Good Bye Shipshewana and Sugarcreek

These past five days in the heart of Mennonite and Amish country have been wonderful beyond what I can describe here late at night as we are packed to go home first thing in the morning.

I do plan to post all about coming here to see the drama Mennonite Girls Can Cook, about cooking class and book signings and all that but for now I just want to let you in on what a beautiful place this is!

 

How many times we commented on the well kept yards 

colorful fall displays

hard work ethic

and simple way of life!

It was inspiring!

All ten of us together is something we never take for granted and will continue to cherish as we head in different directions once more.

Where we Live

We live in an area of town where stepping into the nearest grocery store envelops one with the ambiance of an Asian market in a far off place.  On our way, we pass bearded men in turbans visiting on park benches or women walking in bright saris. At the playground swings, children come to stroke our grand baby's white arm or ask if they can hold our baby.

One day this summer there was a knock at our door at dinner time with an offering of a bag of blueberries, picked that day.  She stood there quietly and my H recognized her as the grandmother living with our new neighbors next door. We thanked her and asked her for her name. She just smiled and showed that she'd be on her way. We could tell she did not understand.

Now there was something about her gift that touched me to the core. This "stranger to this country" so brave and kind to head over to her neighbors. Of all the excuses she could have had, not knowing the language surely could have stopped her. But it didn't. In a new way it made me see how practical caring acts need no translation. Kindness can override culture and language.

It was not long after this encounter that we had a message at church on John 4, the story of Jesus making conversation with the a woman of a shunned culture. The pastor challenged us, in like manner, to start conversations with those around us, many of which are of foreign ethnicity. So often, we focus on our differences and fail to see the things we have in common or how we can help each other. He reminded us that the message of God's love is for everyone and that it only takes a few words to be friendly or to begin a conversation.

And should they not understand, the language of kindness is never lost.

Home Tour

Hello . . . come on in! So glad you came!

I don't mind if you want to look around while I make coffee.

 

We built our house almost 30 years ago

and, for sure,  it has seen some changes in these years . . .

the most recent one being the living room

(yes, back then houses were built with living rooms)

which is right off the entrance on the left through a set of French doors.

the dining room flows from it to make one long room.

Following the entrance to the back of the house

you come to the kitchen eating area

with a family room to the right

and a kitchen to the left.

(The original birch cupboards were shop painted nine and a half years ago.

We decided to keep the u shape, but widened the counter

to make bar stool sitting space)

Back to the entance . . .

the stairs lead up to the bedrooms.

The boys room . . . showing its age, 

and the girls room . . . which used to be two rooms and turned into

one at some point with another set of double French doors.

 It's quite large, with a window on either side of the bed

looking out over the back yard.

The master bedroom was repainted a few years ago. It used to

be floor to ceiling floral wallpaper.

Come to think of it - most walls in this house used to be wallpapered,
from country themed to a softer romantic.

Some we stripped, some we painted over top of and some was covered with

paintable wallpaper or beadboard.

And that's the story of a house this age.

It's home.

Were you looking for the bathroom?

Here's one.

Okay . . . coffee's ready!

Baby Jade

For now she is still our baby -

who just learned how to walk this summer.

I can't tell you how many trips she made across the yard

to that bridge - seemingly calling her name -

up and down and around and up and down and around  -

ever growing steadier in managing the step and the curve.

Add a ball and her fascination went even further.

I'll let you get the picture.

Where'd it go?
(yes, where did summer go?)

The Tablecloth

It's soft, faded and worn,

this tablecloth rescued from the rag pile . . .

something to hang on to from mom and dad's very beginning,

60 years ago today.

As I packed a lunch to take to the park with the kids,

I tucked it into the bag going on the stroller.

Not a big deal, just a visit to see the ducks

 and share sandwiches wrapped in wax paper . . .

Yet . . . my emotions surprise me as I envision the old photo 

of the table set before them . . . they were young . . . with all of  life ahead of them.

From tea settings with special guests

to a picnic table in the park . . . a fourth generation.

If tablecloths could talk, what would they tell?

It's a special day and I miss you, Dad.

One more Candle

The night that we had all the kids home for the first time in about two years, 

we hung ten canning jars with candles from the huge maple tree by our patio
. . . a candle for each child.

After we cleaned up and the sun had set,
I caught some blurry pics as I watched them burn into the night.

The photo does not show all, but you get the idea of the celebration I felt. 

It was but a few weeks later, when all of our family was gathered together again, 

and these girls came, bearing a surprise . . . another canning jar for me to keep! 

Would you believe I did not get it?   

By now you do . . . because it's in context . . . 

but, honestly, I just wondered if they wanted more jam. 

A huge commotion erupted as one by one everyone came to realize what it meant.  

These days, I have the little jar on my kitchen window sill 

and we pray daily for this little light, anticipated sometime after Christmas. 

One more candle. 

A gift from the Giver of Life. 

It just makes me smile, never having pictured ourselves in this stage in life

and how full it would be.