The Neighborhood

Wild turkeys foraging near the boundary fence.

One of the feral cats has become much bolder recently. He had his face in the kibble dish along with our 'barn kittens' the other day when I stepped into the car port.  I was able to pet him a bit before he realized he was being touched.

The kittens like to peer in the sliding door--I suspect they enjoy tormenting the pampered insiders.

I heard Mrs. Beasley intoning the feline war chant and discovered that ginger cat inches away outside the glass.

Being fresh out of inspiration for a real story and with the landscape remaining a soggy expanse of neutral shades, I'll try to present a sense of our small rural neighborhood.

I haven't mentioned our "Englisher" neighbors as often as I have written about the Amish of the area.

The contradictions of the Amish lifestyle are interesting, not least for the ways in which we find them inter-acting with other area families.

Kentucky has a number of Amish and Mennonite enclaves scattered around the state.  Indiana and Ohio, nearby states, are also know for bustling Amish communities. Pennsylvania is still the place which first comes to mind when we think of settlements of the "Plain People."

A good friend from our church has interacted with the Amish and isn't afraid to ask questions or spark discussions.  From listening to him and from reading I gather that the Amish way of life has much to do with honoring tradition.  The traditions are supposedly grounded in an interpretation of scripture which suggests that simplicity is a safeguard against many evils. It would seem to be a case of 'salvation by lifestyle.'

The degree of strictness with which certain 'doctrines' are carried out can vary according to interpretation by the ruling 'bishop' of an area, thus when the bishop is replaced, certain practices can be modified.

J. has counted up about a dozen Amish households within less than 10 miles of us.  We've been told  that a decade ago there were at least twice that number.

These families are far more mobile than I would have guessed.

They move I suppose, for some of the same reasons that the rest of us do: better accomodations, to be near family, better opportunites to support their large families.

Observing them as neighbors, I can admire their commitment to hard work and their sense of tradition.

However, as their communities have become less agrarian, many of them are becoming more in need of 'outside' assistance, even if only transportation to do their shopping and banking at a distance too great to be easily done by horse and buggy.  Many of the Amish men of the area pay someone to convey them to and from work at a local furniture factory.  The families pay 'drivers' to shuttle the children to the small Amish school.

The Amish believe that an 8th grade education is sufficient for anything that life will demand of them.

Thus a girl of 16 or so, having completed 8 grades of schooling is considered well enough educated to teach younger children.

Most of the families are large.  Sitting ahead of us at the Christmas program was a young man, perhaps not more than 30, who has 7 children--the oldest being 7 years of age [yes, there are twins in the family, but there it is!]

Because the Amish ask nothing of the "state" for the most part they have been left alone by state and federal government.

I find much of the Amish logic perplexing.  They are not allowed to have telephones installed in their homes [a worldly  instrument which would encourage idle gossiping? wasted time?] but they have phones in an outbuilding!

We've found that a number of our neighbors interact with the Amish in the same ways that we do, providing transportation, coming to know one or two families quite well.  One lady has an freezer in one of her out-buildings which the Amish across the road use to make ice blocks to keep their own perishables cold.

We've found this area of Kentucky to be a welcoming one.  Greetings and small kindnesses are exchanged.  Folks are busy, but will stop to chat for a moment in decent weather when we are working outside.  The lower reach of J.'s hayfield runs across the road from neighbor D. H.'s home.  If  D. was home when J. was loading hay, he loped across to swing bales onto the wagon, then with a wave of the hand, returned to his own yard.

Being church goers we've made friends there. We're invited to participate and told "We're glad you're here."

We chose for our retirement years a place where we have no kin, no background, other than the commonality of rural heritage.  We feel nothing short of blessed by our reception here.

D.H. talking with us in the dooryard one evening in the summer, while fireflies sparked across the lawn and cicadas chirped overhead, took his leave with the remark, "We knowed from the first that you was going to fit in, be good neighbors."

Welcomes don't get much better than that!

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.

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!

An Old and Dishonorable Profession

Several years ago in Wyoming after a concert by local musicians, The Prickly Pair, we talked for a few moments with fiddler, Les Hamilton.

I mentioned how many of the cowboy/campfire tunes have such similarity to old Scottish ballads.

Les told us how his family is descended from Scots who homesteaded in South Dakota and Wyoming, bringing with them their old tunes and their fiddles.

Laughingly he reminded me that Celtic music was not the only thing the Scots brought with them to the New World.

"Cattle rustling," he commented, "was well known and practiced in the Highlands, and there were those settlers who took it up in the American West."

We've all seen the B Westerns where the "bad guys" are rounding up and "rustling" the cattle of the honest struggling ranchers and must be brought to justice by the "good guy" in the white hat.

Cattle round-ups are still part of the western scene--spring and fall we watched herds on the move, controled by experienced horsemen and women, aided by a few savvy cow-dogs.

Rustling, I supposed, was a thing of the past and not a practive we would encounter in Kentucky.

Since moving here our only "neighbors" visible to the south have been a herd of cattle. Sometimes they are just beyond the boundary fence, calves skipping, bucking and bawling behind their mothers, the bulls pacing ponderously, keeping a bullish eye on their domain.

The pasture, rented to the owner of the cattle, runs along the curving road, takes in the derelict yard of an abandoned farmhouse, with its southern-most boundary at a creeper-covered empty house and barn surrounded by overgrown weeds and uncut hay.

When the cattle have been grazing on this end of their territory they have sometimes raised bovine heads to stare at our activities in the lower garden.  They watched on Tuesday evening as I yanked out unworthy tomato plants and uprooted raddled bean bushes.

Last evening, after a short but vehement burst of rain, J. resumed bush-hogging the pasture, mowing the stretch across the road from our good neighbor, D.H.

D.H. was working in his yard and true to the code of southern manners, J. stopped the tractor and crossed the road to "be neighborly."

J. came home with the astounding news that 22 of the resident cattle had been stolen, rustled, driven away a week or so ago, and the thieves have not been apprehended!

It has been rumored that the remaining cattle from that group have been sold or moved;

tonight as we went about gathering some produce in the relative cool of the evening, we looked up to see some familiar forms moving slowly down the pasture.

Perhaps the thieves are "lying low" or perhaps someone is "riding night herd" in the traditional way.

This is the brief notice which I found in the on-line edition of the local paper:

Reward offered in case of cattle theft at Gradyville, KY

Offering a $5,000.00 cash reward for the Arrest and Conviction involving the theft of 22 Black Angus Beef Cattle in the Gradyville community. Also, along with the $5,000.00 cash reward a person(s) can pick the best cow out of the herd to keep for the Arrest and Conviction involving the theft. Any information please contact the KSP Post in Columbia, KY.

This notice was followed by the names and phone numbers of the cattle owners.

I was interested enough to Google "cattle rustling" and was amazed to find that the ancient practice has been revived in the past few years and is quite a flourishing crime, particularly in the south-western United States.

A cattle thief was nabbed recently in the nearby state of Tennessee when he attempted to sell 11 head of cattle out of his trailer in a large parking lot. The prospective buyer suspected something amiss and phoned the sheriff.

J. and D.H. speculate that the thieves here must have laid their plans well ahead.  The territory of the old barns and buildings lie in an S-curve of the creek with no neighbors over-looking the farther pastures.  A rough track leads from the road up behind a ramshackle barn.

Having had exasperating experiences with cattle who didn't wish to be rounded up, driven, penned or loaded, I can marvel at the enormity of the cunning and luck involved in moving 22 head without a chance passer-by taking note.

Perhaps they planned to do their dirty work by the light of the waxing moon.

We all hope the deed was done by outsiders, not a local group.

We hope that the "good guys" in the white hats bring justice to the hills and hollers of Kentucky.

[As a side note, if you would like to read more about Les Hamilton the fiddler and his wife, Locke,

here's the link to their website. ]

http://www.thepricklypair.com/about.html