and ankles, you are doing one of two things.  You are tying them several times a day because they come loose, or you’ve resorted to a double knot.  I know this because that was my life until I met the big man at the outdoor sports store.

He watched me tie the boot, and then with a very wide smile he asked the question--actually it was more of a statement.

“Your boots come untied, don’t they.”  

“Yes, they usually do,”  I answered, “so I double-knot them.”

He looked at me knowingly--nodding as he spoke.  “Let me teach you how to tie them so they don’t come loose.”

I was almost offended by his offer, but again, shame on me.

“Do you see how the bows are lining up with your toes and the top of the boot?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a knot that will come loose.”

(Yeah, I already knew that.)

“It’s called a ‘granny’ knot.  What you really want is a ‘square’ knot.  They don’t come loose nearly as easily.”

“What you want to do,” he went on, “is start your knot by doing the first half of it backwards from what you normally do, and then finish the knot the way you normally do it.”

So I tried it.  Sure enough, the bows now went across my foot.

“That’s a square knot,” he said, smiling widely again.  “You’ll like it because your shoes will stay tied.”

And yes, I do like it.  For the last twenty years I have liked it, and never looked back.  If you care to try it, you will like it too.  It might also be good to include here that there are other creative ways to tie a shoe.  I searched the internet last evening, and found several of them.  If you are a long distance runner, you’ve probably  already found some of those methods, but for the rest of us who just want a shoe that stays tied for the day, and is easy to untie at the end of the day, try the method we’ve just described.

Granny knot.  This one will come loose.

Square knot

There’s a lesson in this story too.  Just because we’ve always done something a certain way, doesn’t mean it’s the best way.  Let’s not be afraid to try something new.

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Went for a drive again today.  It was nice outside, and people were out working, so we put the camera into action.  Amish farmers are still bringing in corn shocks, and spreading manure.



One Amish fellow rode his bicycle to the filling station at Mt. Eaton for some gasoline.  He was pulling a trailer with two little children in it.

Took a picture of a very poor Swartzentruber homestead.  Most of the Swartzentrubers look a little poor, but this one looks really poor.

Stopped at John Miller’s for some pecan pie and homemade bread.  It’s fun to stop there.  The boys pop out from everywhere.  I asked one of the older boys, William, how many boys are in the family.  “Seven boys and seven girls,” he said. Then I went to the shop to visit with John a little.  He was building a buggy (that’s what he does for a living), and he thought I might like to see a new hack that was sitting outside. (A hack is an Amish truck).  Anyway, the hack had torsion-bar springs for suspension.  He said it will ride nicer and be more stable going down the road.  I told him that was pretty fancy for a Swartzentruber, and he just laughed.  That was a new one for me.  Maybe there are a lot of springs out there like that, I don’t know, but most buggies have leaf springs.  

This is a typical Swartzentruber Amish hack. Looks like the cows are milking pretty good. These are ten-gallon cans, and every drop of milk in them was squeezed out by hand.

And that’s about it for today.  Looks like the weather is going to turn cold next week, and then on Saturday we’re planning to tap the maple trees.  It’s that time again.  Son Mike and I are putting together a reverse osmosis system this year to remove a lot of the water from the sap before cooking it down.  Should speed things up considerably.  We’ll see.

From Kidron, Ohio; where the men are homely but hard-working;  where the women are beautiful, and patient with their men; and fortunately, where the happy, energetic children look a lot like their mothers.  Have a wonderful weekend.  So long.

The Earl I knew. A friend. A mentor. A flower.

I’ve been thinking about my old friend Earl a lot in the last days and weeks.   He passed away last week at the age of eighty-five after a short illness.  Our friendship began when I was a shy eighteen-year-old and Earl was around forty years old, a busy father of seven, with number eight on the way.  Earl was a Mennonite too, but of the Conservative branch.

Meeting Earl.  We lived in Hartville, Ohio, in those days, where Dad was the pastor at the Hartville Mennonite Church.  I had just graduated from High School and was looking for my first full time job.  Dad thought I should apply for work at the F. E. Shumacher Mfg. plant.  I did, and they hired me, putting me with Earl to assemble aluminum storm doors.  I was nervous, beginning a new job, but Earl made it easy for me.  Outgoing and friendly, and generous with instructions, we soon fell into a workable pattern of door production - a team that enjoyed competing to see who could get their side finished the quickest.  

Music.  It didn't take long to figure out that here was a man who loved music.  He loved to listen to it, and he loved to sing.  His tenor rang clear and true as we worked together and harmonized on old hymns.  He also loved to trumpet songs with his lips.  With his eyebrows raised high, and a grin on his face, he produced a sound that clearly rivaled the brass instrument.  Not as much volume, but just as pretty.  It took imagination and practice to do that, and since he didn’t own a real trumpet, he made do with the instruments that God gave him.

Earl soon invited me to his home.  There I met his wife Maggie and their delightful and happy brood, and was sometimes even treated to an excellent impromptu girls trio made up of his three oldest children.

And then the hand saw.  Earl pulled the saw out from somewhere one day when I was at his home, pinched it between his knees, and proceeded to wail out a tune on it.  From that day on, I wanted to do the same.

Faith.  Earl’s faith was front and center.  That was good for me, a young man who was beginning to test the waters.  Having been raised in the Mennonite Church and taught the same Christian faith from a Mennonite perspective, we had a lot in common.  Our branch of Mennonites was less conservative in appearance than Earl’s, and I appreciated that he didn’t try to convince me that I should be a Conservative Mennonite.  He accepted me the way I was, with the faith that I had, and helped build on that by sharing his own life and faith in a way that was transparent and refreshing - a truly childlike faith.  There has never been another person who has been that open with me, not before and not since.  Earl was an open book, and for a shy young man to hear his stories of life, his hard times, his good times, his deep love for his wife Maggie, and his love and concern for his children… that was a gift.  A true gift.

Jokes.  One of the most delightful features about Earl was his considerable appreciation for (clean) jokes and riddles.  It was always great fun to hear a good one and then to share it with Earl.  His immediate and full-blown laughter was a sight to behold - a mirth so complete, so enjoyable to observe and hear, that it often eclipsed the joke itself.  For the last forty-some years, every time I've heard a good one, I've thought of Earl and wished I could tell it to him - often writing them down in the hopes that I might be able to share them with him sometime.

A couple summers ago I bumped into Earl and his daughter Marjorie at the Mennonite Relief Sale in Dalton, Ohio on a Friday evening.  Earl was in his eighties now, and had lost his dear wife Maggie a year earlier.  His walking wasn’t very steady, so we borrowed a wheelchair for him.  While Marjorie headed out for some food, I rolled Earl to the spot where he wanted to sit for the program - the front row on the right - then went to grab a bite for myself too.  It was nearly time for the program to start when I returned to sit next to Earl, and to my surprise, he was sitting there, already having a one-man program of his own, belting out some tunes on his harmonica.  He grinned widely and chuckled as the instrument found its way back into the inner pocket of his straight-cut coat.

“Yes,” I said to myself, “this delightful man is still the same Earl, and in another day or another time, he could well have been one of those sharing his talents on stage.”  It was a pleasure to sit with him while John Schmid entertained the audience with stories and songs of faith.   Earl thoroughly enjoyed music, and his joy still shone through his smiling face and clear blue eyes.

Wallpaper.  There are many ways to decorate the walls of a house and make it home.  For some, the simplicity of plain pastels are the best choice.  For others, nothing less than beautiful wall paper will do.

In the large dining room of the old farmhouse we occupied for twenty years while our children were growing up, the walls were covered with floral paper.  The background was a light buttery yellow, and the patterns were mauve-colored flowers and gently creeping vines.  There were many times when I'd lay on the soft carpet of the old dining room, worn out from work, or needing a rest from the heat.  A pillow would be tucked under my head, and I'd lay there and think.  The floor is a good place to do that.  Barely comfortable enough to sleep, but good enough to rest while the mind churns with thoughts about life and reflections of days gone by.  While I was staring at the wallpaper one day, it occurred to me that most of us are like the background, and a few are like the flowers.  We need each other to complete the picture, but the flowers are what bring beauty to a space.  And that brought to mind individuals I have known who have brought color and beauty into my life.  Earl was one of them.  He was one of the flowers.  A rare one whose transparent love and hospitality shone like the bright yellow daffodils of springtime, glistening in the morning sunshine.  He bloomed where he was planted in a drab world, making it a better place.  He will not be forgotten.

So long, old friend.

Earl and Maggie.  Together again.

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As I was out and about today, I observed my Amish neighbors doing some January work.  Some were gathering and chopping corn shocks for bedding, and others were cleaning out the barns and spreading manure.  It was a very mild day today - reaching into the 50’s.  Won’t be long until we’ll be tapping the maple trees.  And then spring time.  

The family dog is following along.  Look behind the right rear wheel.

Gathering in the shocks.  These will be chopped up for bedding in the barn.

A load coming in, heading for the chopper.  The ears of corn were shucked last fall.  These are just the stalks.

From Kidron, Ohio, have a wonderful weekend.