by MarianBeaman | Jul 31, 2013 | Coming of Age, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
The whole family crams into the gray 1951 Studebaker: Our family of five, Daddy, Mommy, Janice Jean and I (Mark isn’t born yet), Aunt Ruthie and Grandma–seven stuffed into an airplane cockpit, it feels like. We don’t take two cars because we are...
by MarianBeaman | Jul 27, 2013 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
The Martin clan gathers together for large family meals at my Grandma Longenecker’s house because Grandma, the oldest in her family, is a wonderful cook and has an enormous kitchen. Everybody likes Grandma, my dad’s mother. Grandma Fannie was a Martin and the Martins...
by MarianBeaman | Jul 20, 2013 | Coming of Age, Family / Nostalgia, Memory, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
Here we are, Juliets without our Romeos When Mom says “sca-doo!” at home, we know we can find amusement at Grandma’s house. Aside from the mysteries of the woods behind her house, other attractions include a slope where lilies of the valley...
by MarianBeaman | Jul 17, 2013 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Family / Nostalgia, Memory, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
Thumbnail: Home is on Anchor Road, connecting our house to Grandma’s house and neighbors in between. The story continues . . . . . . . As we drive from Grandma’s past the Hoffers, I notice off to the right the weathered frame house of Mr. Heisey, who...
by MarianBeaman | Jul 3, 2013 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
“Keep your hand upon the throttle and your eye upon the rail,” my Dad sings in his top-of–the-lungs baritone, the volume of his voice amplified by the force of his hands on the keyboard. Every Saturday night Daddy sits down at our mahogany Marshall and Wendell...
by MarianBeaman | Jun 26, 2013 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite Lore, Uncategorized
“Get out! Get out!” For heaven’s sake, that is my mom’s voice yelling at someone at the door. Why would she scream at a neighbor? But it wasn’t a neighbor. It was Stinky Joe. On a cold winter’s day, he had opened the door to the wash-house and was starting to...
