Kindred spirits

Whenever Erna and I meet, she reveals something new about her family history.

For example, she invited me to her home yesterday to review her memoir in progress. Nothing excites and enriches my life more than to hear her personal story, her village’s flight from Romania during Nazi occupation during World War II.

An ancient, pervasive narrative of good over evil.

As translating the German language into written English is tricky, it is my pleasure to encourage Erna’s progress, and offer technical help. Thus, I’m learning the dramatic details of her family’s escape to safety.

For instance, to view her treasured publications that speak of the village her family left behind causes me to marvel at God’s grace and mercy.

To hear Erna say, “The town crier warned us of danger and to flee. We left our homes, vineyards, and farms behind,” I sense the drama of imminent death.

I’m tempted to wrap my arms around my friend and cry for what her family and people lost.

Yet, I want to stand to my feet and shout with joy. For, after three years of no word of him, Erna’s father at last reunited with her family in Austria.

They migrated to America as passengers on the General Langsit Naval ship, a most significant scene within her lifetime.

Truly, what would my life, this community, this state of Michigan, be today without Erna’s family to enrich the individual and the whole?

What their enemy meant for evil, God used for their good. America’s good.

My good.

For Erna’s family, evangelical Lutherans, fled Romania at age nine with farming and gardening knowledge she has since shared with her church members and countless others throughout her adult life.

Likewise, when my parents left the McCoy farm in Appalachia, I carried the passion for farming in my bones.

Thus, Erna and I believe God ordained the day we met in Romeo. For my home wouldn’t bloom as it does without her ready hands and strong back.

For instance, last spring, Erna pried loose an obstinate poison ivy vine from between two boulders in my backyard garden. “Do you have a plastic bag?” she asked.

Post haste, I retrieved her request. With utmost patience and skill, Erna wrapped the plastic bag around the root of the toxic vine and extracted it from my lilies.

Perhaps overcoming tribulations in her youth produced such determination and mastery in Erna’s work.

After she graduated from Detroit’s Denby High School, she completed the beautician’s course and for five years worked in Detroit’s Edward Neppy beauty salon as a beautician.

This explains why I’ve never seen a hair out of place in Erna’s coiffure.

“When Wally and I married, I’d saved enough money for a down payment on our first house,” Erna said.

Fulfilling their dream, they later moved to Romeo nearby her parents where they planted a vineyard. Erna hoed and weeded the earth as she learned in Romania.

Dear Reader, in 2004 Erna carried her hoe into my first lavender patch.

Another dream fulfilled.

Another gift of friendship from a kindred spirit.

Contact Iris at irisfarmletters@gmail.com