A View from the Buggy (8 page)

“You haven't got anything on me,” the stuffer replied. “I'll have them tearing their hair out. They don't have the parts they need, and they don't know where to put the parts they have.”

This would have been followed, no doubt, by waves of laughter between the two.

It was around 5:00 when we made our first attempt to put the grinder into action. That attempt, though, was unsuccessful. And of course we all know that men aren't prone to ask for directions, even when they don't know what they're doing.

So we tried again…and again. Hammers pounded. Vise grips gripped. We griped. We sweated and did our best impression of someone who knew what they were doing, trying to get that grinder to grind. We even had backseat drivers who seemed to know a lot more about the grinder than we did.

By now, I began to wonder if our scheduled pickup at 9:00 would be anywhere close to the right time. To make matters more complicated, the snow was coming down hard by now, and the lane at David's is rather steep. It's difficult to traverse in dry conditions. If it's snowy and slippery, things can get ugly in a hurry.

We continued to fight with the grinder, the cold sweat dripping from our foreheads.

Then finally someone succeeded in placing what looked like the right parts in the right place, and the first piece of meat was gently tossed into the hopper. It flopped, hopped, and squished and did about anything it could do except come out the front end resembling hamburger. The backseat drivers were all looking at each other with knowing smirks on their faces. So we gave up, and the trek was made to the neighbor's to obtain another meat grinder.

The time was 7:30 when we actually began grinding our meat. At least grinding with the replacement grinder was pretty pain-free. We soon had our task completed and were bagging and putting our prized hamburger into freezer bags.

The problem was a blizzard had begun blowing outside, and we no longer had a way home. So the decision was made to stay overnight and attempt the trip in the morning.

At least we now had time for a leisurely time spent with the stuffer…or so I thought.

I could already taste the canned sausage with mustard, topped with all the trimmings. The stuffer was supposed to produce foot after foot of wonderful sausage. Borrowed as it was from a good friend of mine, I never doubted its abilities. When I had picked up the stuffer, he had assured me that after talking with his dad, everything we needed to make our day of sausage stuffing a success was included in this little gadget. We were ready to roll, he said.

So the first load of sausage was piled into the little press and the pressing began. Some sausage came rolling out of the tube where it was supposed to, but a large amount came puking out of the sides and over the top of the lid. We pushed and pressed on, proceeding to make sausage.

Our efforts were hampered by a plate at the bottom of the press that kept plugging up, and I'll admit that we should have thought things through and left the plate out after unclogging it several times. But how were we to know the press we were using was set up for pressing out fat instead of sausage?

By now it was 10:00, and I remembered Valley Meats and Yoder's Custom Meats. The vision of their smooth operation kept popping
into my tired mind. Finally we all looked at each other and someone said, “Bulk sausage is the way to go. We love sausages on the grill.”

So the sausage stuffer was laid to rest in a corner. We did get some stuffed sausage, but a larger portion was headed for jars and the freezer. Our educational and entertaining day of butchering drew to a close at around midnight. The next morning we enjoyed a delicious breakfast of sausage, eggs, and pancakes with all the trimmings. The great thing about this butchering day was that we are enjoying fresh hamburger and pork at home now.

When I think back, hey…a good time was had by all, and we even learned something in the process! Things don't always have to be trouble free to enjoy God's gift of life that He has given us all.

Spokes and Spooks

Regina Bontrager

They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone (Psalm 91:12).

I
HEAVED A CONTENTED SIGH AND LEANED BACK AGAINST THE BUGGY
seat. My older sister Keturah and I had been pulling weeds from the neighbor's strawberry patch and were now on our way home. My arms ached from all the stretching.

The soothing sound of Lady's hooves on the gravel enhanced my relaxation. Autumn scents filled the air, the colors at their brightest hues. I had enjoyed the busy summer days and warm temperatures, but with winter coming on, I also looked forward to a slower work schedule.

“Well, I wonder how many van loads of Amish came to our garage sale while we were gone?” Keturah wondered aloud as she drew Lady to a halt in front of our gray barn. Mom was hosting a three-day community garage sale in our big shed. She continued, “I'll get Lady in the barn while you take our hoes and pails off the buggy.”

“Sure!” I agreed.

But before I could step out of the buggy, Keturah shouted, “Whoa, Lady! Whoa!”

Lady had gotten spooked. She started to run forward with one of the harness snaps still fastened to the buggy. The harness pulled back across her rump as she took off. Lady panicked and tried to escape what she thought was a crawly creature on her back.

Keturah acted quickly, grabbing for the bridle. “Whoa, Lady! Easy now!” Keturah tried to calm down the horse in reassuring tones.

Still inside the buggy, my eyes were getting bigger as I watched the
action outside. Knowing Lady was a nervous horse, I realized I should get out of the buggy right away. But before I could do so, Lady started going in circles, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Keturah still hung on to the lead strap, yelling, “Whoa!” but to no avail.

Anxious to get out of the buggy, I ventured out onto the step and
bang
! Lady turned sharply, causing the buggy to overturn. I was thrown to the ground and landed hard under the buggy, hitting my head.

“Ohhhh!” I yelled in pain, seeing stars. I lifted the buggy off my head and crawled out from beneath.

In the meantime, Lady's lunging and twisting had torn her harness free. Keturah let go of her, turning quickly toward me when she heard me cry out.

By then I had managed to get to the barn, where I collapsed beside the water hydrant with a loud moan. Completely forgetting about Lady, Keturah raced to where I lay. Kneeling beside me, she anxiously asked, “Regina! Are you okay? Are you alive?”

“I don't know,” I finally responded in a weak voice.

“You'll be okay! You'll be fine!” Keturah kept telling me. She was trying to reassure me, and also her own doubts, I suppose. I know her words helped me relax.

“Where are you hurting?” Keturah asked. “There where your hand is?”

I moaned as tears ran down my cheeks. I couldn't speak because of the intense pain. My head throbbed as if a hammer was pounding on it. “Ohhhh…!” was all the sound I could make.

Keturah, determined to find the source of pain, peeled away my hand from my scalp. “Oh!” She jerked back, then quickly did her best to appear normal, all the while saying, “Regina, don't move! Stay where you are! I'll go get Mom!”

Not move?
I asked myself. Where did she think I would go? Was I okay? That was the important question. I felt suddenly very scared and I sat up. Was I dying? It hurt terribly, but I was still conscious. That was a good sign.

Then I saw a patch of blood on the cement where my head had been. Was I bleeding to death? I felt warm trails of blood trickle down
my face. My hand cautiously approached and touched the soft bulge on my scalp.

Keturah had told me I'd be okay, but how could she know? My thoughts raced. The way Keturah had jumped up and fled for the house made me feel like I was already living on borrowed time. For all I knew, I might be dying. Another mighty blast of pain shot through me. “Oh!” I muttered as I weakly lay down again.

More pangs hit sharply. Time and again, I almost passed out. Where was the help? I screamed as the pain became unbearable. Terrified voices soon broke into my wails. “Regina! What's wrong?”

I peered out from under my arm to see my friend Eunice standing there with a worried look. Her little niece Lois stood beside her, now crying at the sight of my bloody face. They had come to buy eggs and had been drawn to my screaming. I kept on wailing as if I hadn't heard them.

Eunice, seeing that I was breathing and conscious, started running toward the house for help. Just then Mom and my four siblings burst out the door and ran toward me.

“Regina! Regina! Are you okay?” Mom kept calling. “Children, step back so I can get a better look.” Mom took charge, speaking to me soothingly as she washed away the blood. “Oh good. It isn't bleeding anymore,” she said. “Relax, relax, relax. That will help a lot.”

“Dad's home!” The cry rang out as Dad rode in the driveway on his bicycle, returning from his school teaching job. The scene that met him must have been astounding. The whole family on practically one spot by the barn, the neighbor ladies standing off to the side, and the flipped buggy on the other. Bits of harness were strewn in the driveway. And one of the girls had tied the half-harnessed Lady to the hitching post.

Dad had all the information he needed by the time he was off his bicycle.

“I'm going to call Pat,” he said, “and see if he can take us to the emergency room to check this out.” Dad disappeared into the shed where our phone was kept. Pat was a local taxi driver for the Amish. We often hired him when we had to travel distances farther than our horse could handle.

Meanwhile the others helped clean me and prepare me for the trip.
A dark blue head veiling was brought out since the white starched cap was now dirty and dented, with one string torn off. My bare feet were put into Crocs just as Pat came bouncing up the driveway with his truck.

I walked with jittery steps over to the truck and climbed in, with Mom right at my side supporting my head. Dad hopped into the front on the passenger's side, and off we zoomed to the hospital.

The visit to the ER stretched into two hours as they cleaned and checked out the bump on my scalp.

“Well…it looks like a slight concussion and a bad road burn,” the nurse told us. “The X-rays showed no internal bleeding, so you should be fine soon. Here's some medication for the pain, and for the first week you should rest a lot.”

“What a relief it isn't worse!” I remarked to my parents. “I already feel better.” I rejoiced as the nurse bandaged my scalp.

So I spent time on my back the next week as I waited for my head to heal. I was sore all over, but I repeatedly thanked God for His protection of my life.

Beyond the Stars

Wilbur Hochstetler

He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings (Psalm 40:2).

I
T
'
S
5:30
ALREADY
, I
TOLD MYSELF AFTER A QUICK GLANCE AT THE CLOCK
. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door of the shop for home. Joann would have supper ready soon.

The early April sun was fast making its descent after a gorgeous day. The stubborn snow piles still lying in the ditches were giving way to the sun's warmth. God had been good to me for many years now, drawing me to Himself and healing a past I often wished to forget. I shivered as I headed toward the house, feeling the temperatures plunging again.

I paused to watch a log truck roar past, slowing down to turn into our mill yard.
Another load coming in,
I thought. Tomorrow would be a full day again.

I had begun working here 15 years ago, in a business owned by my wife's father and brother. They had taken me on as a partner three years later. We had grown the business over the years until we now put out over 3,000 fence posts a day.

I enjoyed the daily interactions with the workers and customers, so when the two of them moved on to other ventures, another partner and I had taken the operation on.

I watched now as the log truck came to a halt and the driver hopped out to begin unloading the small-diameter logs.

Moments later I pushed the front door to the house open and stepped inside. Joann met me with a smile. “Supper will be ready in forty-five minutes,” she said.

“I'm going to check on the cows,” I said. “Are the boys doing their chores?”

“They are,” she said, “and Jaylin ran in to tell me his rabbit has little ones.”

I grabbed my headlamp and headed for the barn, where I found the boys feeding their rabbits.

“Dad! Flopsy had six babies,” eight-year-old Jaylin announced, hardly able to contain his excitement. I gazed down at the pile of fur. New births on the farm were always exciting events, even if they were only rabbits.

“My rabbit is having her babies tonight or tomorrow,” Jeffery declared, joining us at Flopsy's box.

“That's great,” I told him, turning my attention back to Jaylin. “How do you know how many are in there? All I see is fuzzy white fur.”