We went to a “sunset picnic” on an Amish Family Farm during our recent vacation to Central Pennsylvania. There was much to see and learn. The food was excellent, and the lemonade was icy cold.

The lemonade was served by ten-year-old Hanna Rose, an engaging young lady notable for her pleasant smile and efficient pouring. Of course, I could not resist engaging her in conversation.

(To understand our conversation, it becomes necessary to disclose that most Amish children attend private Amish schools only through eighth grade. The value of education is high but takes a very different form than the one we English have adopted.)

So I asked Hanna Rose what grade she was in. She finished filling my glass, smiled at me, and said, “I’m going into sixth grade this fall.”

To keep the conversation going, I said, “So you have two more years of school left!?”

Her smile faded just a little, and she looked a bit troubled. She sat the lemonade pitcher down, her smile brightened, and she held up one hand to count on her fingers. “Six, seven, eight,” she said. “That’s three years.” Her tone was patient and pleasant–I’m sure she considered how to correct me without making me feel bad.

Realizing my math error, I too smiled and replied, “You’re right!” Her smile broadened some.

“I think I should come to your school to learn how to do math better!”

Her smile broke into a grin as she picked up her pitcher to continue serving. I won’t claim that we developed a deep friendship, but we did manage to have several more conversations throughout the evening.

When we left, I wished her well in sixth grade. She replied that she was going to work really hard at learning. I somewhat regret not thanking her for reminding me of some important things.

Simple is good. While that’s something I love about the Amish in general, Hanna Rose shared a concrete example, and she did so graciously. She didn’t say, “Why are you making this so complicated–you’re getting it all wrong!” I later laughed at myself for my foolishness. And then I laughed at “us” who are not Amish because we often love making things harder in teaching. And we love big words.

Thankfully, I didn’t say, “Oh, Hanna Rose. I like how you have used your fingers for math manipulatives.”

The job of teaching should be to make things simple.

Hanna Rose also reminded me of a sign I’d seen a few years ago contrasting Amish Schools with Public Schools. One of the points was that Amish Schools value cooperation and humility above competition and pride. That’s not to say the Amish reject competition and pride–it’s to say that they understand balance. Hanna Rose’s hesitancy to “correct” my error suggests she thought hard about how to do so in a spirit of humility and without alienating me or making me feel bad.

I also later teased her, “I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay here and live with you forever and ever.” Her wide grin and lack of a reply told me she’s heard it before and realized it’s a compliment, not a threat.

And maybe not such a bad idea. I suspect I could learn a lot more from Hanna Rose and her family. Maybe we all could.