Deep South Day Two

I woke up this morning feeling like I had actually slept.  Between the Nyquil hangover and the crazy dreams I still felt a little comatose but that will pass after a few cups of caffeine.  You know those dreams where you HAVE to be somewhere but can’t get there?  Yep.  I had to deliver someone to an airport somewhere and everything and everyone interfered with me actually going.  Then someone at work kept doing things they shouldn’t be doing and I couldn’t find them to chastise them appropriately.  So waking up was somewhat of a relief.

We boarded the bus at eight o’clock and left the parking lot around 8:15, after a brief devotional by our tour guide, Martha.  Since it is Sunday, Paul had his guitar out and the little hymnbooks that were handed around yesterday were put to good use.  Although Paul and I left the plain life style before we were married in 1976 we remain forever grateful for the Amish heritage that we both have. 

Like anything involving humans there are great Amish groups and deeply flawed Amish groups. Paul grew up in the latter kind and was deeply disenfranchised with the whole culture.  Until he moved to Ohio and met many Amish people living the way it is meant to be lived.  Even with the negatives in his childhood and teenage years, he gleaned good things that have never deserted him.  A strong work ethic is the cornerstone of all Amish communities and in this his birthplace in Canada was no different.  The dictatorial control of the settlement in Aylmer where he spent his first fifteen years was much more extreme than in the old-order Amish districts of Ohio.  We count more than a few among our dear friends.  With integrity and love of fun, they are hard workers, skilled entrepreneurs, unbeatable card-players, and primo cooks with a love for Jesus; these and much more are all hallmarks of the vitality-filled culture emerging today.  Those caught up in legalism and oppressive religious oppression are finding themselves left behind in their conflict-filled stagnation.  We both feel privileged to be part of a heritage we can be proud of.  As it happens, everyone on the bus shares this privilege.  Everyone aboard speaks Dutch which comes in mighty handy since it’s a normal thing to vacillate back and forth between the two.

After an hour or two of hearty hymn singing we stopped at the famous Buc-ees Truck Stop for a bathroom break and to refuel the bus.  Martha instructed us to resist the urge to eat there since we were going to have an early lunch at our next stop.  Paul, who can’t say no to a good brisket had to buy a sample to share with all the other rule breakers on the bus. I must add that the Buc-ees “world famous bathrooms” are the most impressive public restrooms in recent memory.  You can take my word for it or you can check them out for yourselves.

An hour later we were at the Ava Maria Grotto where Brother Joseph Zoettel, a German Catholic monk created miniatures of famous structures throughout the world.  Hundreds of monuments to his skill, from the Coliseum in Rome to the tomb of Jesus in Israel are scattered along a meandering walkway in the wooded landscape surrounding the old monastery.  We contemplated and admired the countless hours of work and the undeniable inspiration involved in creating the world scenes along our path.

 We ate a picnic lunch prepared by Martha, Leroy, and Mary, eating at picnic tables under huge pines and maples. The weather was perfection: not too hot and not too cold.  The food was tasty and plentiful.  The conversation was stimulating.  After lunch several of us walked up a tree-lined pathway to an old cemetery where a hundred or so identical stone crosses, each bearing the names of the person reposing underneath, bore silent testimony to our mortality.  An old, tiny church with unlocked doors waited silent at the path’s end and we ventured in, one or two of us, and breathed in the heavy smell of incense from the lit candles lining the back walls.  Old wooden pews ran up both sides leading to a plain wooden altar with the Virgin Mary holding a dying Jesus upon it. I could almost hear the mournful chanting of long-gone monks; the very dust breathing history and spiritual significance in the oppressive, scented air.

As I walked back to the picnic area I heard music.  Paul on guitar accompanying Sam and Ervin with their harmonicas; a more idyllic setting I couldn’t imagine.  Peace seemed to permeate the whole place.  I looked around at fellow travelers who had endured unimaginable hardships.  Great losses from house fires to handicapped children to the tragic deaths of loved ones. Some recent and some long ago, each leaving their permanent mark upon those whose lives were forever changed.  But here, in this moment, in this time, I felt peace and respite, even if for only a brief moment.  A short break from the reality of the blows life deals us.

Back on the bus naps and low volume conversations took over for the next hour then Martha woke up the sleepers and handed around the microphone with instructions to introduce ourselves.  Interesting and informative, hearing people share their stories.  After the self-introductions were completed Martha handed out a big bag of popcorn (a Sunday afternoon staple in all respectable Amish homes) and the joke-telling started.  Somehow, today’s focus was roosters.

One tale, all of it true, according to the story teller and at least two or three witnesses (which means, according to the Bible, its reliability cannot be questioned) there was a certain rooster that was taken to auction because of its unruly behavior.  Good humored family and friends kept buying the fowl criminal and returning him in the night to the good farm wife’s coop.  After taking him once again to a far distant auction only to find him safely back in the coop in the morning, the bird finally lost its head in an execution.  With much embellishment and details added, the resulting gales of laughter were followed by chicken stories most of which did not end well for the birds. 

And then the harmonicas came back out followed by the guitar and as I write this the bus is once again alive with music and enthusiastic singing up front while muted conversations and laughter are drifting up from the group of women gathered in the back. And there’s yodeling.  Really good yodeling.

We are at our hotel now and preparing for a “kick-back” supper.  Martha says it’s called that because we are supposed to just “kick back and eat at the hotel.”  I’ll let you know how it turns out.  Meanwhile, I feel the peace still seeping in and surrounding all of us on what turned out to be a pretty perfect Sunday.