Category Archives: Road Trip 2024

Pages and posts regarding the summer road trip that’s about simplicity and tradition, with a focus on “plain people” and the traditional skill of driving oxen.

Just for Fun, Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024

Am I a Drover?

Leave a comment

I’m not sure about that, but I am honored to be included in a photo on the front page of the Midwest Ox Drovers Association!

The photo was taken during my workshop at Tillers International in Michigan. I seem to recall now that included an “honorary” subscription to the MODA Newsletter. I remember this photo well. From left to right are fellow student Julia, her Mom in the back, Instructor Tom, and yours truly–checking my phone for a photo I took of the situation. If you look closely, you will see that Julia and Tom are sitting on one of his oxen. Tom had explained that oxen can serve many purposes. He had the large Brown Swiss (breed, not where they came from) lay down to accommodate them.

A drover is “someone who moves groups of animals, especially cattle or sheep, from one place to another.” So I think it’s fair to say I have been a drover. That was the whole point of attending the workshop. Or so I thought. However, I recently questioned whether it was about driving oxen or communicating with them. But can I consider myself a drover?

I’ve also done my share of herding escaped cows, but if we’re going to be precise, some would suggest that cows are not cattle. There’s no complete agreement, and there are regional differences in terms of use. At least one common distinction is that cows are “girls” and cattle are “boys.” But wait. It’s not that simple.

A female bovine (safe terminology) might be a heifer, not a cow. She’s not a cow until she’s reproduced.

I am suddenly reminded of being with my oldest daughter at a fair when she was still a toddler. As we traipsed through one of the barns, she proclaimed loudly and repeatedly, “Daddy! I know how to tell the boy cows from the girl cows!” I congratulated her but didn’t encourage further discussion. I wasn’t sure I wanted everyone to hear the answer. As only a three-year-old can, she persisted, becoming increasingly loud and demanding. “Do you wanna know how?”

I finally conceded, and she said emphatically, “The boys have rings in their noses.” Her powers of observation were intact, although I’ve never figured out how she drew that conclusion from what she’d seen.

Not all boy cows cattle have rings in their noses, not all boy cattle become steers, and not all steers become oxen. You probably don’t feel a need to know the distinctions. Neither did Bethanie.

At a more recent fair, I saw a young boy running towards some goats, yelling, “Oh look! Sheep!” I can forgive some imprecision in farm vocabulary by non-farmers—I’m sometimes guilty myself—but I was also relieved to hear a parent correct him.

While we’re at it, let’s ensure people know that chocolate milk doesn’t just come from brown cows—well, it might—but from all different colors of cows, including brown. I may not be considered a drover, but I do know a few things about bovines.

Which reminds me. During the workshop, one of the best and most accurate definitions of “oxen” we were given was, “Oxen are bovines with an education.” Sometimes, it’s important to be precise. Sometimes, it’s more important to be simple than to be precise. Both precision and simplicity can be accurate. Choose wisely.

Walter, Occasional Drover

Communication, Just for Fun, Learning, Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024, Teaching

Are We Driving or Communicating?

3 Comments

So, at least in theory, I recently learned how to work with an oxen team. I’d been saying that I was going to learn to drive oxen. Among my many discoveries was that working with oxen is more about communicating with them than driving them.

“Whooooa, Boys!” Notice I am moving the goad in front of them.

I heard one of my instructors say more than once. “You’re confusing them. They don’t know what you want them to do!” Staying focused on communicating was a bigger challenge than it might seem. And at times, it was funny. Mostly though, it was frustrating!

In brief, trained oxen receive information from the teamster in three ways. The first is (or at least should be) spatial—the body position of the teamster. Second is the “goad” or stick and where and how they are touched. The third is verbal. There is some indication that they hear vowels best. So “whoooooa” works better than “whoa.” The best example of confusing them was when I’d say, “Whoa!” but keep walking. (In my mind, it made sense because I wanted to get in front of them. In their bovine minds, I was sending mixed signals.)

Instructor Rob is a school teacher. We had lots of fun making comparisons. One was the comment, “What you’re doing shouts louder than what you’re saying.” You don’t have to work with kids for long before you realize “Do as I say and not as I do” doesn’t work well.

While a 2,000+ pound ox doesn’t engage in what we call “higher levels of reasoning,” the basics are the same. That said, two of the teams I worked with were extremely well-trained. One team of Devons would stand and let me walk some distance away. I could then raise my goad and call, “Right here, boys,” and they would walk to me and stop with their heads on either side of me.

We students had to learn a bit about herd instinct and survival from predators. Rob occasionally reminded us that building trust with the beasts was important. “You may have to convince them you’re not trying to kill them.” Herd instinct requires they accept you as the top ox.

Here’s an interesting comparison. My Ram pickup truck weighs about the same as a large pair of oxen. During Road Trip 2024, I drove that truck over 3,600 miles, mostly by pushing pedals, turning the wheel, and flipping switches. (I’m purposely omitting occasional arguments with the voice feature of the GPS.) The truck doesn’t have a mind of its own or any instincts. It just does what you tell it to do.

Oxen require a bit more understanding and communication than my truck or your car. You can’t just drive them. One of the things I found challenging is the amount of attention required with oxen, particularly when pulling something. There is no cruise control!

Of course, all analogies break down if you press them, but in addition to the joy of working with these large animals, it was great to be reminded of some of the basic truths about effective communication. I’m still processing, but a few important lessons can be learned.

Don’t send mixed messages! If you say “whoa,” stop moving. Remember: “What you are doing is shouting so loud I can’t hear what you’re saying.” Let’s get everything aligned.

Use multiple communication strategies! Oxen expect to be told and shown by position and the goad. With humans, say it, write it, demonstrate it. I’m not suggesting you email someone and ask if they got your text. Texting serves a different purpose than emailing or calling. Chose wisely.

Speak the language of the listener! With oxen, “Come here!” is not the same as “Right here!” Be conscious of buzzwords and implied meanings. Do you want me to do something, or do you need me to do something? Also, oxen can’t talk back. Humans can. Take advantage of that by asking humans what they heard or read.

Use the listener’s name freely! To make a team of oxen turn sharp left, one has to slow down and perhaps stop completely—it’s like driving a bulldozer. You’ll need to tell one ox (by name), “Haw!” and the other (by name), “Whoa!” (The goad and your body position are important. Use multiple communication strategies!)

When we want a team of oxen to do something, good communication is effective. “Driving” is not. Picture grabbing a 2,000-pound animal by the horns and making him stop. It’s not likely to happen. Picture yourself being dragged in the direction the team chooses. It might make for a funny video to post on social media, but it’s not likely to achieve the desired result.

When done correctly, communication is powerful. It beats driving any day once you get the hang of it.

Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024

Headed for the Hitching Post

Leave a comment

There are oxen in my truck. I found a matching pair In Pennsylvania and couldn’t resist.

For the uninitiated, “hitching post” is a bit of a misnomer on several counts. It typically resembles a section of fence and involves two posts. It also isn’t used for hitching. With oxen, it serves as a place to “yoke up.” The yoked oxen are then led to the implement (which may be some distance from the hitching post) and connected or hitched to it.

One characteristic of oxen is a tendency to consider the hitching post “home base” and, being creatures of habit, head there automatically and enthusiastically. It can be challenging to keep them on task if you pass near the hitching post.

Today, we head for our human hitching post—home. I’m not sure if we do so enthusiastically, but we look forward to unyoking, which indicates that the work is finished. While not the focus, this trip has involved some work, although not in the usual sense of the word. It doesn’t slide off the tongue as easily, but Road Trip 2024 involved some “purposeful effort.”

The hitching post is still pretty far away–we have about 300 miles to achieve today. I’m not sure what equates to removing the yoke, but it might be unloading and unpacking. It will qualify as a purposeful effort.

And it will be a bittersweet. Road Trip 2024 qualifies as an amazing experience on so many levels. I suspect we’ll be processing it for a while. I have some books to ship, some follow-up with new friends… and lots of “thinking” to do. Stay tuned!

My oxen are from Pennsylvania. They haven’t been named yet, so suggestions are welcomed. Short names are considered best, and they should sound different. Oxen do learn their names and respond to them.
Amish Life, Learning, Mental Health, Mental Hygiene, Personal Growth, Road Trip 2024

Rachel’s Right–Again!

Leave a comment

Instead of counting minutes, maybe count priorities.

Being in Lancaster County always feels a bit like being home again. We made this year’s visit towards the end of Road Trip 2024 somewhat intentionally to aid us in the “re-entry” to life as we usually practice it.

This sign on a Pennsylvania Bank serves as a reminder that we’re in Amish Country. Maybe I should have brought “my” oxen! (Yes, I’ve seen buggies at the drive-up window.)

One of our first stops was to see our young Amish friends Katie, Hanna Rose, and Rachel. All three are wise beyond their years, and their years are increasing. I was especially curious to talk with Rachel. We had a shared interest in teaching–what fun it was to compare notes! But last year we learned that she’d stopped teaching–Katie spilled the beans, explaining, “She’s in a relationship.”

After some friendly teasing, Rachel explained that it’s possible to have too many priorities and that, while she enjoyed teaching, her relationship and future family would be her focus. (Read last year’s story here.) 

When we arrived this year, one of the young boys was sent to get her—she was helping her mother make and can ketchup. After a few preliminaries, I was not surprised to learn that she’s getting married on October 29th. She was glowing, and it was not just from the hot work of washing dishes.

Most conversations with the Amish I find are very mutual. She seemed equally interested in what I was doing and planning. At one point, I reminded her of our age difference and said, “I’m told that at my age, the two most important words are ‘comfort’ and ‘fun.'” She interrupted.

“And peace,” she said. “Don’t forget peace.”

The interruption surprised me, but the suggestion didn’t. Making peace a priority makes sense at any age. It’s one reason I try to keep my worry box small, so there’s not a lot of room for things to worry about. The peaceful pace is one thing that attracts me to the Amish. Rachel isn’t the only one who counts priorities instead of minutes and hours.

Sure, it’s possible to have too many priorities. But it’s also possible not to have enough or to miss an important one. It almost goes without saying that we should constantly check our priorities against our values. When I talked with my new Amish friend Roy in Ohio, he expressed some concern over the proliferation of e-bikes among the Amish. He’s not sure how that will change their communities over time. Questions like that are often more important than the answers. Our priorities should be driven by our values. We have more control over our values and priorities than we often exercise or even realize.

Thanks to Rachel, I’m adding “peace” to my package of priorities. I explained to her that I’ve always worked towards what I call “positive apathy.” It showed up last night when we stopped for ice cream at an Amish farm.

Grandma had a spray bottle and cloth and was eyeing the outside tables. I glanced heavenward and joked that it was likely to rain soon and the tables would wash themselves. She smiled and said, “We really need the rain.” (Rain should be a priority!) So, while I’d hoped to walk some with the camera, the rain is needed by the farmers and the earth. So be it. There is no need to worry or get upset. Peace, comfort, fun.

It may seem ironic that I’m adding to a package that is getting smaller, but I think it works that way. As the saying goes, “Less is more.”

Rain can be calming.

Amish Life, Road Trip 2024

Oops, I Forgot!

Leave a comment

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.)

This is not Roy and Anna, but quite typical of traffic in Holmes County.

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.