We’d arranged dinner with Roy and Anna, an Amish couple, through a tour guide. A total of eight of us, plus Roy and Anna, would “break bread together” at their dawdy house in Fredericksburg, Ohio. (A dawdy haus closely equates to an in-law apartment, although more often than not, it is a free-standing building, sometimes also called a grossmutter haus. The system allows for several generations to live on the same property.)
I parked near the barn, avoiding horse tie-ups and doorways. Roy was waving us to the house from the porch and we were greeted by the tiniest poodle I have ever seen. Once inside, we took our places around the table and, following a moment of silent prayer, began passing around dishes that Anna brought to the table, starting with homemade bread and butter or peanut butter spread. The hearty meal included beef, chicken, noodles and mashed potatoes… I had the honor of sitting on Roy’s right–we were the only two men, and while the conversation was lively and engaging, the traditional “separation” of men and women seemed to develop naturally.
We learned that Roy and Anna had raised ten children and had at least fifty grandchildren, plus some great-grandchildren. The sharing was comfortable, and they were as interested in us as we were in them. Laughter came easy, especially over choosing homemade peach and coconut cream pie. A small piece of each made the decision easy.
After supper, Roy took me on a tour of the grounds and barn. Behind the dawdy house is a fairly complete children’s play area. When I complimented the grass beneath everything, he laughed and said, “Turf.” It was still a few minutes before I realized he meant fake grass. “Too hard to keep mowed,” he explained, reminding me that the typical Amish is imminently practical.
A fairly large back building housed at least a half-dozen buggies with room to spare. Roy explained that it was multipurpose but built primarily for Sundays when it was their turn to host church. One of my “forgets” was to ask how many families there are in their district. Somewhat to that point, all of their children live within a few miles.
After a walk through the barn (several of his sons run the farm), he sat on the tailgate of my truck and we did some serious sharing that ranged from farming practices to “theology.” When I asked him what he thought was the biggest misunderstanding about the Amish among the Englisch, he took some time to answer. Reframing his answer is challenging because it was a conversation, not an interview. He seemed genuinely interested in what difficulties I thought I would experience! That led to a long chat about individualism versus community.
Ultimately, he focused on the word “commitment.” He seems fairly certain that most Englisch underestimate the amount of commitment involved in becoming and remaining Amish. It was a point of agreement. One example is that Roy is concerned about the increased use of electric bikes and their impact. (His granddaughters were riding horses after supper. I saw no electric bikes.)
As I drove out the driveway, I realized that–in spite of our guide’s assurance that photos were permitted “as long as no faces are included,”–I had not taken one solitary photo. Had I been more committed to “photojournalism,” I might have remembered. I know I won’t forget Roy and our shared conversation. Nor will I lose the sense that I could show up again and feel welcome and connected. I’ll take that over a photo any day.