The trouble with living in a motor home is that you can’t just impulse shop. Everything you like takes up space, and that means I had to forswear the wonderfully painted tin stars (no outside to decorate) the gorgeous quilts (only one bed to cover) all those wise and wonderful semi-religious plaques (no walls to put nails in) the whimsical tin flowers (no garden) the bird houses (ditto) wagon wheels, handmade porch swings, various buckets, firkins (look it up) dolls, and most interestingly, the traditional white caps, sitting so starchily pretty in a closed glass cabinet so they wouldn’t gather dust.
I bought a potholder filled with spices that gives off a lovely aroma when you put your hot pot on top of it. And that was it. Nothing else would fit in the bus.
I did, however, spend a good deal of time touching beautifully rubbed cherry, maple and beech tables, admiring the shine, craftsmanship and aesthetics of each one. There was a young Mennonite salesperson on her cell phone. (I knew she wasn’t Amish because she was using a modern gadget) She wore the starched white cap, a long dress and no makeup. I was the only customer in the store, and couldn’t help hearing her side of the conversation. I expected a lot of thee’s and thou’s and shyly sweet remarks. Instead, as she hung up, I heard her say, “Cool! Catch you later. Cool! Will do. Buh-bye.” I know the strict Amish don’t use electricity, but I guess the Mennonites have TV. That was definitely a SNL conversation.
In another place, I put out my American Express card, and the Amish woman replied, “Oh we don’t take Amex, just MasterCard and Visa.” I had to smile. “I guess you’ve got to feel pretty much ‘in the world’ if you’re saying that.” “Oh yes,” she smiled ruefully, and we both laughed.
The Amish buggies are very much in evidence in Shipshewana, as are beards, flat black hats on the men and towheaded little girls in long plain dresses and little boys in ankle-length pants with old fashioned lace up shoes.
The other interesting item of haberdashery was one young girl’s lace mantilla. I decided she was either washing her white cap or a Jackie Kennedy wannabe, since that was the last time I’ve seen anybody in a mantilla. Unless she was Jewish and this was a yarmulke. Which would mean she was a boy and I was blind drunk. I leave you to decide on that one.
They ask you not to request the “plain people” to pose for pictures with you. I guess I wouldn’t like to be a curiosity in my hometown either. I did surreptitiously get a few of the buggies, which I found charming and sweet.
After the visit to Shipshewana, I went on line to have a few questions answered. I learned that in fact that both Amish and Mennonite derive from an earlier religious group called Anabaptists in Switzerland and Germany. Anabaptist means “born again.” Hmmm. Where have I heard that before? In the 1600’s, Simon Menno broke with the Anabaptists first and thus the Mennonites were formed, and the Amish split happened when a bunch of the Mennonites decided things were getting too worldly and went back to the earlier, stricter teachings, notably shunning, which is what they still do if a professed member of the community breaks the rules egregiously. They don’t baptize until between the ages of 16 and 25, and turn a blind eye towards the young folk who are expected to act up and misbehave for a while. To get it all out of their systems, I imagine, because once you are baptized, you’d better not mess up or you’ll be shunned, cut off from every friend and family member you’ve ever known. Oooh. That’s cold.
The Amish are amazing people. They live with no electricity and no education beyond the eighth grade, at which time they take up the farming that keeps the community supplied with both food and income. They all wear the same haircut: women with center parts and long straight hair, and men with what looks to me like a bowl cut, longish with bangs. But all this is just surface. I’d like to know how they live in the silence of their homes, how they are able to read by gas lamp, and most importantly, how they don’t all weigh 250 pounds from the food. Must be the hard work.
And how they can remain untouched by the world? Then again, maybe they can’t. Maybe it’s inevitable that they will soak up at least some of their surroundings, given the number of people who visit their little town, and the seduction of modern inventions. Maybe that little salesgirl with the cell phone and “Cools” and “Buh-byes” is not the only one who’s joining the modern world little by little.
And maybe, just maybe, someone is sitting by his fire, bemoaning these changes and planning a revolution of his own, back to the old ways. Maybe, this minute, the Amish are about to be born again. It wouldn’t be the first time.
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