Nature has a warped sense of humor. It lulled us into thinking that winter was over. We thought that spring arrived early when we saw the snow melting in February and March; lawns turning green, and crocuses blooming. My neighbor tapped his maple trees in mid-February, the earliest that he has ever done it. Just as we were getting complacent, nature delivered two snow storms two weeks apart at the end of March and beginning of April.

But spring is coming. We just need to persevere like Saint Umlaut of Dingolfing in Bavaria. Dingolfing was suffering a drought in the year 1086. The crops were withering; wells were running dry. This was especially worrying to the Dingolfing monastery which relied on its crop of barley and hops to brew its beer. Pilgrims would come from miles away to pray with the monks and, for a donation, reinvigorate with a draught of the brew for the journey home. The donations were the major source of income for the monastery. If the barrels ran dry, so would the alms.

The monks sought the intercedence of the Divine by praying night and day, breaking the sessions only for the occasional sustenance of bread and beer. But one monk, Brother Umlaut, decided that he had to do more. He combined prayer with a total fast: no food, no liquid, not even beer. Brother Umlaut prayed and fasted for weeks. He did not lose weight so much as lost his presence in the mortal world. He slowly started to fade away. Light passed through him instead of casting a shadow. The Abbot came to him to urge him to stop the fast.“ Brother Umlaut, I can’t bear to see you this way, not that I can see much of you at all. Please stop the fast.” But Brother Umlaut persevered. Finally, on the fifth week of the fast rain fell. The drought was broken. But it was almost too late to save Brother Umlaut. By that time, the fading was almost complete. All that could be seen of his body at that time were the pupils of his eyes. His voice was only a faint exhalation, the sound of a soft breeze.

It is said that even today, on quiet days, if you visit the grounds where the monastery once stood, you may be able to spy two little dots, mysteriously floating in the air. People hear the sound of a wordless whisper on days that are perfectly still.

St. Umlaut is not often celebrated but Germany honors him every time it places two little dots, an umlaut, over a letter: ä, ü, ö.