My Dearest Naomi

by Jerry

  I’m on the second to last page of my writing tablet, and this would be the second 100-page tablet I have gone through, scribbling on both sides of the page. I’ll need to purchase a new writing tablet, perhaps this time buying one that has pages with lines because how many boys scribble on paper without lines? Plus, that’s what you use.

  Thursday…

  Everyone was supposed to wear a green clothing item at school today for St. Patrick’s day. That was a new one on me, but I wore my green shirt. How cute I must have looked.

  Today there was no letter, but there really wasn’t one due. Just hoping, I guess.

  At noon I made the usual announcement for the game after lunch hour. I said, “We will be playing Cowboys and Indians, and the first graders and me will be the cowboys.”

  Right away I knew that hadn’t been said right, but I hoped no one else noticed. On the way outside, Velma got this grin on her face. “Teacher,” she said, “it’s supposed to be ‘the first graders and I.’”

  “I know,” I said, thoroughly embarrassed. Crystal giggled all the way out the door.

  Saul’s second girl, Amanda, had her first date on Tuesday night with a boy from Arkansas. He has called a few times, Luella said, sort of breaking the ground before traveling up here. I hope they make a success of it. All three of Saul’s girls are nice to be around.

  Marylyn and Janie must have some of the same blood in them that you do. They love to go for walks along the road on cold nights after dark, arm-in-arm, marching between the two farms that must be close to half a mile apart. Luella claims that Saul has told them not to, but they won’t listen. I guess he’s afraid someone will pick them up sometime, but I have a hard time imagining such a thing in this calm farming country.

  We are having a volleyball game tonight. Thankfully this week has gone by faster, mainly because there has been something going every night since Sunday. Now I’m on the verge of losing too much sleep.

  Every week that passes brings me one step closer to seeing you again, and I can hardly wait.

  With many longings to see you,

  Eugene

  March 17

  My dearest Eugene,

  I will try to write slowly before I leave for my babysitting job. I’m not feeling quite up to par yet. Yesterday morning when I got up in time for chores I thought I felt queer and weak. When I looked into the mirror—wow! My face was bright red and felt very hot.

  So I was in bed the whole day, and Mom helped with the chores. I guess the flu is all over the community, as I heard some of the Englisha schools were shut down.

  Tuesday evening Harvey and his wife, along with their young folks, Darrell, and your family, were here. I coughed practically all evening, but I figured it would blow over by morning. Thankfully, the evening only consisted of sitting around the living room talking. About quarter after nine, Harvey said, “Well, we’d better be gettin’ on home.”

  Dad said, “What’s the big rush? You don’t have any cows bellowing in the morning.”

  Harvey said, “No, but I have a wife who does.”

  Anna glared at him while everyone laughed because we all know Harvey doesn’t like to get up in the morning.

  They started talking about how early they get up. Harvey said he has to get out of bed around five or five thirty.

  Dad said, “That’s sounds about right for you, but we farmers have to get up at four thirty.”

  Harvey said, “That’s not true. I don’t believe you.”

  Dad said, “Well, sometimes…like in the summer.”

  “So you’re not getting up at four thirty right now?” Harvey demanded.

  We all laughed as Dad admitted that he wasn’t. Your dad then jumped up and grabbed his coat.

  “We’d better get out of here,” he told your mom. “Before they start asking us what time we get up.”

  They had us all laughing, as you can see, which hurt my head until I had to hold it in my hands.

  Ah, here comes my ride, so I will write more later.

  Friday…

  Today was a much better day even though I was alone at work most of the time. I feel like a firecracker right now, which might explain why the rest of this letter consists of really short paragraphs.

  A wonderful letter was waiting from you when I arrived home. Thank you for the card. You are a pretty marvelous guy, you know.

  About the hairstyle—that lasted only for a few moments, and I don’t think you would have liked it anyway.

  There is good news from Rosanna’s appointment with the heart specialist, Dr. Dickson. She does not have a heart murmur after all. The problem has to do with one of her heart valves. The doctor said a lot of people have the problem, and it’s absolutely nothing to worry about.

  He did notice that she’s very tense and asked her questions about what could be causing it. Rosanna told him that she didn’t know, that perhaps it was just life in general. Anyway, the good news is that there’s nothing to worry about.

  I chored again tonight, even though I still have a cough. Doing the work felt good. I think the smell of the barn has a therapeutic effect on a person when he or she feels low. There’s something about hearing the cows move about with their soft lowing and smelling the fresh silage that makes things right in the world.

  Keep me tuned on what Luella and you pull off next. That treasure hunt was good. I liked how you played along.

  By the way, if you have any cousins we could put with Julia for the table waiter list, that would be fine.

  Sunday is ordnungs church at Richards. Groan.

  I love you,

  Naomi

  March 19

  My dearest Naomi,

  It’s 8:15 on a Saturday evening, and we’re back from a day at the Mennonite Relief Sale in Iowa City. It was a monstrous affair, requiring that we leave the house this morning at 6:30 to be there in time for the duties Lonnie and Luella were assigned. The local church was involved, with some of the young folks taking kitchen duty, but no one had assigned me to anything so I was left to explore all day.

  The Mennonite Central Committee has yearly auctions in the different states where they raise money for their mission activities. They had rented a huge building in downtown Iowa City for the event. There were people running everywhere. Food stands, religious stalls, and auction items were spread out in the domed center.

  I didn’t see any Amish people, but there were Mennonites of all kinds. An older couple had a stall set up with huge posters of nuclear bombs dropping on Hiroshima with “Stop Nuclear Proliferation” written across the top. I didn’t talk with them because they looked a little scary. I didn’t know Mennonites were involved in political issues.

  I went on a book-buying spree since they had several used-book stands around. Now I have a dozen books, which will be a welcome diversion when the weekend comes around. One is a Reader’s Digest condensed book, with a story in it I haven’t read yet. It looks like some sort of a terrorist plot. Probably not something I should be reading, but I’m bored.

  A day like this is hard on me since I see all the delicious food that can’t be eaten. With how much better I feel though, I count the cost and consider the price to be worth it. I did get to eat an excellent plate of cod, but no French fries or potato chips. I had a bowl of salad, which was a poor substitute for the absolutely beautiful and heavenly pecan pies I just walked past. I nearly fainted from desire but kept moving.

  Lonnie nearly moved me to tears at the supper table tonight. He said he looked around several times today and caught sight of me in the crowd. “There goes my boy,” he said to himself.

  Sunday…

  “For God is my record, how greatly I long after you…” This comes from Philippians the first chapter, verse 8, which Stan preached out of today. I know it doesn’t apply the way I used it, but perhaps the great apostle would understand.

  Stan said the apostle Paul could have joy in adverse circumstances even while he was in prison, and that surely prison would be
one of the worst places one could be in.

  Me, being the nasty fellow that I am, asked this question in silence: “What about Iowa?”

  Would you believe that it’s snowing and blowing outside? I have never seen the likes for this time of the year. I see a snow day coming and running my school schedule flat over, leaving me bored to tears while I sit in the house with nothing to do.

  What are you doing today? Do you think of me as much as I do of you? Hardly. That would take a thousand thoughts, all run together until they wrap themselves around each other twice over.

  Tomorrow is the planned day for the sugar camp trip. I wonder if the snowstorm will postpone things. I know the children will be disappointed for sure.

  I have enclosed a crazy little poem. Please don’t laugh, as it’s very boring around here.

  With a dingle and a dong, will I come along,

  On the day that I leave, dear Iowa’s sun.

  With a bang and a clang sounds my voice while I sang.

  Thinking of my Indiana hun’.

  With a hop and a leap will I cross the old creek,

  Where the memories are thick all around.

  With a flap I will fly and sail through the sky,

  And in the fields of your farm come down.

  With love,

  Eugene

  March 21

  My dearest Eugene,

  Well, ordnungs church is over with, and there is bad news. James Yoder and his wife will be excommunicated on communion morning. Besides that, there was the usual ordnung reminders, but I don’t think too many people were listening with that shocker hanging over their heads.

  Bishop Enos told us afterward the vote was unanimous to excommunicate, as both James and Millie now attend regularly at the Englisha church. Apparently it’s not even a regular Englisha church like what Chris Van attends, but some cult-like operation that claims to be the only true church. Some people can really mess up their lives, is all I can say.

  Don and I took Darrell to the youth supper and singing. It was raining most of the day, and Darrell slipped three times trying to climb up the buggy steps. I think he might have been teasing us, but it was funny watching him. Englisha people are much more expressive than the Amish are. Darrell was flapping his arms around after each slip, trying to keep his balance.

  I made a trip to the grocery store in Worthington this morning after I had the laundry pinned on the line. When I returned, a snow shower had come in from the north, turning our wash into a frozen mess. Mom and Rosanna ran out to help me. Together we hauled it all into the basement to dry. The lines aren’t very long down there, so that’s what we’ve been doing all afternoon, keeping the stove hot and changing the laundry. I took the last pieces off a few minutes ago.

  Tomorrow, Dad’s brother Henry and his son from northern Indiana are stopping in for overnight. Henry wrote and made the plans a while back. I think they have business down south somewhere, and it’s too far for a one-day trip.

  I miss you so much. At the singings, once the last song is sung, the steadies go out, bang, bang, bang. The lucky ducks. I get jealous now and then. Oh well. I guess it isn’t too awfully long anymore.

  I love you,

  Naomi

  March 21

  My dearest Naomi,

  This finds us on our way to the Amish community in Fairfield again. Lonnie and Luella wanted to go for the viewing of an older Amish person they know, and I’m going along for lack of anything better to do. They picked me up at the schoolhouse right after 3:30.

  That was a bummer of a letter you sent, all clipped up into small pieces. Was that for saying I was bored or are you becoming another Luella? Her influence apparently reached out to Indiana. She laughed at my misery while I worked at the kitchen table, trying to tape the pieces all back together. At least for my trick you only had to hold my letter up to a mirror. I had to use Scotch tape, and suffered the death of many brain cells while in heavy labor before the rest could receive the tonic of your tender love.

  Luella said that at least there’s no danger of you not being able to handle me, which was apparently a comforting thought to her. I would say from the looks of the incoming fire that she is correct. Please, from now on, only engage the scissors for their proper usage.

  Later…

  We are driving out of a feed mill/country store here in Amish country, and I have made the purchase of a new, black felt hat. They actually had the size rims required by our ordnung, so I will store it safely somewhere for the wedding.

  I expected to pay over $40, but the bill came to $26.25 with tax. That’s still plenty to spend on a hat that can only be worn on Sundays, but so it goes.

  We’re sitting in a restaurant waiting for our orders. The day doesn’t feel complete without having seen you. I can hardly wait until it will be different.

  About my diet. I imagine I will have to stay off of most sugar for the rest of my life, which isn’t a pleasant thought, but perhaps you’ll help me. Ha, ha…

  Besides the sugar, I was supposed to stay off salt for six weeks, and also all meats except chicken and fish. Staying off the salt was really worse than the sugar. But I have been doing that strictly for the assigned time, and I am now allowed to slack off if I want to. Luella and I have had our consultations and plan to allow salt—the absence of which created tremendous cooking problems for her. The sugar restrictions stay, as I never want to go back to feeling like I used to. I had no idea one could feel so levelheaded most of the time.

  Tuesday evening…

  We arrived back after midnight. The viewing was at the person’s home, of course, since it was an Amish funeral. After we passed through the line, Lonnie and Luella stayed for a while to visit. They had a group of young folks come in and sing Englisha songs for an hour. Their singing wasn’t quite like home, since they didn’t sing in parts like we do in special circumstances. When the girls go high, most of the boys can’t follow, which creates its own unique sound. Sort of a cross between a file on metal and a dog with his tail caught in the door. You can’t quite get that male bellow in gear like you can with the German songs on Sunday mornings.

  By the way, April 22 is the anniversary of our engagement. It will have been a whole year, and I won’t even be home to celebrate with you.

  I noticed at the viewing how different the Amish boys who are in rumspringa look compared to ours. They have long hair down to their shoulders. Some even have what the Englisha call afros—I think—great fluffy expansions of hair that circle the head, as if a pumpkin had been carved out and perched over the ears.

  We didn’t do the maple sugar camp tour yesterday on account of snow and cold. It has been rescheduled for next Monday, but who knows with this weather.

  Larry wasn’t in school on Monday. His brother Byron claimed he had a setback, but he was perfectly healthy last week, so how could it have been a setback? What probably really happened is that there’s a new batch of chickens on the farm to tend.

  Next Monday night is school board meeting, and I will find out then when my homecoming date is. I hope for good news.

  A boy from one of the neighboring Mennonite churches has offered to take me on a day trip into Chicago for a Saturday of sightseeing. He must know I’m bored and had his compassion stirred. We are scheduled to leave at 6:30, and we are coming back whenever we’re done.

  This Friday will be another school auction similar to the one when you visited before Thanksgiving. Only larger this time, from the sounds of it. It’s the school’s main source of funds for operations. I must say, the last one was an awful lot of fun, plus you were here.

  Remember the board I made for the last auction? It was shaped like the state of Iowa and had all of this year’s schoolchildren’s names burned into it? It sold for $85 in the last auction. I’m making another one. My contribution to the cause, so to speak.

  I was planning to make an extra board to permanently hang on the schoolhouse wall when someone suggested that one should be made for all the
school years back to 1957. That’s a good idea but outside of my ability. So I will leave the project alone, and will also not hang one on the wall lest someone think one year is being exalted above the others.

  Love you,

  Eugene

  March 23

  My dearest Eugene,

  Good morning. It’s beautiful and cold. Henry and his son, Isaac, were here for the night and left early this morning. I made popcorn for them and served cider. They had already eaten supper when they arrived around 7:00. It was good to have them here, and good listening to Dad and his brother talking. I liked the chatter of their voices more than anything, since they didn’t really say much beyond catching up on the news from people they both know.

  Isaac played a game of chess with me. The boy is a whiz and beat me soundly in forty-five minutes. Too bad he doesn’t live around here so I could learn from him.

  Rosanna went to the hospital for an electrocardiogram of her heart. This was to confirm Dr. Dickson’s diagnosis of a prolapsed valve, which proved to be correct. They knew the valve was nothing to worry about, and the test was simply a double check.

  I find your problems with the eighth-grade girls amusing, and now Velma has joined in. There’s no worry really. Girls are temperamental. It’s the afflictions of our femininity. Maybe God didn’t want men to have things too easy.

  Why in the world do you think you have to change the lines on your letter writing paper? I don’t mind your writing at all. In fact, I think you write neater than any boy’s writing I have seen. Anyway, I don’t think boys should write as nicely as girls. It wouldn’t be right. And if you like pages without lines, I don’t see any reason why you should change. The important thing is that I couldn’t do without your letters, so however you write—don’t stop.

  I miss you,

  Naomi