Teary Amish Visit

Made my annual trek up to Amish Country north of Independence3 yesterday.

They had had 5 inches of rain in a couple hours earlier this week and when we turned onto the gravel, it was apparent from the mud and debris that the river had been up over the bridge and road. Low spots in corn fields stood in water as did wide swaths of pasture along the river.

Amish gardens are admirable—far fewer weeds than mine—the consummate eat-what-you-grow ethic. If outdoors, Amish women are weeding, hanging clothes or this time of year picking berries. If in Miller's Store, they are likely after what I am after—pectin. Costing almost $2 for 3 ounces in local stores makes canning jelly and jam impossibly dear. I bought 32 oz. For less than $6 along with bulk oatmeal, peanuts, and an array of spices, garlic salt, etc.

I adore Amish country. Not just the quilts, bonnets, horses and buggies. One spies the odd hand-lettered sign, addressed to state road crews “Do Not Spray.” nailed to wooden to fence posts. The fields are smallish, there is pasture land and trees that signal a balanced agriculture of animals and crops, rather than the landscape denuded of trees to create the largest fields possible ignoring the effects of erosion, no crop rotation or nitrogen runoff.

Amish country always leaves me with a tear in the Critical Eye—lamenting the respect for the land is so rare in most of the rest of Iowa, and wondering if what I see there is only possible in a religious context.