The Sound of Hoof-Beats

Each Sunday morning the sound of hoof beats and the creaking of carriage wheels announces the

assembling of our Amish neighbors for their weekly Meeting.

The Amish do not have church buildings, so their gatherings are held in members' homes, turn-about.

Our house sits atop a gentle knoll above the road which roughly follows the winding of a creek.  To the south is a rise, to the north the road weaves along the bottom land for half a mile before climbing again.

The clopping of horses hooves reaches us before we can see the approach of a buggy from either direction.

When we arrived here in late March and for several months after, Pebbles the Horse was highly intrigued with the doings of these Amish equines.  As the weeks have gone by she has become accustomed and mostly acknowledges their passing by with only a toss of the head.

This morning, about 8, I stood by the front window and watched a black buggy go along the road at a smart clip.  By the time I headed up to feed the barn kittens and serve Pebbles her grain, hoof beats were ringing a crisp tatoo in the chilly air. Four buggies broke over the rise and advanced into the hollow, almost "bumper to bumper."

Pebbles snorted and trumpeted.  She tore up and down her pasture, kicked up her heels in a rodeo buck, turned and charged back toward the barn, head tossing, tail raised.  She even flung out a foreleg in a spritely show of enthusiasm.  As the 4th buggy rounded the curve out of sight she slid to a halt and demanded her grain.  Two more buggies passed in quick succession, but with her mouth busily chomping, she gave them only the roll of an eye.

I was again outside when the first buggy passed on its homeward route late in the afternoon.

I fetched my camera and wondered if I could get close enough to the road for a decent photo--without violating the Amish taboo of "graven images."

I headed across the front lawn toward the lower pasture where J. was gathering roots and branches left from his recent land clearing.

To my delight I watched a black buggy pull off the road onto the verge.

It was Joseph and Delilah stopping for a neighborly word on their way home.

Joseph held the reins, Delilah had a firm grip on the youngest Yoder boy whom she was attempting to keep enfolded in a fleecey lap robe.

We exchanged pleasantries and I asked Joseph about the breed of the buggy horses.

He replied that most are Standard Breds or a S/B cross.

"This is our young horse," he explained, "and he is a Standard bred-Percheron cross."

I asked if I might take a photo if I waited until they pulled onto the road and took it in such a way that the occupants of the buggy wouldn't be seen.

{I often suspect that Joseph appears scandalized by me although he is perfectly at ease with J.}

Delilah was nodding in the affirmative and Joe said he thought that would be alright.

At that moment another buggy caught up and wheeled around the Yoder conveyance, much to the dislike of the young horse in the shafts--who made it clear that he wasn't going to be left behind!

I took the above two photos as Joseph pulled back onto the road.

You may recall my mention that the Yoders have five  small children.

All five were in the buggy, the four older children tucked somehow behind the narrow seat which held their parents and baby brother.

J. related that when he approached the buggy a small black shod foot was poking out and that he tweaked it, producing giggles.

Taken in March--a meeting-bound buggy headed north below our house.

On this summer Sunday a horse and buggy heads up the rise.

In April Joseph and Delilah's home was the gathering place for what is called the Easter Meeting--held on a Friday.

The buggy horses tethered behind the row of carriages.

A closer view of the waiting horses.

I took these from the passenger seat of the car.

Much as I would like better photos, I don't want to give offense.

As I became better acquainted with Delilah she assured me that photos of the horses and buggies are fine.

Amish people don't pose for photos--which leaves me wondering about the many postcard images.

You'd think perhaps we would begin to recognize individual horses--if not different buggies.

J. pointed out a "double" buggy headed home this afternoon.

I felt quite superior as I announced, "That's Eli Herchberger's buggy and that's Barney the Horse!"

Like many children growing up in the 1950's I listened to the radio "cowboy" dramas: The Lone Ranger; Gene Autry.  The sound effects of those far-off days were memorable--if hardly authentic. Hoof-beats had a hollow, wooden sound, but somehow the rythem was about right.

Humans can hardly reproduce that sound of a horses' hooves clopping along the road.

Alfred Noyes in his famous poem, The Highwayman, did it well--I can hear the sound in my mind almost better than it can be articulated.

"Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;

                              Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?


                              Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,


                              The highwayman came riding--"

On Thursday, curled up enduring a head cold, I finished re-reading a favorite book, "O, The Brave Music"
by Dorothy Evelyn Smith.
In that book the narrator hears the sound of approaching horses as
"cupper-lup; cupper-lup; cupper-lup."

I can "hear" them both--perhaps the staccato "tlot-tlot" is the cadence of a trotting horse
and "cupper-lup, cupper-lup" the rocking of a canter---I welcome a definition
from those of you who are better authorities on horse-kind.

 

The former owners of our house placed this weathervane--it seems appropriate for our neighborhood.

The Amish School Benefit Fish Fry

Last Wednesday evening Joseph Yoder phoned to ask if J. could convey him to Glasgow on Friday morning to fetch the bent-hickory rocking chair which was being raffled to benefit the little Amish school.

J. decided he could do that.  Joe was planning to work a half day at the furniture factory and made arrangements for J. to pick him up at 10:15.

If you've read my previous posts you may recall that on Friday morning we were transporting [and then chasing] Dory the Cow.

With Dory secured J. flung himself into the car, headed down the road to Yoders, expecting that the round trip to Glasgow would take about two hours.

He returned in less time than that and reported that he had been carting Joseph back and forth to the so-called "Sportsman's Club" building a few miles away--with loads of miscellaneous chairs which Joe had rounded up.

There was a Harvest Festival in town that afternoon and our favorite southern gospel group would be featured between 3:30 and 4: 30.

J. felt sure that he could still make the trip to Glasgow and be back in time to go into town.

While he was eating lunch, Delilah phoned to say they were waiting on him for transport!

J. replied patiently that he would be there as soon as he finished eating.

There had been a delivery of fresh apples to the Amish sawmill just above the clubhouse and we decided that we could drop our passengers at the clubhouse, pick up apples, bring me and the apples back home before J. and Joseph headed to Glasgow.

It was with a smidgen of dismay that I realized we were moving all the Yoders except Joseph to the clubhouse!

Delilah emerged laden with bags and bundles. 

Elizabeth and Caroline came down the steps carefully holding boxes and the three little boys followed arrayed in identical clean shirts [green] and wearing miniature straw hats.

The girls arranged themselves on the back seat of the car beside their mother, the two older boys climbed into the hatch area of our Rav 4 and hung over the back of the seat.  Toddler Ephraim was hoisted into his mother's lap.

"We have to drop the baby off to be watched," said Delilah, "I can't get anything done with him underfoot at the clubhouse."

She directed J. to an Amish home a few miles down the main road.

Ephraim, along with a brown paper bag of toys and diapers was unceremoniously handed in.

"Did he cry?" I asked Delilah when she returned to the car.

"Oh yes, but he'll get right over it."

Pulling up at the clubhouse we recognized vehicles belonging to several of the locals who regularly ferry the Amish about on their errands.  Joseph was striding about directing the unloading of various bits of equipment.

We discovered that one of the rear doors of the car would only open from outside.

"I think there are childproof locks", I told J.

Not having children, we've never fussed with them.

Joseph marched over and dealt masterfully with the child locks while I chuckled inwardly at the irony of the situation.

Delilah beamed proudly, "It takes Joe to figure out things like this, " she stated.

Joseph seemed in no hurry to depart for Glasgow and I began to sense that our own plans for the day were slipping away.

After 20 minutes of everyone milling about, Joseph suddenly announced his readiness to be underway---with the two older boys.

I decided I wasn't up for a two hour ride with two bouncy boys.

"Is there time for you to take me home?" I asked J.

J. doesn't like dawdling, unless he is the one doing it.

He suggested I stay at the clubhouse.

This proved to be rather entertaining.

As J. drove out, a double buggy pulled in at a smart clip.

This proved to be Eli Hershberger with his wife and a daughter.

Mrs. H. clambered down carefully holding a tiered wire stand filled with pies. Eli delved behind the seat and began handing out packages: boxes of gently thawing fish fillets, covered bowls, bags containing paper plates and plastic cutlery, then he was off again with a flourish.

As if on cue several more vehicles pulled in and spilled out parcel laden women and girls.

All around me was a soft chatter of German.

Girl-children milled about ranging in age from bonneted toddlers to young teenagers who were set to minding the babies.

There was an air of mild excitement among the ladies as they bustled about, working together with a quiet, practiced efficiency to cut pies, slice cakes.  I held one end of the plastic wrap while another woman stretched a length of it to cover the dessert offerings.

Another family arrived with a bevy of young women dressed variously in brown, navy blue, grey. Huge bowls of coleslaw and pans of baked beans were lined up on a serving table.

I was called upon to give advice as the ladies studied the unfamiliar electric stove--where should the oven be set for warming rolls?

Elizabeth, Delilah and Joseph's second daughter swooped at me, grabbing my arm with sticky warm hands.

"How old are you?" she demanded.

[I am in my 60's and admitted to that.]

"That's awfully old!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," I agreed, "Much too old to be chasing the cow!"

[The Yoder children had been much amused at the tale of Dory's arrival.]

A few munutes later Elizabeth was at my side again.

"You don't look that old, " she assured me.

"Oh good," I replied courteously, "I'm pretty busy, maybe that keeps me young."

Elizabeth pondered this, looking across the room at one of the men who had been transporting people.

"Mr. P. doesn't do anything and he's very old and fat.  You're not fat!"

More folks of the Amish community were arriving. Eli reappeared with a hand operated cash register, a box for raffle tickets. Another gentleman, pushing his straw hat back from his home-barbered fringe demanded, "Where is that rocking chair for the raffle?"

Since no one else seemed to be paying attention, I stated that my husband had taken Joseph to fetch the chair. He gawked at me in surprise and I wondered if women, Amish and Englishers alike, were not meant to pipe up unless requested to do so.

A glance at the wall clock confirmed my suspicion that we were not going to make it into town to hear the gospel concert.

When J. finally returned with Joseph, two little boys and the chair, I said to him that we might as well run home, check on the cow and put on clean clothes to attend the fish fry.

Elizabeth and Caroline were instantly at our side, begging to go with us "to see the cow."

At home we took turns hastily changing into fresh clothes.  Elizabeth and Caroline asked for drinks of water.

They were rather shocked to find that we had cats in the house.

The Amish do not keep cats and dogs as pets and they are not tolerated indoors.

"Take a picture of the cow," the girls clamoured.

Dory, calm after her morning exertions, obliged.

[When we returned to the clubhouse the little girls, bustling with importance, towed me off to display Dory's photo to their father and brothers.]

Bringing up the rear on the way to the car, I snapped the above photo.

Caroline is in the green frock, Elizabeth in brown.

Serving was in full swing when we returned to the clubhouse.

Teenage girls piled food on each plate as we passed down the line.  The small building swelled with noise and heat.

We made our way with heaped plates to where several long tables had been set up outside under awnings.

These were apparently the "childrens' tables" but no one seemed to mind that we were there.

I noted with interest that among the attending Amish families girls far out-numbered the males of any age.

Several neighborhood couples we have met were also at the fish fry.

It was one of the simplest gatherings I have enjoyed in years, with overtones of old-fashioned church suppers

or village fairs.

The display of baked goods for sale was so impressive, such a tribute to the women's talents and industry that I dragged J. over to help choose what we would bring home.

A loaf of white bread, carrot cupcakes decorated with orange sugar, a plate of oatmeal chocolate cookies.

As Delilah commented, it was "an upside down day"--a memorable day.

Delilah's Quilt

My Amish neighbor, Delilah Yoder, phoned last Friday to ask if I might be available to drive her to Wal Mart later in the afternoon. [The Amish who have phones build little wooden structures behind their barns or sheds to shelter the telephone which is considered too worldly and modern a devise to have in their homes.]

J. and I have on several occasions transported Joseph or Delilah to do their shopping.

I explained that I was busy painting woodwork.

Delilah assured me she could get one of the "regular drivers" for the shopping run, then added that one of her reasons for calling was to invite me to see the quilt she had finished.

On Monday, with one wall of the bedroom painted and in need of a break, I drove the mile and a half to Yoders.

I was amazed to learn that the quilt in question was the one for which Delilah had bought batting and "lining" on our recent expedition to Wal Mart--less than two weeks earlier. I wondered what could be the quality of hand quilting that had been accomplished in such a short time.

I am impressed.

The afternoon sun was hitting the view-finder of my camera, so I wasn't sure  until I loaded the photos whether I had done justice to her work.

This young woman has five children, the eldest is 8 years old.

She sees her husband off to work at the furniture factory at about 5 a.m.

Her day is interupted by whatever customers come into the little store which occupies one end of the building.

In accordance with Amish beliefs the home is without electricity; kerosene lamps provide the lighting after dark.

Needle work skills are handed down through the generations of Amish and Mennonite women.

I think those of you who quilt will agree that Delilah's work is very nice indeed.

I don't understand the reasoning that establishes some of the prohibitions of the Amish lifestyle, although

I am in harmony with simplicity, frugality, with the preservation of heritage skills.

Delilah buys the pieced quilt tops from other Amish women.  An "Englisher" friend lists the finished quilts for sale on E-bay.

Delilah's fine work should command a higher price than it does.

She can finish a bed-sized quilt in a week or 10 days, depending on the intricacy of the quilting design.

Delilah speaks yearningly of how more frequent quilt sales could augment their income.

She longs also to have a really bustling bulk foods store such as the one we patronize in Casey County.  But a well-stocked store requires a large initial outlay of funds and a steady clientele to support it.

Joseph tells us of his father's farm in Ontario.  He would like to be freed from the routine of the shop where he turns out the kind of furniture used in motels.

"How many acres would it take to have a good farm such as your father's?" I asked Joseph, as he and J. unloaded hay in our barn.

"A hundred acres of good land," replies Joseph.

Prompted by my gentle questions, he speaks with enthusiasm of horses, the relative merits of Percherons, Belgians, Suffolks.  He remembers crops of hay and barley and wheat.

It is nearly impossible, he tells us, for  a young Amishman to borrow money to buy such a farm.  Our modern and increasingly cautious banking world wants a history of checking accounts, credit card activity, a solid history of business experience.

Daily I see the young Amish men of our neighborhood being driven to and from work places by the retired men and women who use a station wagon or van as a local "taxi".  The Amish families hand over $10.00 to be driven to Wal Mart. The charge is $15.00 to be taken all the way into Columbia to the bank or to any of the shops there.

A trip to the Mennonite bakery and bulk foods store with the produce market and greenhouse nearby has a traveling fee of $40.00!

J. and I wonder how long our neighbors can sustain a traditional lifestyle which is being under-mined by 21st century ways.

When the photo session with the quilt is finished, Delilah pulls two battered dinette chairs into place under the second story overhang of the house.

"Can you stay for a visit?" she asks.

I sit, feet stretched to the sunshine, flexing my paint-daubed hands.

Our conversation is easy--of gardens, of baking; we talk of the demands of caring for a family--small children, a husband.

I am aware of difference: my T-shirt and bare arms, my ragged jeans with the torn knees and the smears of paint.  Delilah's dark blue dress falls nearly to her ankles and is pinned to the neck. An underarm seam has split and not been mended.  Her dark hair is pulled firmly back from her high forehead and covered with a dark kerchief.

The older children, the two girls, are away during the day, attending the local Amish school.

The three small boys moil about the side yard, bouncing on an old trampoline, dashing in and out of the porch. From time to time Delilah swtiches to the household German to give a quick command.  The smallest child, grubby-faced, yanks at the folds of her skirt and whines.

"Shut up," says Delilah, in English, mildly, but then relents and scoops the little boy into her large lap, tucking him up for a cuddle.

The sunlight is warm, but not fierce. I am too comfortable, and I remember the painting, the work that surely is waiting for Delilah.

We admire the herbs and the roses sprawling in her garden patch that softens the front of the wooden building.

"Come and visit again," says Delilah.

I have enjoyed the hour in her company and I tell her that, wanting her to know that I am honored by the invitation to sit for awhile and talk.

I promise that I will edit and print the photos of the quilt, that I will be happy to photograph others if she would like them to pin up in the store as examples of her work.

I have told her about my quilts--finished by the long-arm machine quilters in the shop where I worked in Wyoming.

"I will bring one of my quilts for you to see," I promise her.

She and the boys walk me to my car.  She turns back to the house, to the supper that must be made for Joseph and five children, to another quilt stretched on the wooden frame waiting for the moments when she can light her kerosene lamp and place her dainty stitches.

A Pleasant Outing

"The Cabin" serves as the sales office for the greenhouse and for the produce which is kept in a cold storage facility located behind the building.

Note the "Porta-Potty" for the convenince of shoppers and workers.

I wish that I had photos of my three companions of the afternoon.  Since they are Amish, I couldn't offend them by flourishing a camera.

There are a number of people in our area who make a bit of money by transporting the Amish families on the errands where a horse and buggy wouldn't be practical.

Daily we see an old van going by which takes several young men to work on a neighboring farm.

Others take the Amish men to work at a furniture factory near town and deliver them home again.

On Friday afternoon our neighbor, Joe Yoder, phoned and asked J. if he could drive him in to the bank and then to Wal Mart.  J. was not especially busy and was happy to do so.

[Apparently the usual drivers have been much in demand and not always readily on call.]

Joe offered him 10 dollars--the standard fee for that distance.  J. declined but told Joe he would appreciate his help when the basement family room is finished and furniture needs to be moved down the stairs.

This morning Joe's wife, Delilah, phoned to ask if she could have a ride to Russell Springs to pick up frozen fruit and several boxes of tomatoes.

J. volunteered my services.

Joe gets off work at 2:30 and would be home to stay with the three little boys.

[Sylvanus, Ephraim and Enoch.]

Joe and Delilah's two oldest children are girls--Elizabeth and Caroline.

[Lest you wonder, there are five children and the oldest is barely 7!]

If I had any qualms, they vanished when I saw the little girls who were obviously freshly dressed and combed, beaming at me in happy anticipation of their outing.

Their identical frocks and pinafores, ankle length, were of a soft golden brown. Their curly hair was braided and tucked under sheer white caps which tie under the chin. Each carried the traditional stiff black formal bonnet which the Amish women wear to church or in public.

Delilah, who is a portly young woman, wore a dark green gown in the traditional Amish style--full pleated skirt, high neckline and long sleeves, with a detachable matching over-bib.  She also was carrying  her black bonnet.

[None of the three donned their bonnets at any point and I didn't like to inquire about proper bonnet etiquette.]

As we settled ourselves in the car, after various admonitions regarding our route, helpfully supplied by Joseph, I realized our destination was the area of Mennonite-owned shops in Casey County--about 30 miles away.

These enterprising families own a splendid greenhouse, garden seed sales and fresh produce outlet, a bakery and bulk foods store.

J. and I have been there several times and the photos on this post are from our visits there earlier in the season.

Vegetable and annual flowering plants for sale in one section of Hillside Greenhouse--photo taken in late April.

That's J. headed into the bakery and bulk foods store.

The place smells tantalizingly of fresh-baked goods, of spices and grains.

Golden honey gleams in ranks of shining quart jars.

One area of shelves holds dried herbs and botanicals neatly labeled in cello packets, along with tins of herbal salves and ointments.

I have been puzzled by some of the items--bagged portions of "doughnut mix", dry "gravy base"--and most colorfully---plastic bags of rainbow-hued "jello."

Delilah, who keeps the local Amish store in one end of her house, explained that all manner of these mixes are available in bulk wholesale, to be weighed out into smaller batches.

Apparently there is a sisterhood of cooks who know the proportions of mix and the amount of eggs, shortening, liquid to be added, as there are no instructions included.

The Sunny Valley store also has  several glass-fronted coolers containing fresh butter put up in paper-wrapped rolls, gourmet cheeses, buttermilk and ungraded local eggs.

Some of the pre-packaged foods such as a variety of noodles and pasta, bottled juices, snacks, are trucked in from small Amish or Mennonite production plants in Indianna or Ohio.

The Sunny Valley Bakery store also has a supply of colorful sunbonnets for sale.

I believe these are locally made.

While our Amish neighbors wear modest dresses in solid brown, blue, navy, purple or green, the Mennonite women are usually seen in dresses made of  calico prints--blue, lavender, aqua, rose pink--with an apron in a coordinating print.  They too, wear the sheer white cap.

A rack of colorful "ready-made" aprons.

Delilah told me that she, like most Amish women, makes the dresses and pinafores for her daughters as well as her own voluminous gowns.

The men and boys wear suspendered pants with front buttons.  Their shirts --usually blue or green--appear to be "store bought."

The males sport black-banded straw hats in warm weather--and black felt low-crowned hats for Sunday or in cooler weather.

The hitching rail outside "Misty Mountain Sales" another neighborhood emporium which stocks bolts of fabrics for dresses, aprons and men's denim pants; needles and notions; canning jars, pressure canners, small, hand-cranked churns, a nice line of bake-ware, cutlery.

Also available here are children's coloring books, story books [themed to the "plain people" lifestyle] Bibles, greeting cards.

At the back of the store are racks of lovely quilts--hand-finished.  There are rocking chairs, Amish made bedroom furniture, desks, benches, hutches--nice quality. There are also massive nickle-garnished wood-fired "ranges" and rather less regal "chunk stoves."

Delilah asked if I had time to stop there and I was pleased to oblige.

We agreed that there are advantages to leaving the males--of any age--behind and enjoying a "ladies only" shopping trip.

The little girls were so well-behaved--both in the car and in each store where we browsed.

Casey County is on "fast time"--as it is locally called. We live in Adair County which is on Central Time.

Thus, although the bakery where Delilah needed to collect the 5 pails of frozen cherries and "The Cabin" where the boxes of tomatoes waited in cold storage, were ready to close when we arrived, they had agreed to wait on us when we got there.

The tomatoes on offer were of good quality, grown on a Mennonite farm which we had passed driving up the ridge, and were appealingly priced.

Since the tomato crop in our neighborhood has been disappointing, I was prepared to buy more to can.

The Cabin had 12 boxes ready.  If Delilah and I would buy them all, a dollar was knocked off the price of each carton!

It took some effort to stow 12 boxes of tomatoes, 5 pails of frozen fruit and the oddments we had both purchased. Delilah ended up with my box of eggs, fresh butter and a slab of maple fudge [for J.] tucked in at her sensibly black-shod feet.

The little girls had a treat of ice cream on a stick--which, I am glad to report, they ate promptly and tidily.

Delilah knew the scenic route home--by the back roads.  She expressed pleasure at one stretch of the road which lies straight between towering green trees---while I expressed my hope that I didn't overtake a horse and buggy on one of the tight curves that wind around the ridges and swoop into the valleys.

Said Delilah, "We buy buggy horses that know how to behave on the highway!  They aren't afraid of cars!"

Our conversation was easy and domestic;  there was a sense of shared pleasure in each other's company and in our thrifty purchases squeezed into every available space.

As we neared home, Delilah mentioned that the standard driver's fee for this round trip is 40 dollars.

I couldn't take it.

I assured her that if I drove her there again I would accept a donation for gas, but that the afternoon had been gainful for me--I wouldn't have realized I could get the tomatoes there--we got a better price--I had enjoyed a favorite shopping place--and we had spent the several hours

 at our own leisurely pace, without heeding the hurry of men!

The grounds of the greenhouse and sales cabin as well as the bakery are beautifully landscaped with shrubs and ferns, roses and flowering plants from the greenhouse.

This glowing red hibiscus was in bloom when J and I were there last month.

If you don't hear from me for several days--you may assume I am canning tomatoes!