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Yesterday was Certain Man’s birthday.

I pulled out a brown manilla envelope that his sister, Lena, had sent several years ago containing the copied pages of a notebook that we had found when we were cleaning out his parent’s house when they moved to a nursing home.  It held vital information about my husband that went unknown for half a century.  Literally.

When Ralph Yutzy’s young wife, Katie Kauffman Yutzy, died one May morning in 1958, she left behind five children; Lena (10) Rachel (9) Joseph (7) Daniel (4) and Ruthie (2).She also left behind a grief stricken husband who couldn’t function without her.  He knew she had this information written down somewhere, but he didn’t know where.  And he didn’t remember a lot of the details.  Daniel started school, went through elementary school, went to junior high, and eventually to high school.  When he turned 16, he wanted his license, but they could not find a birth certificate for him.  The bureau of motor vehicles said that he had to have a birth certificate to get his license.  So he and his father went down to the bureau of vital statistics to procure one.  There was no record of his birth.  At all.  So they said that his mother had to sign that he was, in fact, born on August 14, 1953, and that he was her son and that she could swear solemnly affirm that it was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  And then he could have a birth certificate.

But his mother wasn’t living.  And his father didn’t know where she had written everything down.  So they needed to get school records and who knows what else, to verify that he was, in fact, born.  And since there was no record of his birth, the magistrate told him that he could name himself whatever he wanted.  In keeping with his family tradition, he did not have a middle name, rather used the initial, “R” (in deference to his father’s name “Ralph”) in the place of a middle name.  However, there was another Daniel R. Yutzy, the very same age, on the same mail route, and after discussion, Daniel and his father decided to use the initial “J” instead of “R.”  I’m not sure of why, but I am very sure there was a reason.  To this day, Daniel insists that he told them “just the initial,” but when his birth certificate came, It was all spelled out, Daniel Jay Yutzy.  And so that is what it has legally been ever since.

Cleaning out the house, though, in November of 2009, we came across the spiral notebook where Katie had written about each of their five children.  Lena, showing much foresight, copied off the pages that pertained to each individual child and sent the copies to each one.  Yesterday morning, I pulled the copies out to look over the details concerning Daniel’s birth.

Our Fourth Baby. (She wrote.)
Was born at Marysville Hospital;
By: Dr. Herman E. Karrer.
Named Daniel R. Yutzy, Born; August 14-1953
At 11:50 A.M. weigh 9 lbs.  Length 21½ inches

There followed a listing of all the visitors that she had with the new baby, and she made a note that she was sharing a room with “Noah Lovina Beachy”– room 57.  (Lovina would eventually become a sister in law to Katie’s husband, Ralph, when twenty-eight months after her death, he married Sue Beachy, a sister of Lovina’s husband, Noah.  And this baby, now Wilma Troyer, would become a favorite, “almost a twin” cousin to Daniel.)  There were two pages of visitors, including many people from both families.  (Ralph’s parents, Emery and Florence Kramer Yutzy and Katie’s parents, Sylvanus and Lizzie Beachy Kauffman.)

And then there was a list of his childhood illnesses:
Daniel started with the whooping cough in May, 1954, at the age of 10 months.
Daniel had the measles on April 2, 1956, at the age of 2 yrs.
Daniel had the mumps, February 24, 1958, on both sides.

Less than three months after her last entry on Daniel’s page, she was gone, her conscientious records lost in the shuffle of the coming years.  I look at these careful entries and wonder about the woman who loved my husband first, and the woman that he has always wished to know.  He can’t remember what she was like.  His memories are few and sketchy, and the ensuing years were difficult and sad. He learned early to just “put his head down and push through” the unpleasant things in his life.  After she was gone, he doesn’t remember ever being hugged, ever being told he was loved, ever feeling like he was wanted just for being himself — until we found each other. This husband of mine — whose love language is touch, who has sought relationship with his children over having them agree with his every thought, who loves his siblings and his nephews and nieces and their families with unaffected enthusiasm — this man has made choices that have put him where he is today.

I can’t believe that he is 62.  He is strong and resourceful and cheerful and kind.  Most of the time, anyhow. He loves children — especially his grandchildren, gardening, nature, our church, and even working!  And even though he works too hard, he is always ready to drop things to help a neighbor or someone in distress.  I love him intensely, but even more importantly, I have a profound respect for him.  His abilities are endless.  He can figure things out that make me scratch my head.  He isn’t perfect, I know, but he’s one of the most interesting men I have every encountered, and I am never bored.

Happy Birthday, Daniel.

I still choose you.

Yoder Breakfast
07-19-06

On Wednesday mornings, various of the males of the Yoder family get together for breakfast.  Some time ago, our cousin, Joe Bontrager and his fair wife, Gloria, hatched a plan to have us all come to Uncle Eli’s house in celebration of the 88th birthday of both Aunt Ruth (July 16th) and Uncle Eli (July 20th) on the Wednesday that fell between those two days.  Another milestone celebrated in April was their 65th wedding anniversary.

Uncle Eli and Aunt Ruth at the breakfast table, talking to my sweet Mama.

I don’t remember what was funny, but here the second and third generations enjoy a chuckle. (Or is it third and fourth?  Someone help me here!)
Christina Bontrager, Esther Leese, Ilva Hertzler

 
For all I know, this could have been the same chuckle, because this was the other side of the table.
Gloria Bontrager, Frieda Yoder, Christina Bontrager

 
I hate it that Joan had her eyes closed on this picture because she looked so GOOD this morning.
(Oh, well, she still looks good, even with her eyes closed!)
You can just see Esther over there to the left, and Gloria sneaked in here beside her daughter, Sherrie, and then, of course, it’s Joan Mills

 
In Uncle Eli’s sunny dining room, left to right was Dave Hertzler in the blue shirt.  Next is Joe Bontrager (Celebrating his birthday, too. 60 years!  I don’t see how anyone who looks so young could be sixty!  It must be Gloria’s good care.) There is an empty chair there beside Aunt Dottie.  Uncle John had just gone into the kitchen to pass on greetings from Uncle David to those congregating there.  And at the end is Aunt Dottie.

 
Ken’s youthful wife, Kathy, sitting beside my brother, Clint.  Mama was getting ready to leave to go to our house to do CORN (of all things!) so she was saying her goodbyes.  I understand that Clint’s behavior went slightly downhill after she left.  Maybe she should have stayed and kept an eye on him.

It is my understanding that that misbehavior was egged on by the young man on your right, Ken Yoder, hisself.  Yes, sir!  He is talking to Uncle Daniel, very sedately and calmly.  But don’t let that fool you. We of the family all know that genial, engaging exterior is but temporary.  But what would we do without Ken???  Smile less, I am sure, but maybe worry less, too.  Beside Uncle Daniel is Uncle Jesse and then Aunt Gladys.

One last picture of the kitchen gals.  I am including this one because I believe it is the only one that captured Lucy.  She looked great, too.  So perky and trim.  Here the cousins, Ilva, Joan and Lucy enjoy the “after breakfast” conversation.  It was a sweet time, and we missed those who couldn’t be there.  Maybe next time???
(I surely hope so!)

        And then it was time to get home and get on that last day of corn.  But the good time gave me energy and the memories made my heart light as I went back home to the job that was waiting.  I am so thankful for my aunts and uncles and cousins and the in laws that have come into our family.  I am thankful for the fourth generation of young people that are coming on, many of them committed Christians, and concerned about living the life of the Lord Jesus to the world around us.
I confess that I missed my Daddy very much that morning.  He loved getting people together for Wednesday morning breakfasts, and he reveled in being in the presence of his brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces.  I came down the road to Shady Acres and cried some tears for what was missing there that day.   But while that almost kept me away, I am glad that I went.  The memories of him are sweet, and being with our family brings them back with new clarity.  And that is a good gift.  Thank-you, my family.

The summer evening is perfect.  Certain Man invites Delaware Grammy to go for a ride with him on the golf cart. Our only Granddaughter is chomping at the bit, dancing in eager anticipation.  She knows is fairly certain that she is going along.

There is a little guy here tonight.  He has a new baby brother and his Auntie Chris is babysitting for him while his Daddy is visiting his Mommy.  He had his turn to observe this new blip on his horizon, but he was more troubled by his Mommy being in the hospital bed than he was impressed with the beautiful baby brother.  He is always up for a tussle with Uncle Daniel, and tonight they run around in the way that Certain Man always does with little people.  I love how Certain Man is fully engaged as he tosses and hides around the corner to jump out and tickle and laugh.  He just likes little ones so much!

Charis is pensive.  She sidles up to her Mama and whispers, “I don’t think Grandpa likes me any more because he is being so nice to Jamison!”  I notice the whispering, and Christina tells me what is worrying Charis’ little head.

“What???” Says Grammy, more than a little indignantly. “You KNOW that isn’t true, Charis-girl!  Grandpa loves you just the same.  Besides.  Who is going along on the golf cart ride?”

“I am, but — ”

“Oh, Charis-girlie!  You don’t need to worry.  Grandpa loves you!”

Her little face was a mask of worry, and she shrugged her shoulders, unconvinced.  I heard a deep sigh.

Then Grandpa took matters into his own hands and said, “Are you ready?  Let’s go do the golf cart ride!”

She jumped up, ready to go!  But then little Jamison doesn’t want to be left out!  He begins prancing around, clapping his little hands and saying what sounds like “Me, me, me!”

“Aw, he wants to go, too,” says his Auntie Chris.  Charis looks a bit taken aback, but her cute little cousin wins her over, and she decides that we should take him, too.  She and Grandpa decide who is going to ride where, and we pile on.  Grandpa drives, Jamison is squished between us, and Charis rides in the back, giving directions.

(Not exactly a flattering picture, but oh, well–)

“But don’t go through the woods, Grandpa,” she instructs.  She has lately taken a dislike for the neighboring tree farm, a tangle of undergrowth and vines.  Certain Man has an understanding with the neighbors, and there are quiet paths and a sort of almost sinister beauty among the tall trees.

“Oh, Charis,” says Grandpa emphatically.  “We have to go through the woods!  It isn’t any fun if we don’t go through the woods.”

He heads out across the lawn at a fast clip, and she says, “Grandpa, Grammy’s gonna’ fall off!  Be careful!”

“Oh, she’s okay,” says this Grandpa on a roll.  “She won’t fall off!”

“I’ll hold on to her,” announces a voice behind me and I feel a little hand take a less than secure hold on mine.  I look back and see that she isn’t holding on to anything besides my hand.

“Hang on, Charis!” I tell her.  “Hold on tight!  Grandpa is driving fast!”  We make a sharp turn into the woods and I look back to see a look of dismay on her face.  “Hon–” I speak quietly to the brash navigator.  “Our girlie is worried.”  Then over my shoulder, I ask, “Hey, Charis!  Do you want to come up here with us?”

“Yes, I do,” came the instant reply.

“Just wait until I get up here to the edge of the woods, Charis,” says her Grandpa.  “That way you won’t need to walk on the weeds or through any brush to get around.”  Back out of the woods and into the sunshine, he stops and she clambers to the front.  “Where are you going to sit?” He asks her.

“On Grammy’s lap,” she asserts while doing just that.  And now we are off in the direction of the neighbors sunflower field.  The weeds are growing as thick there as the flowers, but we stop and Charis looks for the “perfect” one to pick for “Auntie Karen.”

We try hard to get Jamison to help find a flower, too, or to even just stand by one that is his size for the sake of a picture, but he wants nothing of it.  He marches right back to the golf card and climbs back in.  He isn’t able to quite get up on the seat, so he plants himself on the floor, ready to ride some more.

Well, that’s okay with the powers that be.  Charis has three flowers and she is ready to go.  Grammy is just along for the ride, so she is okay with going.  Our fearless Chauffeur makes sure we are all in our places and heads out for a few more quick turns and sharp ditch banks, enjoying the protests from his girls with that amused look on his face.  And then it is back to the farmhouse at Shady Acres.  The night is coming in, and Grandpa wants to work in the next  door trailer for a while yet tonight.  Charis is spending the night here at Grandpa and Grammy’s house, and Jamison’s Daddy will be by to pick him up after a while.

Delaware Grammy listens to the evening sounds of a family settling in for the night.  There is a bath in the laundry sink for a little guy, and a sleeping bag spread out for a tired girlie.  Certain Man and Youngest Daughter head out to try to get a little bit of work done at the trailer while the night is still somewhat young. Jamison has a story and devours some fruit snacks and animal crackers.  In the distance, I hear Nettie’s television, probably tuned to Family Feud while she sleeps in her chair.  Cecilia coughs to remind me that she needs to be taken to bed.  Charis is sleeping soundly now, and Caleb comes to pick up his boy, so Christina heads home.  The house is quiet except for the ticking clocks and occasional chime.

So many things to be happy about.  Family, little ones, quiet conversations, adventures that are especially suited for a Grammy as well as the little ones, love, and sweet, sweet memories of other times and other places.

For all of this, and so much more, my heart gives grateful praise.

One of the things that is sometimes hard to assimilate is how life goes on after life changing events.  Things continue to happen, the world doesn’t stop turning and the sun comes up each morning. It’s strange how things can be so different, and yet life keeps calling our attention and it isn’t always gentle about giving us time to think about how different things really are.

Over the intense time of Mama’s illness and death, one of our little beef calves started to look a little peaked, and had intestinal issues.  Certain Man came into the house greatly concerned one morning and said, “It looks just like the ones that died last year.  I can’t figure it out.  They’ve been weaned for a month, on pasture for that long, and now this one comes down with something.”

He started right away to treat it with the usual treatment for calves with diarrhea, but nothing seemed to help.  Then the second one came down with the same thing.  Certain Man called the vet, and got medication, and continued to treat and worry and worry and treat.  All to no avail.  The first one died Tuesday morning, and the second one last night.  The third one, who looked great throughout it all, started with the same symptoms last evening.  This morning he wouldn’t get it up. He looked pretty good — alert and perky, but just lay in the isolation pen that Certain Man had fashioned for him, all comfortable in the straw.  As the day wore on, he seemed less interested in life around him.

Certain Man is greatly discouraged.

Somewhere along the line last night I realized that he was blaming himself for this whole scenario.  Daniel, who tries so hard with his animals and all of his farm, can just about not take it when something is wrong that he cannot figure out.  He goes over and over every possibility, tries to find the answers, thinks and thinks and thinks.  Sometimes he reads labels and tosses the bottles across the room in frustration because he just. cannot. understand. the jargon.  Or what it is that is needed, for that matter.

This morning he spent time on the phone with his farmer friends, the Department of Ag,  and the Animal Medic and then went again to try to find something to help.  He really wants to save this last calf, but he honestly doesn’t have a lot of hope.  I look at the slump of his shoulders, and see him sit with his head in his hands, trying to figure something out, but also dealing with what, to him, is more than a monetary loss.  Daniel likes his little animals, and he also likes to raise healthy, quality animals that he turns into an edible blessing for many others.  He has been raising calves for 20 years.  I can only imagine the frustration he is feeling with this situation.

And so, he is trying another recommended remedy.  The little one doesn’t seem much better this evening, but he doesn’t really seem worse.  That could be a bad sign, though,  The night hours are hard on sick calves.  At least it isn’t as hot as it had been.

And so life goes on at Shady Acres.  The trailer home that housed our friends who had rented from us for over 20 years was vacated over the time of Mama’s illness and death, and H. and C. flew out of the country to Guatemala.  It was a sad night when they came to say their final good-bye, and it seemed almost unfair that I didn’t have more time to give to them with their pending departure.  The last night, as they were leaving, I stood in the garage, the tears falling fast.  And then I heard my friend as she walked across the lawn one last time to her house.  She was sobbing out loud, the noise of her sorrow came floating back to me, and I felt as if my heart would break.  Ah, the memories we hold from their years as our next door neighbors are sweet and good, and I hated to see them go.  But Lupe and her husband, Ervin, have been making a place ready, and I know they will enjoy life there with their daughter and her husband and the two grandchildren that they have never seen. It will be okay.  I think.

We’ve been busy in the trailer.  About once a day, someone stops to ask if it is rented.  My heart aches to tell them that it has, in fact, been rented.  This evening a young hispanic mama with three littles stopped and asked about renting it.  I looked at the three little faces, so reminiscent of the faces of years ago and wished that there were five trailers that I could rent for the people that are so in need in our world.  The trailer isn’t livable right now, anyhow,  because there are renovations going on inside.  The thing is, some of these people would take it just the way it is and it would be better than what they have.  I’ve stopped over occasionally to take a look and it still is going to take some work, but it is coming along.  Our new renters,  Mary Beth Sharp and Preston Tice have a little over two weeks until their wedding, so we are really trying to stay on target and keep things moving.  What has been done looks nice, but there is some (lots) of old water damage that will take some work, floors to replace and painting to do. I was desperately discouraged at first because of the short time frame, but was reassured by the “about to be marrieds” that they, with help from their families, were up to the challenge.  It’s good to see young people with dreams and enthusiasm and starry eyes.

We are also planning for the annual Fourth of July picnic,  Certain Man says it will be on its regular day — July 4th, Saturday this year.  So everyone is welcome.  I do appreciate knowing who is coming — especially children so I know how to figure prizes and such.  (Oriental Trading Post, Dollar General and even Wally’s World, here I come!)

The one thing we really need for the picnic yet is someone with a lot more youth and a lot less creaking in the joints than this Delaware Grammy.to organize the games and relays  So if coming up with with these sorts of things is down your alley, let me know and we will certainly work something out.  It would be especially nice to have volunteers to fill the water balloons.  This task is one that provides enjoyment to so many people, (especially the children) but is not one that I can easily fit into the hours before the celebration.

The same guidelines apply as always have:  We furnish hotdogs, hamburgers, paper products, condiments and some of the drink.  We are also looking to crank or electric freeze some ice cream to finish things off.  Bring potluck picnic foods, anything that you would like to have at a picnic..

So come on out — bring your friends and the kids in your life.  We plan to have the little train, “the Jones Express” running for the kids.  There are horseshoes, and cornhole and whatever else gets brought along.  We’ll be glad to have people bring outdoor games for sharing.  Time:  anytime after 3pm for fun and games, with the eating around 5:30-6-ish.

. . . and so life goes on at Shady Acres, while my heart gives grateful praise.