Yesterday was the long-awaited (at least on my part) trip to the Pennsylvania Amish Country. We drove out there in the morning (Brooke, how far was it? Many many hours from where you live, right?) and found our way through massive Amish farms and passed by horse drawn buggies. I made the intelligent observation that it reminded me of the bike ride I did last year outside of Amsterdam, and then remembered when I saw signs in the area that said "New Holland" that that is where the Amish - aka "Pennsylvania Dutch" - came from. Smart.
Our first stop was Kitchen Kettle Village, a somewhat miniature town with cute little touristy shops and a banjo playing band whose members had a median age of about 70. I'd say the median age of the tourists there was about 70 as well, so the people there didn't really know what to do with me and Brooke in our flip flops and sundresses, to the point where one old salesperson took it upon himself to ask us what the occasion was for dressing up. He then told us a joke involving pennies. We laughed politely/awkwardly and left confused.
Next stop was the Bird-In-Hand farmers market. Brooke got a 25 cent cup of cherry apple cider. I got jam and a magnet. Then across the street, we found what may be the best store I've ever been inside - an antique store that had endless rooms of everything you can imagine - old books, records, glassware, toys, etc etc. Oldies were playing on the radio, which makes any place I'm in immediately the best place in the world. I was happy.
Last stop - to see the "famous" statue pictured above - of Amos the Amish man. We had read that he speaks wise, Amish words of advice, but we were disappointed when we found out he had been silenced after being sold and moved around a few times. His stature itself was definitely NOT a disappointment though.
On our drive back we bought some home-made root beer (delicious) from an Amish girl at her family farm and saw the biggest, oldest rottweiler ever. Then we had an unfortunate experience of truly learning what farming can involve when I tried to take a photo out the car window and we were attacked by the vicious smell of manure. Words cannot describe the cloud of manure that invaded our car and caused Brooke to almost vomit and crash the car. Do you close the windows so more doesn't get in?! Do you open the windows to get fresh air that is not fresh at all?! What do you do?
Overall it was an intriguing informative day, as Brooke taught me a lot about the Amish from what she had learned from reading the fictional book "Plain Truth". And the trip has since spawned many more important questions about such things as other religions, mezuzas, and taxes. Thank god for Google.
1 comment:
I just want to make sure it's clear that Amish-ville is VERY far from me. I don't live there. It was a day trip. Thus, I am not Amish.
Also that words can not explain the manure smell. Nor can they explain the giant dog that looked like a bear. Or horse.
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