By Darren Bush –
I was on a back-road just north and east of Viroqua. The name of the road is unimportant, since it’s one of a hundred similar roads in Vernon County. They’re often lined with big white houses and laundry flapping in the wind. No power lines stretch to the homes.
Coming up over the hill, an Amish man was plowing four furrows with a horse-drawn plow. Of course, he waves, and of course, we wave back. They always wave.
For over two decades, I’ve had business transactions with several Amish families, buying furniture for my shop, for my home, and for my family and friends. We have a go-to family, though they’re slowing down as the kids are growing up and moving out to start families of their own. The kids that were babies when I first met the family are now working in the family shop.
The Amish are a tight-knit society, of course. They are often thought of as quaint by the casual observer, which I find annoying, probably more than they do. My friends just shrug it off. Still, after becoming friends with a Vernon County family, I’ve learned that despite their manner of life, they’re basically no different than we are. I’ve stayed in their home, eaten with them, and goofed off with their kids, using my horrible German, which makes them giggle, and it should. A few stories come to mind to illustrate my point.
Years ago, I was visiting to pick up some rockers and bookshelves. We ended up leaning against the truck for a while, talking about nothing in particular; just being neighborly. Emma appeared from the side of the house holding two huge Chinese cabbages. “Have you heard of Chinese cabbage? They’re great for making sauerkraut!” She handed them to me, and I thanked her. She pointed over her shoulder and said “I got a hundred of them.” That would certainly feed her family of fourteen.
I reached back into my bag and handed Emma a pint of strawberry jam. I explained it was cold and had frost on it 
because it was freezer jam, so it needed to be eaten in the next few days. She assured me that wouldn’t be a problem. The next time I passed through, I asked Emma how they enjoyed the jam. She grinned and said “Not bad for English.” I think that means “it was good.”
The Amish don’t have churches, but instead attend every two weeks in each other’s homes. My friends had travelled a few miles to a neighbor’s home a few days before for services. Melvin told me how his second daughter had taken extra care in ironing her clothes Saturday night, because apparently she was sweet on the son of the hosting family and wanted to look her best.
They travel in a large buggy bigger than a Suburban. The older kids have to hold younger kids on their laps. This would have destroyed the carefully-ironed dress, so Daughter Two held a toddler suspended over her lap for two miles. The squirming toddler didn’t make a single wrinkle. Melvin and I laughed about how her arms and shoulders must have been burning by the time they arrived. He just grinned and said “Teenagers are teenagers, y’know.” Indeed they are.
Emma is from a community down in Ohio, and since they do not drive, they hire a driver and a 15-passenger van for long-distance travel. They were on their way down, and our home was a good distance for an overnight stop. We scattered them throughout the house, on couches, camping mattresses, and guest beds. We enjoyed a nice meal together, and as we were cleaning up, the younger kids migrated to the refrigerator. We had magnetic fridge poetry on there, and pretty soon they were making their own little clusters of poems. The kids went to bed, but we stayed up late talking about our lives. The similarities between our lives far outweigh the dissimilarities.
After we said our goodbyes the next day, I went to the fridge to grab a glass of lemonade. There on the fridge was a “poem” in an open space they had cleared out.
“We love you. Thank you. Come see us.”
We saved that one right where it was, until we finally bought a new fridge.