By Bertha Miller
(Written by Melodie Miller Davis’s mother, in a diary of memories)
My husband Vernon and I moved to Juniper Place in 2004. In high school I loved typing and decided I wanted to be a secretary and work in an office, so I went to the affordable Elkhart Business College. I then got a job at American Coating Mills at $17 a week, big money. I was just 18 and fresh off the farm. The war was in full swing. I found a whole different world in that downtown Elkhart office, so different than my strict Mennonite home. At the office, people flirted, there were cigarettes all over the place, cursing and swearing, especially by my boss. At an office Christmas dinner at a restaurant which was a real treat for me, I thought some got a little drunk.
I wasn’t much interested in marriage at the time. I didn’t want to be tied down to one guy. Plus, I figured no one would want me because of my large feet.
When I first met Vernon, I thought he was sort of cute. He was serving at Ypsilanti Mental Hospital in Michigan during World War II as a conscientious objector (C.O.). So, I wrote him a letter and he wrote back. A friend, Jasper got us together. I just happened to be in a dime store in Elkhart and he knew me and Vernon also. Vernon was soon sure I was the one for him. I wasn’t sure but I felt so comfortable talking to him. He wanted to take me to a movie for our first date but I was kind of surprised because I never went to movies: in my church, movies were “wicked.” So, we went to Playland Park and had fun on the rides. There was one other C.O. in the office and I tried to keep it a secret that my boyfriend was a C.O.
It took me a long time and prayer before I knew for sure that I wanted to marry Vernon in 1946. Eventually we owned our own farm and I happily became a farmer’s wife and we soon started a family of three daughters and one son.
Later in life Vernon did much volunteer work with the CROP (Christian Rural Overseas Program), and started a fundraiser of planting an entire farm in corn with proceeds going to CROP. The “planting” was covered by a local TV station and Vernon and my middle daughter got on the front page of the Indiana Prairie Farmer magazine. The more he worked with the CROP program and Heifer Project, the more he desired to go to see where we had sent crops and animals to help feed “hungry people” as he often said. When the Mennonite World Conference was planned for Amsterdam in 1967, Vernon began to look into how we could afford to travel to the conference and then continue on to see various places where we knew missionaries, or had hosted visitors from other countries, or where CROP corn and heifers had been sent. Vernon and I ended up traveling completely around the world stopping in many countries including Vietnam in that horrible war. We were able to visit a Vietnamese friend and some workers.
One big adventure as a family was leaving northern Indiana to settle in north Florida for about 9 years where Vernon helped start a mobile home factory to help provide jobs. The business eventually folded, and Vernon returned to farming and eventually we moved back to northern Indiana where so many of our family lived. After he retired from farming, we spent many winters volunteering with other senior Mennonites in South Texas. We were not rich, but we had a rich life full of love, faith, family and many learning experiences. Our children say now they loved seeing Daddy put his arms around me as he left the supper table each evening, thanking me for cooking and usually landing a kiss on my cheek.
He knew later in life that I really hoped to live at Greencroft as many friends and family did. His last big loving gift to me was to move us to Juniper where we lived for two years before he died in 2006, and I stayed there until 2021. He was the love of my life although seven years older than me: 29 to my 22 when we got married. I know now we were very lucky to have 60 mostly wonderful years together.
BIO: Bertha Miller, age 97 died October 11, 2023. She would have been 100 years old this July. She lived in the Cove nursing unit for a couple years after enjoying Juniper 17 years. Bertha was an active volunteer reading to others at Greencroft and welcoming visitors. Even two months before she died, she enjoyed grading Home Bible studies for Gospel Echoes prison ministry. She also loved acting in the Curtain Raiser productions for a number of years. Earlier she and Dad ran a Bed and Breakfast in their home when they lived near Wakarusa Ind., which they loved doing.
My grandparents and Stuart’s grandparents of course are all gone, many years ago.
My parents died in more recent years but we miss them, of course. Stuart’s mother died when she was only 53, so I never had the opportunity to know her.
I also miss having aunts. I don’t think I have any aunts as such. I don’t miss Uncles much, they tended to tease me too much for my shy self.
We do have cousins still, and are able to visit those who live around here, and occasionally visit those in other states.
Family. My husband treasures what he learned and loved from my father. I also enjoyed his father—especially in the summer when we’d see him tilling gardens and sharing tomatoes and potatoes and more with whoever asked. He sold some too.
We are tremendously grateful for the children and grandchildren we have. Seven now, and done. Will we have great grandchildren? Time will tell, I’ll be surprised but you never know.
At any rate, family members who are loved and special and even those who are not your favorite, are quite precious. The connections. The camaraderie. The memories. The “remember when we did this” stories. Distant cousins who drive you somewhere if you need a way to get to a train or plane.
Me and my siblings were oh so fortunate to live in our house with Grandma and Grandpa (my Dad’s dad and mom). They lived in one room (a bedroom with a few chairs and dressers. They had a small kitchen, and an even smaller bathroom, attached to my Mom and Dad’s much larger house with an upstairs and a basement. I was blessed to be served a cup of coffee given to me by my Grandma when I would go or sneak over to their kitchen on a Saturday morning (when I didn’t have school). Grandma would carefully fill half a cup with coffee and the rest with milk. She died in 1961 when I was ten years old and she was 85. She was mother of nine children (two who died young) and she herself lost her mother when she was only five, and had to be raised by relatives. One relative spanked her when she accidentally wet her bed … which she remembered and told us about. She married Grandpa Miller when she was only 17.
And Grandpa, even though he was in his upper 80s (and lived to be 91), would still get down on the floor with us and help organize a child-sized barn—which my brother Terry loved (who grew up to be a farmer for awhile).
Grandpa and Grandma were married 67 years. They had 25 grandchildren and 30 great grandchildren: what a bunch of cousins we had—so many they were hard to keep track of—first cousins, second cousins, third cousins and more. We were also blessed that many cousins would come to our house to see our grandpa and grandma—and we didn’t have to go anywhere special to see them! They were married in 1893. Our oldest aunt, Susie was named Susie Elmira and I’m kind of fascinated that Susie’s middle name, Elmira is so close to my youngest granddaughter, whose name is Amira Melodie. I don’t think my daughter knew that when they picked a name so near Aunt Susie’s middle name. And kudos to my daughter for using my name in our youngest grandchild’s name.
Confused and can’t follow? That’s ok. That’s what children and cousins and grandparents are for!
Enjoy the relatives you have, if at all possible. Whenever possible. Send a card. Make a phone call. Love them all, even those who may be hard to get along with. Family can be precious, and I am so grateful for ours.
Next time, we’ll look at my mother’s side of the family! Not as many cousins, but many fond memories as well!
My Kitchen Window
I like my kitchen window
I can see birds come and go
And when I’m done with dishes
The dishes let me go–too.
Now, I will not lie, do or die …
I hate dog’s shedding season
Black puffs of hair down the hall
Enough to make me squall.
The dishes bid me back
They want to be done too.
They drip and dry (no dishwasher, I)
And later the drips have gone away.
My mother always had a kitchen window
And used it as she sung
Melodies from Mennonite hymnals
Which taught me how to sing.
I’m getting older now.
My mother is gone too.
I still love singing songs
Some make me go boo-hoo.
I don’t sound as good as I used to
But never mind, that’s okay.
I sing to my kitchen window,
Birds, Mom memories, and all.
My eyes are wet,
Just like the dishes.
But that’s okay,
I am the Mrs.!
I don’t do poetry well but hope you enjoy this and remember what you or your mom or dad when washing dishes.
What’s your favorite place in your house?
A bedroom doesn’t count….
As part of our anniversary day (50 years together) we decided on a leisurely drive to Waynesboro, about 30 miles away, to explore what we’d heard about the Blue Ridge Tunnel there. It was known to be a fairly long hike for a pair of 70+ year olds, but my husband especially hoped he would be up for it. He loves history, and over the years we’ve done a lot of hiking but not so much in recent years.
(Now, there are a lot of things—a LOT of things named in this area as “Blue Ridge.” That’s because we all love the mountainy scenery that goes along the east side of the Massanutten Range and the Shenandoah National Park with its magnificent Skyline Drive, which spreads for 105 miles. We often go for rides and walks in that park, but never tried the Blue Ridge Tunnel. And don’t get mixed up with the Blue Ridge Parkway, which runs from Virginia down to Cherokee, North Carolina.)
The tunnel is located near Rockfish Gap in central Virginia, near Afton and Waynesboro. (A side memory here: we spent our first night as a married couple at a motel on Afton Mountain, and had our first supper at Burger King in Waynesboro, which I have teased my husband about, now and then. I mean, who eats at BK on the evening they were married?)
The Blue Ridge Tunnel was constructed between 1850 and 1858 in Nelson County, Va., at the southern edge of Skyline Drive. The Tunnel passes beneath Rockfish Gap, providing nearly a mile long passage through the Blue Ridge Mountains.
I was fascinated to have my education corrected regarding why it was called the Crozet Tunnel. I always assumed that Crozet was simply the name of a nearby town, but I found out now that it was named for Colonel Claudius Crozet, a French born civil engineer who directed the construction of the tunnel. I read somewhere that workers earned a dollar a day. I was also somewhat surprised (but shouldn’t have been) when signposts indicated the numerous enslaved workers who helped work on the tunnel, and I assume they were also paid.
When you enter, you get rained on (unless it is very dry, I would guess) and the mud floor of the tunnel was somewhat slippery at places. Our dog enjoyed the hike but I think she was VERY glad to get out of the tunnel, which took about 45 minutes each way for us oldies to rest and navigate. It was quite dark, cool, and damp, and our only mistake was not bringing a flashlight—but of course Siri helped by turning on the flashlights of our phones. We met numerous walkers, including a troop of young children, probably enjoying an adventure out of school, which was either out, already, or would be soon.
We finished up our day by visiting the lovely German restaurant named Edelweiss near Greenville, Va. It of course made me hum the music, Edelweiss from Sound of Music, which my three-year-old granddaughter has already been taught to sing. Which I love. A guitarist and accordion player helped end our lovely longish day at the restaurant. We recalled the German restaurant we visited in Germany back in 2002 when our daughter studied for a semester in Belgium.
However, a downward spiral fell was when I accidentally left my pocketbook in a restroom in a store where we were looking at some chairs. We drove away from that store, and later I realized my purse was not in the car or the trunk, so we hurried back to the store, just a mile or two away. I crossed my fingers and prayed all the way back to that restroom.
My heart surged when I saw my purse sitting in that restroom (the store didn’t have any other customers at that point). I breathed a great sigh of relief.
But Don’t Do That Again, Melodie!
Overall, a good, happy day, celebrating (again) our 50th anniversary. So thankful in many ways.
Did you ever do something that was pretty dumb?
If you’re old enough to drive, you know all the rules, of course. But a reminder now and then about how to be careful—or more careful, is worth the effort.
But things happen. In my case, something could have turned into an accident this morning.
We live on a hilly road that also often has longish trucks carrying chickens or other animals. We also enjoy lovely country roads where bikers love to roam, especially with an impressive mountain (Massanutten Mountain) to gaze at. It is beautiful and I’m glad to have settled here with my husband.
This morning on my way to a swimming exercise program (Aqua Aerobics at Virginia Mennonite Retirement Center near Harrisonburg), I first saw a bike rider, and then realized a long chicken truck was actually a good deal over the middle line. On my half. I quickly got off the road into the grass, and then I noticed he was going over the line because of the biker near the hill top. Luckily it was not a steep side for me, but I breathed an air of relief to see that the three of us passed each other—me going east and the two of them going west. Whew.
That’s not the first time we’ve had close calls, both my husband and I, and a few scrapes when we ended up needing to get different cars. If I had done something so stupid as glancing down at my phone, for instance, or gazing off to the lovely mountains and trees and birds or houses … this story might have been different.
My mother (gone now since 2023) taught me some examples, to always focus on the road, even if you see pretty things nearby (she had some bang ups and close calls in her later years.) Since my husband usually drives places, I often look at the scenery nearby. However, when it’s deer time, my job is always watching the sides of the road, worrying about deer crossings.
I also want to remind dog walkers who have to follow narrow roads/banks to always walk in one line—hopefully your dog in front of you. When I used to walk our dog along a short patch of road just for a little exercise for us both, I always stopped walking and stepped off the road, until a car went by. Another good idea, in my book.
And bicycle people: always ride single file, especially if you have two on bikes: don’t do double. Ok? It makes car people quite nervous, as it should you, too. Now that we are older we can’t bike and we know these lovely June days which we’re getting now, are great for a sweet ride. But don’t let it be your last one. A man in our community recently lost his life on a nice and well-deserved bike ride.
My husband used to love biking and would go long distances, such as two hours away. So I’m not knocking bikers. But be careful!
Let’s pay it safer!
Any close calls you recall?
Accidents you’ve seen or experienced?
Either with dogs, humans, bikes, truckers, or cars!
Share your stories or guidance!
(Getty Image, above)
I’m still reeling from a beautiful long weekend when we got to see all of our grandkids, reminisce, chat with friends and see many relatives. It is hard to believe that we’ve been married 50 years and my eyes got wet numerous times, with joy.
Fifty years ago before we tied the knot, we both spent the better part of a year trying to figure out if we could make a go of it. He had dated a few girls and loved one, I had dated a number of guys, and loved one.
Then one night at college some friends asked me to join them in going to the local skating rink, which was fairly new at the time. I said no, I would stay home and study, but they talked me into it. There, a floor guard who was fairly tall (which I liked) eyed me and then after a few rounds, he observed that I was keeping my knees too stiff. “Bend your legs, and you’ll skate better,” I remember him saying. Some pick up line, huh!
At any rate, that’s how we got started and dated numerous times in April and May the year I was to graduate from college. I would be looking for a job, and applied several places in various states (Pa., Ind., Va.) where I could maybe use some of my skills in writing, and eventually landed a job at Mennonite Broadcasts in Harrisonburg, Va. Stuart was only too happy to drive down to Florida (where I lived for a while with my family) to pick me up. He “carried me back to old Virginia,” so to speak. That was 1975.
I was happy for the ride, but still didn’t know if we would make it as a couple. When we went bowling (which he did weekly), my college self began to experience a different way of life where people were maybe different than I grew up around. I began to feel a calling to go ahead and marry Stuart and live in Virginia where people talked a little differently and lived a little differently than I when I grew up on a farm, went to church three times a week, and gathered eggs (including on Sundays!) to help Mom and Dad. And although Stuart was Lutheran and I was Mennonite, we both worshipped the same God and had most of the same values.
The rest is history—some of it fun and good, some of it middling, and some of it difficult at times.
When our children came along about five years later, the real fun began and I treasure those years, but also love being Grandma and Grandpa now.
I remember when my Mom and Dad had their 50th anniversary: can it be that I am now as old as they were then, which felt terribly old?
Yes, that’s life and love and I treasure it all—even though we had some difficult times. That’s life too–but the older I get the more precious faith and love have become. Having sisters and brothers and siblings who connect and love each other amid the ups and downs is also an amazing part of our love and life and existence.
Our daughters and their spouses put their heads and hands together and gave us a beautiful and very special celebration, complete with a great lunch, cake, and trimmings that we’ll never forget.
A true celebration, complete with a long lovely kiss!
A Dirty, Dusty House
Did your mom and dad practice spring and fall cleaning?
Mostly it was mom, but dad got involved too when lifting heavy mattresses and squeezing them through rather smallish windows to breathe in the spring sunshine. They taught us to hit the mattress with an old beater, to get the dust out. That part was kind of fun.
That was in the 50s and maybe 60s. I saw one of those old beaters at a friend’s house recently—her house was immaculate and I loved remembering those old times. I think!
Eighteen years ago, we built a new house, and have loved it. We painted most of it ourselves, with help from some of Stuart’s friends. Now that we are less able to climb up and down ladders in our house, we have hired a painter to do the job.
BUT! As I’m getting ready for the painter, oh there are dirty, dusty cobwebs that are showing themselves, to my chagrin. I am trying to clean clean clean before the painter comes. (And by the way, he won’t be painting the whole inside of our house at this point, just the main kitchen and living area.)
I have the practice of vacuuming once a week, or maybe more often if company is coming, but I have not been able to reach the parts of our furniture (like the beautiful hutch that Amish workers in Indiana made for us, and the huge bookshelf for our living room.) I dust when company is coming, and in the winter when we make full use of our furnace in the basement with old fashioned wood chunks (that surround our house), I dust sometimes, but mostly I wait till family members or company are coming.
I am grateful for painters and helpers and will do what I can.
But I admire many who manage to keep their homes spic & span, as the saying goes. Lovina Eicher is an Amish woman who grew up in Indiana and now lives in lower Michigan, and writes a weekly column that is printed in many newspapers (if you are lucky). It can also be found online of course, and she now frequently uses photos, usually just the backsides of family members, or activities they are doing. I envy how she and her family and their children are compelled to clean their houses very thoroughly when they are hosting church at their house—which is usually done in a pole barn. They often host at least twice a year, which gives a great time to clean the house well. I was fortunate enough to spend a day at her house about 10 years ago, helping with washing dishes as she cooked and baked numerous items to use in one of her many cookbooks. (She has done many cookbooks, but the three most recent ones are The Cherished Table, Amish Family Recipes, and The Essential Amish Cookbook. They are available online here.)
Believe you me, her eight children and now numerous grandchildren are well fed and cherished. And their large home is well-cleaned. I hope you enjoy her column here: Lovina’s Amish Kitchen
Meanwhile, our house is a mess, full of boxes of the many many things that had to come off walls, above our cabinets, chairs, curtains. Lots of work!
How’s yours?
I’d love to hear from you, and Lovina would likely want to hear from you too! Have a great Friday and weekend….
The Cows, Horses, Cat, the Dog, and Me.
We are fortunate enough to live on some rolling hills (many roads around our abode, about eight acres). We live on one of the acres, and grow hay (kind of weedy) on the other seven. A farmer comes and harvests hay for animals he also raises.
Recently our next door neighbor wanted to erect a new fence between our two properties and included lovely posts up and down that side of the fields. We added a gate at our expense. He raises cattle, which eventually become steak, hamburgers and the like. Earlier, there were a number of locust trees that had to be felled and now my husband is ecstatic over getting the locust trees back in the form of firewood. Gleaning firewood from trees that have had to fall down, or blew down, is his hobby.
But I digress. I have enjoyed watching the cows graze up and down from my kitchen window. I frequently see all of the cows (and four beautiful horses) going one direction for a while, usually following each other, and then soon enough, the other direction. They often have a rest time once they’ve ate their fill, and then they get up and go again. Kind of like humans.
Kind of like me, I often snack in late afternoon. And usually late in the afternoon those cows are going the other way again, munching, chewing their cud, gathering the goods they can.
I had to have a procedure recently that made me change my diet for a few days. I was allowed to eat a few things, but oh the woes I went through were not fun. I kept telling myself, this too shall pass. I literally had to stop myself from grabbing a peanut or two or a cookie or orange juice. I drank and ate only the things the directions told me to take before my procedure.
I never realized I was such a snacky person! I won’t go into detail, you get the idea.
I have a new appreciation for the animals that God designed to have in our world. Psalm 148 has a number of verses celebrating animals, even wild ones, all the cattle, small creatures, and flying birds. I admire those who feed the birds. We certainly feed our dog and cat—frequently! In turn they nuzzle each other, and sniff each other. My husband loves stroking the cat generously. I am more business-like, feeding and petting as I have to. The dog seems to enjoy my attention and ruffling up her hair.
What a world, when animals seem to communicate and appreciate us. In turn, I appreciate the doctors and nurses who help us have better health. Most of all, we need to spend time marveling at the gifts God has given us. Food, water, land, flowers, gardens.
Amen.
I’ve lived in the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, now for over 50 years. Today as I was driving a friend to her home up on a hill (that I used to live on), I just marveled at how wonderfully beautiful the mountains and valleys and hills are. I do cherish my childhood growing up in the farmland of Indiana (with a few small hills) but it would be hard to get me to move back to my home state now.
There’s an old hymn that begins “Majestic Sweetness Sits Enthroned.” I would apply that grandness to our valley. Switzerland is lofty and awesome for anyone to behold. Alaska and the Caribbean and Spain and Beligum have all helped me marvel too. There are mountains everywhere, of course: Japan, China, India, Argentina, Brazil … too many to mention. I guess what I’m saying is that these days of April in our part of the mountains, this carries me to praise God and enjoy the skies and stars and moon and sun. Even flat Kansas with acres of wheat and endless miles of Texas territory or North Dakota flatlands or Arizona dryness were part of God’s planning. And I’m grateful that my husband enjoys visiting new places too.
I know some of these mountains have existed for thousands and millions of years, they say. Kind of hard to believe, but I trust God could have managed it, one way or another.
My joy and gratitude is sometimes forgotten in the midst of the daily do-all—fixing breakfast, lunch, supper, cleaning, washing clothes, folding them, writing, doctor visits, surgeries, helping my husband on his latest project, taking a treat to a friend who sometimes needs lifting up, settling down to watch a few TV programs. Sometimes going out for supper and driving to see the majestic mountains among us. We don’t have huge big peaks, but somehow majestic anyway!
What sends you over the moon with greatness, sweetness, happy times?
I know there are lots of downer days of course, but thanks be to God and our fellow humans and even the animals and vegetables and yummy fruits that help us all see majestic sweetness and hopefully share it with others!
What sends you over the moon with beauty or joy?
I was sitting down early, before my husband was awake, which is nice in retirement. Nice to sleep until you want to get up.
I found the leftover scrambled egg, bacon, a day-old toast, and a small half glass of orange juice left from the breakfast I ate on Sunday with my two granddaughters, daughter, and son-in-law. I decided to re-toast the day-old toast and remarkably, it turned out perfect. Just fine.
Then as I munched, my mind went to how much the day meant in connections, biblical thoughts, memories, children, communion, and following up on Monday with communion served to an older member at Lifecare Center in New Market, about 15 miles away, with a fellow team member enjoying fun conversation on our way.
As I ate my breakfast, my mind went to the chicken who laid my egg, the pig who gave me bacon to enjoy, the farmer who grew wheat all summer long so we could enjoy bread, the orange juice which was sent to me by workers from Florida or other points south. Then I pondered the bread, which of course included yeast. Hmm. Where does yeast come from? Siri gave me that answer: “Yeast is a single-celled fungus that naturally grows in soil and on plant surfaces.”
My iPhone and Siri helped me there. Fungus? Among us? Ok, I had some fungus for breakfast, to make yeast that helped my bread raise.
Wow, God was busy, eh, sending me a chicken, pig, farmer, orange pickers, and fungus that helped make yeast.
I’ve recently been intrigued by the not-easy-to-read chapters of Leviticus where the laws are laid out for the people of Israel. Yeast in particular was important in that time, and partly I think because it was part of their bread sustenance. Remember how the Israelites were cautioned about eating their manna (one place I read describes manna as coriander seed, white and tasting like wafer made with honey). Not so bad! They were to eat it on the day it appeared, and not eat the next day when it spoiled. The Leviticus chapters are boring, long, and tedious, but when you think about God creating not only people but animals and fungus and much much more than I have ever studied, I feel it is worthwhile going over this history. But I think I’ll be okay sticking with re-toasted toast. 😊
Thank you, God, especially for thinking of all this and somehow getting it to us humans! Thank you for our two little granddaughters, ages 7 months and a 3-year-old. Thank you for five grandsons, spread across several states. Thank you for my hard-working husband, and the plenty we enjoy.
Most of all, we must think of God’s love for all of us, all around the world, and how we must appreciate and remember to share that love.
Amen.
These two saints are both nearing many many decades of serving God: Jean is 99 and Don in his mid-90s, was our founding pastor. Jean is the oldest surviving member of our congregation, Trinity Presbyterian Church. Jean was brought to the Easter Sunday service by another friend from Trinity and Don was brought by his daughter. They didn’t mind sharing some smiles for us!
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