Author Archives: Berniece

The river appears moody this morning as we pass alongside it on the Metro North train to Poughkeepsie. Gray, clear, gray, and grayer on the width of it right to the hills on the opposite shore. A mist hangs over the hills. A barge pushed by a tug plies the waters. I see the Point at Croton Park and think about scrambling down the slope to throw stones into the water, or maybe, to pick up colored glass.

For two hours we’ll ride beside this river, one of the prettiest train rides in America. Domino Sugar borders the river in Yonkers, and a notorious prison in Ossining.

“Cortlandt Station will be next.” It’s the only station on this line that doesn’t have a view of the river. Tarrytown, Peekskill, Garrison, Cold Spring, Beacon . . . We sold our car in 2005 and began to ride the train. Since then we’ve become acquainted with these towns that border the River. Their parks, hiking trails, coffee shops, and unique stores charm us. Most importantly, the train takes us to Poughkeepsie where our friends live and where we can do the Walkway Across the Hudson.

Seasons come and go along the river. The new green of spring gives way to the verdancy of summer, the color of fall, and the bareness on the hills in winter. The sun beams a path on the water and then slips behind the hills as we ride back into the city.

“Manitou will be next,” a stop for hikers only. Soon we’ll see the flagpole at Bear Mountain Inn, the ruins of Bannerman Castle, the fortress of Westpoint, and the island where the sisters lived who wrote the song, “Jesus loves me.”

“Yes, Jesus loves me!” Safe travels. Berniece

I thought about the many miles of trails Laurence and I have hiked together while we walked on a wooded path in Forest Park last evening. Laurence’s family has a saying about Dad hiking “Clifty at fifty.” We hiked at fifty and have kept on hiking though we’re past sixty. However, we’re more cautious. (I have a rod in one leg and don’t want one in the other.) We go slower, rest more, use hiking poles, and avoid the most difficult trails.

Laurence and I spent Sunday night in Overlook Lodge at Bear Mountain. Monday, we hiked to the top. The path is part of the Appalachian Trail, and we met a couple thru hikers. They had walked 1,400 miles from the starting point in Georgia. One man told us he began walking the trail on March 9.

An Asian man who stopped to let us by said, “I really admire you.” That encouraged me, and so I tried to pass it on by telling some young ladies who looked winded as we passed them, “If I can make it, you can.”

I got stuck writing about Bear Mountain, but other favorite trails stick in my mind: Lonesome Lake in the White Mountains, Coot Hill in the Appalachians, and recently Rainbow Gulch in Woodland Park, CO.

Trails keep us sane for the craziness of city life. (Like the kaboom we heard one morning this week. A hospital employee Laurence recognized ran the stop sign outside our place. She hit a van. It flipped. The two little boys inside were sitting on the curb when I got out there. No one was hurt.) From Queens to the Pacific Crest Trail 😅, Laurence and I want to keep walking together.

What trails do you enjoy? Only one really matters! Berniece

6:12 a.m. June 17 Elmhurst Avenue Subway Station while waiting on a train to take me to work. I hear the sound. I see the lights. The R train approaches. “This is a Manhattan bound local train. Stand clear the closing doors.” (We joke we’ll be saying this in the Manor: “Stand clear the closing doors.”)

I’ve had almost twenty-four years of riding the early morning Saturday train. It’s ordinary life, but still I feel humbled that I have this blessing of being with people of every tribe and nation. People God loves. (Ok. So I’m a little bugged how the men pushed past me onto the subway car and took all the remaining seats. This isn’t Kansas.)

Each bench seat holds six adults. They are rather squished together in this post pandemic time. One in six wears a mask. A man without a home curls down on half a bench. Some sleep. Some play games. A man reads. I catch eyes looking at me that quickly turn away when I happen to glance at them.

“This is Roosevelt Island.” Have a good day. God loves you. Berniece

Sunshine glints through the trees onto the park bench where I sit. Birds chirp. The dogwood’s flowers are greenish now. However, it’s a city scene of small stores, Thai restaurants, a subway station, traffic, trash trucks, and parents walking their children to school.

In the park/playground, eight women dressed in red, exercise to music I don’t understand. The large group of South Korean ladies moves in harmony in another area to different music. Beside me, a lone Chinese man slowly points a sword in his alone dance. Behind me, music begins – a lonesome wailing. I hear a fan pop 🪭 and move to watch the five women, each with two fans, slowly wave, close, and pop open the deep blue, bright red and white, and yellow fans. Such a pretty sight!

Little children swing. The park employees clean. Lone people exercise. There are other groups. Music throbs. A bicyclist passes through, and (no kidding) a man trims his toenails (we live our lives in the open in NYC).

I used to bring Little Bee here. (I miss her.) One time her and I met a Christian outreach team from Guntersville, Alabama, here. They knew about The Barn that our friends rent out. Anything is possible in this small park just two blocks from home. Tibetans dance Wednesday evenings. Competitive basketball games happen on Sunday. The best hacky sack guys play here most evenings. There’s a volleyball net and a ping pong table. Drunk bums hang out here; church groups show compassion to these.

Come and see! Berniece

We’re on the Q53 bus, passing under the J train station at Myrtle Avenue. Laurence tells me that if we got off here, we could buy cheese perogies like grandmas at a European market. He went there one Saturday when I was working.

“Iglesia Christiana Jesus Vive,” reads the storefront church sign outside the window. The young husband and father besides me works hard and his head falls towards my shoulder as he slumbers on the bus. Laurence is bouncing in the back row. The family is exiting at the next stop, so he moved up beside me. Some get off. Others get on here at the A train stop, and a Muslim couple dressed in white walks down the street. I wonder what white signifies.

We’re coming to Howard Beach where we’ve stopped with friends at New Park Pizza after an outing to the sea. We’ve celebrated at Lenny’s an Italian restaurant in Howard Beach. The Italians are family oriented and fun, but sadly they also have a label for being prejudiced.

The Bay. O the Bay. I stop writing when we reach the bay. Across the way, planes take off from JFK. Fishermen fish and sometimes, we see kite sailing.

Next stop: “Jamaica Wildlife Refuge.” That wild, serene place brings peace to the chaos of city living. This is our destination tonight. Berniece

I do not know why we were gifted four days alone in Colorado. We didn’t anticipate such, nor did we desire it, but it happened. The plane landed in Denver, and we drove away from the airport to a state park in a new Toyota mini van. We spent our time outdoors, awed by the beauty of mountains and red rocks, gulches running with water, and hiking trails through Aspen groves. We walked on a mesa and saw rainbows. Lightning split across the sky. Old timers told us Colorado was greener than it had been in 15 years. The peace of God truly restored my soul in a place of such majesty and quietness.

We found God’s people in a Denver guesthouse where we worshipped on Sunday along with the houseparents and seven youth girls. It was a secure place and we’ll long remember the blessing of fellowship. (We relate to mission settings.)

Afterwards, we went to Kansas. That’s where the relatives are. It will always be home (to me). I like to sit on my folks’ front porch and ponder how l walked through the halls of the overgrown hospital across the way. The hospital’s windows are darkened and ghostly.

My dad came home from the hospital the day before we arrived. We spent quality time with them and also with Laurence’s parents at the Manor. Tea on Main, meeting the Penners twice in a barn setting, my family stopping by, visits with cousins, reading to the great nephews, biking around Halstead, and bumping into unexpected friends, etc., made for a wonderful time.

The plane landed at LGA and shortly we were home in Elmhurst. The best place of all. Friday we boarded the Rockaway Ferry at Wall Street for a 55-minute ride to the beach. We walked in the sand and ate empanadas on the boardwalk. Waves dashed against the shore; the grandeur of the sea made it seem like it is the best place to be.

The air has cleared. Customers at the farmer’s market today commented, “It was like the end of the world. The most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.”

Now I need to take care of the two quarts of dill pickles I’m making with the small local cucumbers from the market. Thank you for being interested. Berniece

We are leaving the sea for the mountains. The sea calms me. I walked a mile on the beach and boardwalk one morning this past week. The blue expanse stretches into infinity. The tide rises and falls in a precision set in order at Creation; therefore, I am humbled by God’s order, and I’m able to believe in His control. Not only believe, but to rest and be still.

I recall the carefree days spent with Bee on Rockaway Beach: dipping in the water, building sand castles, flying a kite. I remember her saying while holding the kite string, “This is the funnest day of my life.” I could agree. Bee and I like to eat chicken empanadas at one of the colorful picnic tables on the boardwalk, overlooking the sea.

The full moon cast a luminous glow on the waves as we stepped onto the boardwalk. A young man said, “If only _ was here.” There’s a romance about the ocean. (He has been happily married for many years to that sweet girl.)

A sea sunrise should not be missed. Perhaps, it’s my favorite time to stand on the shore, and I remember gathering with the writing group, coffee mugs in hand, watching the orange ball rise over the horizon at Myrtle Beach. Beach time is bonding time. (Not everyone appreciated the sand drug into the vacation rental.)

Why go to the mountains? Look for me on the beach this summer. Berniece

Benn and Sundaymar brought their daughter, little Berniece, to the city to celebrate her nineth birthday. Last night we ate scrumptious cupcakes that Bee helped Grandma Marilyn decorate (I’m big Bee. She’s little Bee.) It was a fun party. However, I do not do Saturday evening supper company because I am completely exhausted after a work day at the market. But Bee is very dear to me, and I had exactly enough food left from Thursday evening’s supper guests for last evening. Happenstance? No. God knew.

The Benns came to church in the city today. (They live in Mifflinburg.) We have a friendly 10 year old young man in town with his mother. The mother, Beth, is a cousin to the missionary’s wife, Marilyn. The young man, Baine, is playing Michael Jackson on Broadway. (I think he must be a very good actor. I had the privilege of teaching him in Sunday School this morning.) The story I heard in the church foyer this morning is that Brother Benn picked up Baine and Beth from the airport when he had a call to transport a client last November when he came into the city. This morning Benn and Baine met at Sugar Hill Mission, and they both remembered that they’d met before. Coincidence? No. God’s plan. Amazingly, God also had Beth rent an Airbnb near the mission. Beth did not know when she rented it that she had a cousin in the city, nor how close she’d be living to her.

My father fell and couldn’t get up. My mom could not get him up. Just then my brother walked in. He called the ambulance. Did he just happen to walk in? No. God planned his steps. God is watching over Dad in Newton Medical. Tonight you can say a prayer for Dad.

Brother Benn told us this morning of his journey to the mission at Sugar Hill. His name was posted in a Liberian newspaper that he’d been shortlisted to come to America. He didn’t know. His sister-in-law read Benn’s name in the newspaper. God brought him and Sundaymar to America. He found Sugar Hill Mission online. He called. Sister Yvette answered and told him he is welcome to come to church. Benn and Sundaymar are our brother and sister and our friends. They gave me Berniece. We both love bubble tea and the beach. God’s providence is marvelous.

In what ways have you experienced God’s providence? Berniece

I’m looking past the red fire escape to rooftops with brown shingles, and on to the treetops wearing the new green of spring. I hear a siren near the hospital and small noise from the neighbor’s apartment. I visited with Carlos the neighbor one day this week. He told me his wife is a queen, that he sees how much Laurence and I love each other, and how he likes the singing coming from our apartment. Thank you for the music Jerrold and Jan, Todd and Donna, and Stan and Marilyn.

The Irishman in the elevator today told me, “It’s sure hot out.” Earlier the building superintendent inquired how I’m doing, and then he also remarked about the heat. Laurence says New Yorkers take to the cold better than the heat.

Laurence and I had chicken salad/cranberry wraps in Forest Park Thursday evening. Friday evening, we dined with friends at Kingsland Point Park in Sleepy Hollow. We talked and walked, ate and played there by the Hudson River. I am mystified at why two baseballs landed in the river. The sun slipped behind the hills and darkness fell as Laurence and I walked the mile alongside the river back to the train station at Tarrytown. Words do not suffice to write of the beauty of the view from a landscaped park by a lighthouse on the Hudson. Lights twinkled in the hills opposite the river and the lavenders (Laurence says blues) and greens of the Tarrytown bridge reflected in the water. These sights will keep us in NYC, I thought as we rolled along on Metro North into Grand Central.

I rode with Todd and Donna to the park last evening. I’d been in Poughkeepsie for a writing class with Elizabeth and Josiah Akinyombo. After two years of classes, we are finished. I am sad about this. Josiah got it right when he wrote, “It was fun looking at how we went from basically being lectured by Mama Berniece on the dos and don’ts of writing, to talking on closer planes and even having relatable writing experiences.” I learned right along with the children and stand in awe of the writings they produced. Where will they, and where will I go from here?

It’s been an eventful week. One that included telling Jerrold and Jan goodbye, having bubble tea with my sister-in-law Kris, making lunch for a former unit boy with a layover at LaGuardia Airport, and my very first ride on the Long Island Railroad out of Grand Central. Thanks to brother-in-law James for that!

I’ve enjoyed the ordinary of today: laundry in the basement laundromat, making French bread for Sunday lunch at Sugar Hill, cleaning the 755 square feet of this apartment, and dinner in our submarine kitchen with Laurence. This evening we’ll go for a walk – it isn’t hot!

Happy Mother’s Day to all the special moms in my life! Berniece

I leave the apartment early on Saturday mornings to take the subway to Roosevelt Island where I work at a farmer’s market. My boss is Israel Wengerd. At least he’s the one who hired me in 1999. Over 23 years later his son, the little boy who wore boots and a small version Amish hat, follows in his dad’s footsteps, so when Israel is gone, I listen to David. (They are not Amish anymore but Mennonite.)

I love walking along the East River to the market from the subway station in dawn’s early light. The Manhattan skyline awes me at this hour. The red tram might be gliding over the river beside the Queensboro Bridge. Often there’s a tug pushing a barge downriver to the bay.

Usually the Wengerd men are just about finished setting up when I arrive. Mrs. David, Kimbre, might be placing the many price signs behind fruits, vegetables, cheeses, baked goods, coffee, etc., and even freshly ground peanut butter. In the summer, Mrs. Israel, Sarah, will be busy filling pint boxes with berries. The market is beautiful in the early morning, and it’s the best time of day. (Coffee from the deli across the street might have something to do with this.)

In the beginning of my working at the market the other clerk, Mr. Kahn, and I used a scale. We held dollar bills and had change on the table. Who could have foreseen that we’d advance to cash registers and credit card machines and that we’d go from two clerks to seven or more?

Some of the customers from those beginning days have left us for Eternity. Children have grown and are away in college. Poor health and dementia has taken its toll on others. There are so many stories. I ask the father where his handicapped daughter is. He gives me a little smile that tells me he likes it that I’ve acknowledged seeing her and says, “She didn’t want to come out today.” The couple with backpacks and I talk about favorite hiking places. Others ask about my husband, acknowledging his fight with the long tail of COVID . . .

At the end of a workday, I drag back to the subway station. My feet are tired. I only want to be home.

If you’re in the city, stop by the market. Thank you for being interested. The comments are appreciated. And now I need to pack a lunch and check the train schedule for the market tomorrow. Berniece