Amish America

Hypochondriac diseases will prevail...

I may have missed this before, but this is the first year I've seen the Calender printed in an English version as well as in the usual high German.

The bulk of the 88-page pamphlet, produced by an Ohio Amish printer, is a more-or-less comprehensive listing of Old Order Amish church districts along with their respective ministers.

The Calender/Almanac also contains a curious mixture of folk wisdom, Christian teaching, and astrology.

Astrology?  Sounds strange, especially for the Amish, but it seems to be the case.  For example, on the back cover, one finds a chart entitled Anatomy of Man's Body, As said to be governed by the twelve constellations.

                                                                                                                                 

Making Predictions

The 2008 Almanac also informs us that 'Jupiter is the Reigning Planet this year' and gives the prognosis for a range of topics:   

FISH.  Will everywhere be moderately abundant.

DISEASE.  In the Autumn headaches and hypochondriac diseases will prevail.

GRAPE CULTURE.  In the course of twenty-eight years it happens scarcely once--as the ancients say--that in one year of that series a good vintage will take place, and mostly but an ordinary wine will be produced.

The booklet also lists important days for the 2008 calendar year, including church feasts and the beginning and ending of the summer 'dog days', a listing of church readings and hymns, and Christian-themed poetry. 

It's curious to see the Amish distribute a guide with such a sizable dose of zodiac-infused 'wisdom'.

Though certain Amish may have had a history of buying into 'suspect' sources of wisdom--practicioners of the more 'hokey' medical practices come to mind--I'm not so sure the Amish take the astrological bit of the Calender so seriously, if at all. 

Since its much earlier incarnations, the almanac has typically contained folklorish bits of knowledge, good chunks of both astronomy and astrology, weather divination, and the like, and that tradition seems to have carried over into today's Calender.

Finally, the Calender/Almanac contains a fair dose of humor.  Here's a bit from this year's edition:

The mother of a 6-year old met him as he got off the bus and asked, "How was your school day?"

"Mom," he replied, "today our teacher asked me whether I had any brothers or sisters, and I told her I was an only child."

"And what did she say, dear?"

She said, "Thank goodness."

Come take a 'drive' through a PA Amish community

It might not be too clear in the photo, but in the New Wilmington, Pennsylvania Amish settlement, even the milk house doors get painted blue.  Photo from late September 2007.

And if you'd like to get a closer look at this community, Bill shares how, thanks to some lovely Google technology:

PA 208 is available in "Street View" on Google maps. The Amish settlement runs from Volant to the east of New Wilmington and to Pulaski to the west. On Google maps type in New Wilmington PA and you will find Rt. 208. Zoom in at the Intersection of 208 and Mercer Rd. and turn the image and you will find an Amish schoolhouse.

Travel west in street view and past this same intersection you will come upon two men in an open buggy on their way to work. 360's east and west of New Wilmington will give you views of Amish farms, barns, homes and out buildings. A few more buggies are on the road elsewhere. The light blue doors tell you you're in Amish country.

'They don't make manure'

Spring is here, and that means plowing and planting time.

Most Amish do not use tractors in the field.  Some will keep a tractor for around-the-barn tasks, such as filling the silo.

Why do the Amish avoid tractors?

photo: Bill Coleman

Part of the problem is their similarity to cars. 

Get comfortable behind the wheel of a tractor, the thinking goes, and it's a short hop to sitting behind the wheel of a car.

 

John A. Hostetler discusses the Amish mindframe in Amish Society:

'When tractors were first introduced on American farms, the Amish rejected them with the comments, "They don't make manure" and "They ruin the land."'

 

photo:  Randall Persing

'Tractor farmers have greater convenience, more choice as to when they will till the land, and can get the job done faster than the Amish.'

'Tractors, Amish farmers say, compact the land, which results in reduced yields.  Amish farmers who have bought land from the non-Amish have noted that the soil begins to work easier after the third year.'

 

 No Mules in the Midwest?

Horse power' may refer to actual horses, or to mules, which are especially popular among the Lancaster Amish. 

A Holmes County, Ohio acquaintance mentioned that he had heard of one or two that were starting to use mules in his area.  But generally most Midwestern Amish stick with the big draft horses, the mighty Belgians and Percherons.

photo:  Randall Persing

Hostetler says that Lancaster County Amish believe 'that mules eat less and have greater endurance.  Such preferences appear to vary among farmers, as others consider mules to be more obstinate than horses.'

 

But it looks like there's a deeper reason for the 'mule taboo' in the Buckeye state:

'In Ohio, raising mules was forbidden by an Amish Ministers' Conference in 1865 on the grounds that it was "improper to mix the creatures of God such as a horse and donkey by which mules arise, because the Lord God did not create such in the beginning."'

I wonder if Ohio Amish still feel the same way about mixing species, and particularly the dog breeders--ever hear of a 'puggle' or a 'labradoodle'?

 

Getting my kicks in Lancaster County, PA

Well, despite the inclement weather, I managed to get up to Lancaster County and to my friends 'Daniel' and 'Mary', where I'll be staying the next few days.  The last hour-and-a-half or so, from the PA line onward, was pretty hairy, as snow and ice accumulation made driving tricky. 

I pulled in late Tuesday night to Daniel's, happy and relieved to see the kitchen gas-lamp still burning.  Daniel sat at the table, playing with the youngest child, a 14-month old girl.  The rest of the tribe, save Mary, were already fast asleep. 

Daniel set me up in the basement, which sounds cold, but is probably the warmest spot in the house--that's where the coal oven resides.  Before hitting the hay, Daniel pointed out the large reserves of canned food the family had been going through that winter. 

Pickled cauliflower, beets, 'snitz', canned meat, and all sorts of home-grown treats lined a full wall of the basement.  Being February, a good chunk of the eatin' had been knocked out already, as evidenced by numerous empty Mason jars, but quite a bit remained.  Good, because I planned to be hungry.

Yesterday morning (Wednesday) my jobs were:  udder-cleaner and silage-sweeper.  I learned that some cows don't like me--or at least cows that haven't gotten a chance to know me, don't like me. 

More than a couple took kicks at my hands as I attempted to 'strip' them.

That sounds more exciting than it is--it's actually something like priming the pump, before the mechanical-suction milkers get put on.  A squeeze or two to get the milk going.  Or actually, I think it's more a pull.  Or maybe a combination of the two.  Daniel's son 'Tim' explained that cows are often a bit jumpy if they don't know you so well.  Well, I aim to make friends this week.  I will learn to strip you, cows.

Today I graduated to manure-sweeping duty, and also got to pass out food to all the hungry cows.  It was nice making them happy.  Some were impatient and tried to steal from the bin. 

While sweeping up manure, members of Daniel's family offered up encouragement.  'It's looking good Erik!', 'You're doing a good job!'  This significantly helped my self-esteem, and for that I am grateful.  If all else fails, at least I know I can sweep manure to a satisfactory level.

Daniel's 8-year-old son 'Elmer' and 12-year-old daughter 'Lizzie' then commandeered me to help out with their respective tasks, feeding the chickens and pigeons, and distributing milk-substitute to the calves. 

The youngest calf, a snow-white fellow just a week old, needed some encouragement.  We had to chase that little guy down and force his head into the bucket.  He really resisted, but once we got it in there, he gulped milk like that was what he'd really wanted to do all along.  Funny approach to eating.  Lizzie, who seems to make a pretty good boss, paid me with a Valentine's Kit-Kat bar after breakfast, saying I did a good job.

After some errands with Daniel, we headed back home and somehow I ended up plastered on the couch for an unplanned hour-and-a-half nap.  The 4am-and-up schedule takes a few days' getting used to.

On rising, I stumbled upstairs to find Mary and 'Bena', the oldest daughter, at work at the kitchen table.  Bena was writing a letter to a friend that had missed a social event the day before. 

Mary was busy at work with her prayer-covering.  She had earlier ironed it, and was now doing what she called petza--pinching, she explained.  This petza process, which requires a pick-like metal tool, apparently helps to maintain the Lancaster prayer-covering's distinctive heart-shape.

'This is probably something new for you,' said Mary.

'I've never worn one of those...yet,'  I replied.

Mary seemed to get a kick out of that. 

Egypt, back to the States, and touching in with Lancaster

Another long-for-me hiatus from the blog--and a bit unplanned--last week, I was in Egypt for a 7-day trip (no, as far as I know, no Amish have settled Egypt yet, it was just a vacation I do from time-to-time) right at the time when the internet got zonked in the Middle East, something about an underseas cable being cut by a stray anchor, perhaps you heard about it?  Anyway, the old friend was down for the whole week...and I now can attest that it really is possible to go without it for short periods.  Really, withdrawal symptoms were not as severe as I'd expected. 

And I've just now flown in from Poland, getting home to NC two hours ago.  One of the first things I did was call and leave messages with Amish friends in Lancaster that I'm still coming.  I just got off the phone with 'Abe', and I'm now waiting for a call back from 'David'.  Abe, an upbeat young farmer, sounded happy to hear that I'm heading up--I'm actually going to split time between his and David's for the week.

I love listening to Abe's messages when I call--he had just changed the intro to his voicemail to reflect the upcoming spring, complete with some choice sound effects in the background--what sounded like chirping birds.   

I asked Abe if he needed anything from NC, kind of a stupid question I guess.  'You got any fresh vegetables down there?' was Abe's response.  Lancaster has had a mild winter so far this year, but Abe says he's getting ready for the spring and planting.  He is big into produce, while his father is a dairyman.

Barring a random severing of the internet connections into Amish country, look for posts from Lancaster County starting next Tuesday... 

Get 'em while they last

Feeling healthy, happy, and terrific

People often assume that the Amish, whom we think of as a people 'in tune with nature' and 'close to the earth' (which to some degree may be true, whatever those phrases actually mean) are strictly all-natural when it comes to the food they raise. 

In fact, on most Amish farms pesticides are put to use. Organic farming is something that is catching on in certain areas, but it's definitely a minority share of the Amish-produced milk on the market.  However, those that do take the trouble to go organic are rewarded with higher prices for their milk.  The supposedly healthier-for-you produce finds a slightly different market as well.  This sign is from the Amish community around Geauga County, Ohio.

To say that the Amish are into health supplements and alternative treatments would be something of an understatement.  Last time I was in Ohio, one couple I know fairly well was subtly promoting a new one for me, some sort of a pill which I believe contained an entire dried fruit, or at least all the vitamins and good things you'd find in one. 

I guess it was a time-saver thing, just pop one and avoid all hassle of eating a run-down-your-chin juicy peach or whatever it might be.  Actually these guys are still into eating regular fruits, I think the idea was more about upping the fruit intake without having to go through two bushels a day (which could potentially wreak major havoc on one's internals, so to speak).

Whenever I'm around, I usually pick up some sort of health supplements from a furniture maker friend in the same community, who sells them on the side.  Last time it was a Chondroitin-Glucosamine concoction that was supposed to fix up my bum knee.  Well, the bum knee went away as I used it over the summer.  Causality or coincidence, I cannot say.

In the Nappanee, Indiana community, as well as the Daviess County, Indiana community, a couple of Amish acquaintances run prospering health-goods and dietary supplements stores.  The new thing I've been seeing in Amish areas lately is Xango juice, a special brew made from the mangosteen fruit, and supposed to contain xanthones--'next-generation phytonutrients', with all sorts of intestinal, immune, and anti-oxidant benefits.  The stuff is potent, slickly-marketed, and expensive, at close to 40 bucks a bottle.

This photo, of an Amish Xango dealer's road-side sign, is also from Geauga County.

Why are the Amish so into the so-called alternative health market?  There seems to be some truth to the idea that the Amish go for things that tend towards the natural side.  I have detected a belief among some Amish that a lot of what modern medicine has given us to make us better actually may do the opposite.   Not a backwards-thinking mentality--the  typical Amishman when faced with a serious health issue is going to get in the taxi and get to the doctor--but perhaps more a healthy skepticism.  And I'm not one to knock that idea.

The Amish Dairy

Some Amish dairymen still use the old-style milk containers to transport their milk, as seen in this photo taken in Swartzentruber Amish country in Ohio.

Lancaster Amish are allowed to use mechanical milkers, which has helped to allow that particular community to retain a relatively high percentage of functioning dairies.  Amish barns will have a special tank to store the milk, and to cool and agitate it.  The milk is typically transported from udder to tank using steel containers.  After seeing all the splashing around that goes on in the typical milk barn, it makes me glad for pasteurization.  I'm not so sure I would drink raw milk, popular among many Amish some of whom sell it to the general public, supposedly as a healthier, richer.

Typical dairies have from 40 to 50 cows.  A few may milk up to 60 or 70.  That usually requires some help, with some Amish employing a hired hand.

The milkman comes around any day but Sunday, usually every other day.  The Sunday exception may mean late-night and very early morning milk pickups.  I've been at Amish homes when milk trucks have come by after dark, near 10 pm. The typical farmer, who wakes up anywhere from 3 to 5 in the morning for the first milking of the day, learns to schedule in the very necessary post-lunch nap.

Stinking to high heaven

photo:  Bill Coleman

Ah, the rural life.  Birds, bees, valleys, trees, and...funky farm smells.  City folk with a penchant for idealizing the pastoral existence often forget to take into account the odorific nature of country livin'. 

The clear majority of farms operated by the Amish are of the less-stinky dairy variety.  Hog farms are much less commonly run by Amish, but you do see them from time to time.  In Lancaster County there are just a few.  Northern Indiana, as in Lagrange and Elkhart Counties, also has a handful.

North Carolina, where I grew up, is one of the most 'hog-ified' states.  And you can't miss that smell.  I've never understood how hog farming families can get used to it (or their neighbors, for that matter--and judging by the outcry that some non-hogging landowners put up over the presence of these farms, many don't).  The hog farm smell has just got to be one of the worst there is.

Not to get too nasty, but the smell of the typical dairy farm you can actually get quite used to--it's much more earthy and subtle (wait a minute, am I describing a farm or a fine wine here..?).  The hog farm stench, on the other hand, sort of pops you in the face.  It's anything but subtle.

Poultry farming is also seen among some Amish.  The northern Indiana Amish do chickens and ducks.  Those types of farms emit fairly terrible odors as well.

But the worst 'country' smell of all, (at least for these olfactory receptors), worse than even the paper mills and the landfills, has to be that of the rendering plant.

A rendering plant will often set up in a rural area as a sort of 'post-processing' center for animal byproducts like blood and fat and feathers.  The rendering industry's magazine, Render, tells us on its site that the industry produces 'beneficial commodities including tallow, grease, and protein meals.'  Yummy.

I remember in Ohio a couple years ago being smacked in the face by a horrific rancid smell while stopping in at an Amish dairy.  I recall the young Amish guy I was talking to sort of rolling his eyes in disgust.  'The rendering plant', he muttered, gesturing off in the distance.  Apparently the wind had started blowing in the wrong direction. 

I can understand how these smells can affect real estate values.  Looking to move to the country anytime soon?  Might be worth driving around and checking out the neighbors.  Otherwise you might find yourself wearing nose plugs more often than you'd have wanted.

The Amish barn-raising

Nebraska Amish barn-raising photo:  Randall Persing

These don't happen too often, but when they do, Amish photographers (erm, that is, photographers of the Amish) come out in droves.

The legendary barn-raising.  It's one of the most-publicized images of the Amish.  Has anyone ever witnessed one?  The frolic I attended in Ohio in September was more of a 'shed-raising', and in fact, most of it had been raised by the time we showed up to help.

It really does take a day, or less.  At least the bulk of what you end up seeing.  Apparently the foundation-type stuff often gets put in beforehand.

I always wondered about dropped hammers, though.  Hard-hats are a no-no in Amish society.