Morning Cheer

Amish Farm on Zuercher Road

The trees are all bare now, and the Amish farmer’s crops are all harvested.  The only thing left in the fields are corn shocks standing tall and straight as sentinels.  Every day since April the view on my walks changed almost imperceptibly as spring melted into summer, summer into fall, and now winter.  Every season is a gift.  Seeds are planted with hope.  Crops are harvested with thanksgiving.  Now the land rests.  

This time of year it is possible to see a great distance with open fields and bare trees, so when my walk reaches the crest of the Zuercher Road hill, I can stand on top of the road bank, look west across the fields about three-quarters of a mile, and see the backside of a very familiar farm.  Juanita's home farm.  A lot of Nussbaums and Neuenschwanders around Kidron have roots that go back to that plot of ground.  My dear mother-in-law Esther (Nussbaum) was born and raised there, and returned with her husband Marcus (Mike) Neuenschwander to raise nine children.  My own memories from that place are rich with wonderful family times too.  

I’ll never forget my first visit to the Neuenschwander home, November 4, 1970, to pick up a very lovely seventeen-year-old Swiss girl named Juanita.  It was our first date, and we were headed to Canton to see the movie “The Cross and the Switchblade”.    When I went to the front door, I had no idea it was not normally used as an entrance.  It was a tiny closed-in porch that was used for sweepers, brooms, and such.  Juanita was kind, and let me in that door anyway.  I was so nervous that it didn’t even seem unusual to step over a sweeper and trip over a broom while trying to get into the house.  Then, before my eyes was a sight that is forever ingrained in my memory.  Seven children and a very pregnant Mom sat facing my direction, and between us was a tiny thirteen-inch TV that they were all huddled around.  

“This is my family,” Juanita said.  

“Hi family,” I said.

That was all I could choke out.

You have to know one thing.  I was extremely shy.  I loved girls, but speaking with them terrified me.  To actually have an official date was almost beyond imagination.  But I had set my eyes on this girl, and she had happily accepted my request, and there was no turning back.   We went to Canton to see the movie with another young couple, as a double date.  This took some of the pressure off my conversation predicament.  During the movie we held hands for the first time.   It was magic.  The movie was really good, I think.  I don’t remember much about the evening except for Juanita’s pretty little hand in mine.  And… I hoped she was the one.

Now where was I… oh, yeah… the farm.

It seems amazing now, but my connection with the Neuenschwander farm started back quite a bit further than when we began dating.  As a young boy growing up near Elida, Ohio,  we knew very little about Kidron, and nothing about the Neuenschwanders.  What we did know, was that one of Dad's cousins, a pastor named I. Mark Ross, lived there.  

Mark was an entrepreneur of sorts, a preacher, and an evangelist.  He was well respected in the Mennonite communities, not only for his fiery gospel preaching, but his love of four-part singing - and his gift for teaching others how to sight-read it.  His travels to teach and preach always came with a load of cooked cereal to peddle.  ‘Morning Cheer’, he called it, and it was his own invention.  We learned that he would make trips to Kansas to bring home the hard red wheat that was the main ingredient in the cereal.  Along with the ground wheat, the cereal contained a mixture of several other grains.  As I recall, our family ate it primarily in the winter months.  Along with fresh whole-milk from our Jersey cows, the Morning Cheer really stuck to our ribs, keeping us energetic and healthy.  

Mark Ross lived in a modest home in Kidron, and didn't have a good place to grind the grains that made up Morning Cheer, so he found a family on the south end of Kidron who had a shed well suited for that sort of endeavor.  You guessed it.  The shed was right there on the Mike Neuenschwander homestead, the very place where a little blonde-haired Swiss girl was growing up, picking apples, tending to chickens and pigs, helping with her younger siblings, and thinking about boys.  Of course, she didn't know that somewhere about one-hundred-forty-five miles west, a little boy was growing up on a small farm, feeding calves, teasing cats, and eating the Morning Cheer that originated on her farm.  Neither of them could know the rest of the story - that time and providence would bring them together…

And that’s why these walks are never dull.  So much to see.  So much to remember and be grateful for.  Every day is a gift.  

We’re about to wrap up another year, and God has been with us.  So with peace in the present and hope for the future, we’ll roll up the sidewalks and say good evening from Kidron, Ohio, where the men are still boys at heart, the women are beautiful and patient, and most of the children will find their way back home.

Walking Alone

When I started this walking thing back in April soon after maple season, it was because I wanted to continue my exercise program.  Hurriedly carrying five gallon buckets of sap every evening for several weeks left me feeling better and stronger.  I knew it would be good to continue moving.  As an additional incentive, my brother-in-law Henry, who is not much younger than me, was working up to his first full marathon - a goal he accomplished this past spring.  That inspires me.  I can at least walk a few miles most days.

A lot of folks enjoy going to the gym, or the Y, or to the sidewalks of Kidron.  Not me.  Nothing wrong with surrounding yourself with other people.  But walking alone in the countryside - lost in thoughts - that’s where introverted souls like me are refreshed and energized.  The hard walking up and down the hills, the rapid breathing of the invigorating outdoor air - this is exercise at its best.  And when we exercise, our body is releasing endorphins into the bloodstream.  Endorphins are the good guys.  They give you a lift mentally and physically.

I did walk into town one time to see the rubble of the Kidron Elementary School.  They tore both buildings down.  Nearly all the good Swiss children and adults around Kidron have some fond memories of that place.  As an import into this community, I have none - except for one story that an old gentleman told me many years ago - and it sticks in my memory like gum on the bottom of a shoe.  

He told me about a time long ago when the Kidron School’s rest rooms were outhouses.  One for the boys and one for the girls.  At recess the boys would sometimes go behind the little building and have peeing contests.  One Nussbaum boy could pee all the way over the outhouse.  (He’s long departed, God rest his soul) Boys do this type of thing, you know.  Girls may be huddled together, whispering about the boys, and thinking about kissing.  But the boys aren't there yet.   They’re out back somewhere, lining up to see who can pee the farthest.   

But beware, if you do things like that, pretty soon they will tear down the outhouses.  Then later they will tear down the whole school.  In the meantime, you die.  So let this be a lesson.   

On this particular day, as I strode up the sidewalk to see the rubble, there stood Bobby Haas in front of Kidron Pizza, eating an ice cream cone.  The pizza shop sells those too.

Good old Bobby.  He just turned sixty-one.   He’s been deaf since he was a baby, and after spending his first nineteen or twenty years at the Apple Creek Developmental Center, he moved to Kidron to live with a loving family.  To his knowledge, he had no other family.  That all changed about thirty years later when his real siblings discovered him.   They thought their brother Robert had died as an infant.  An amazing story.  

I've worked at the same place as Bobby for over thirty-five years now.  He is the ultimate extrovert - loving everyone.  He doesn't know it, but he’s taught me a lot about life.   Truth is, he’s taught a lot of people a whole lot about life - if we’re observant enough to notice how it is possible to overcome the obstacles and live a happy life.

Something told me Bobby would follow me on the walk, but today I hoped he wouldn't.  He did anyway.  A backwards glance revealed a hurrying Bobby trying to catch up.  It was rude of me, but I was hoping to walk alone.  Bobby is very animated and “talkative”, and will continue pantomiming and signing until you “get it”.  The problem is, sometimes you never do.  You just finally have to nod your head with a confident smile and hope he thinks you understand.  This process takes time and energy, and I wasn't feeling it today.  He caught up with me just as I reached the rubble.  We stood there together looking at the piles.  He looked really sad.  With a frown on his face, he shook his head and waved his arms, and tried to ask me what happened.  All I could do was shrug my shoulders and try to look as downcast as he appeared.  It would be impossible to explain.  

I needed to head for home then, and Bobby traipsed along beside me.  Don’t get me wrong; I love Bobby.  We’re about the same age, and I “talk” with him a lot.   We share coffee-time together nearly every morning at our workplace as he shows me the obituaries in the Daily Record.  That’s his thing.  He often knows someone who died.  He points to their picture and looks really sad as he crosses his wrists over his chest.

Bobby dropped from our walk when we reached his driveway, and I hurried on down the hill past Kidron Pizza, the Post Office, Village Printing, the Amish furniture business, the Fire Department, and Quince Bakery.  Made a left on Emerson - up over the hill - and swung to the right on Jericho, hoping to speak with no one else.  That’s one of the reasons I like the Zuercher Road route.

But here’s the thing.  For the most part, Zuercher Road is quiet, except for the occasional car and a couple buggies.  But on the days when others are out walking, I have met neighbors that I would have only waved at while driving by in a car.  These unplanned meetings naturally initiate conversations that otherwise would not happen.  And in the midst of these neighborly how-do-you-dos, you find out that you live in a wonderful place among wonderful people.  Kidron, Ohio - a little ten-horse town where the sturdy Swiss men are homely, but industrious.  The women are robust and beautiful, with flour on their aprons and homemade bread in the oven.  And the children will be home for Christmas.

To all our friends and loved ones, we wish you a Christmas season filled with great joy - a time to reflect on the best gifts - gifts of life, family, peace of mind, eternal hope – all because of a babe named Jesus.  

The perfect gift.      

Cider

Earlier this fall when the leaves were turning, the three-mile walks became rich with natural beauty.  It's my favorite time of year.  Pumpkins abound, colorful trees, apples galore, and cider.  Delicious fresh sweet cider.

Some people can drink it with no ill effects.  Others can drink a small cup on their way to the bathroom and still barely get there in time.  I'm one of the lucky ones who can drink it.  Apples, applesauce, apple cake, apple pie, apple anything.  I love it all.  Especially apple cider.  But it needs to be good apple cider.  Not just any combination of apples makes for good cider.  It takes a person who knows their apples to achieve a great flavor.  They know how to blend this-variety with that-variety to get the best taste. These kinds of people will not use wormy or rotten apples, and certainly not green apples.  The equipment that presses the cider will be clean, and the apples will be washed.  Apples that drop to the ground and sustain bruises are fine too.  I learned these things many years ago from my in-laws who had a lovely orchard.  I've been an appreciative apprentice connoisseur of cider ever since.  

It always pays to be cautious though.  Even when all the rules are followed, there are exceptions. The best advice, is to drink a glass and wait a while.  If all goes well, you may satisfy your taste buds with more.  Such was my experience on a mild fall day, and the road beckoned.  After enjoying a tall glass of the fresh sweet cider, coupled with several slices of mini-marble cheese, it was time to hit the road.

What a wonderfully lovely day it was.  The trees were in the peak of their glorious fall splendor.  The air was clean and crisp.  All was well with the world.  It was an easy hike up over the long hill on Zuercher Road, and down past the Amish house where a young lady was busy hanging out the wash and singing softly in Pennsylvania Dutch.  She saw me walking by, but continued singing in a clear lilting voice.  I thought to myself; this is the life.  Even Warren Buffet could not want for more than this.  The air, the unrivaled scenic beauty, the Amish girl singing, the rustic scent of wood smoke gently drifting my direction from the kitchen chimney of the Amish home, and the taste of fresh cider still lingering on my lips.  A deep sense of contentment filled my heart.

I continued on around the S curve, striding full tilt up over the next hill, past the Millers and Troyers, until reaching Western Road - exactly 1.5 miles from home.  As is my practice, I walk over the knoll past the intersection, make a U-turn, and head back towards home.

And that's when it hit me.

It began with a slight rumble in the gut.  No!  This is not going to happen!  My pace picked up, and temporarily the feeling went away.  But not for long.  The next rumble was definitely a warning of things to come.  This would have been the moment to pull out the cell phone, and call home, but no cell phone.  There was nothing to do but keep walking, so with pressure building, I switched gears from a fast walk to the Amish lope.

When events like this happen, you are compelled to admit that occasionally things may not work out the way you desire.  You see, two forces within your body are beginning a valiant struggle to win.  One is governed by involuntary muscle contractions pushing with all their might. The other by sheer will power and desperate clenching of muscles that have developed over the years while trying to contain gas during long church services and committee meetings.  This is one of the hidden benefits of meeting regularly for worship.

In the meantime, it's a toss-up which set of muscles will win.  The brain is rapidly sending repetitive signals to your legs to move even faster.  The Swartzentruber Amish lope now takes on a variation that includes a pronounced waddle.  A wild look appears on the face.  Beads of sweat break out on the forehead.  Breathing becomes rapid, and there is an audible groan with each exhale.  The eyes begin darting around for any possible escape - a corn field, a dense woods, anything that looks like cover.  No such luck.  

Moving onward at a pace that must rival Olympic speed-walkers, I maneuver around the S curve, hoping the Amish girl is no longer hanging clothes.  She is not.  Thank goodness!  She won't see the red, anguished face and bulging eyeballs. She won't observe the crazy Englisher lurching frantically up the hill.

And then, before me lies a corn field.  Wonderful, beautiful field of corn.  Never before have I loved a corn field so much as I do at this moment.   

Back on the road, I continued the walk at a more moderate pace.  That was a close call.  The next half mile went well. The trees that five minutes ago had been mocking me, were returning to full color.  I rounded the corner at Jericho and started the last short stretch for home, and it happened again.  This time I broke into a run and made it to the back door - kicking off my shoes for the final sprint through the house.  Dear Juanita, who happened to be sitting in the living room, observed the mad rush, and asked what's wrong.

All I could do was yell over my shoulder. "Cider!"

I hesitated to share this story.  The more genteel part of me said, "Don't go there."   I did anyway.  Please forgive me.   

Signing off now, from our home on the eastern edge of Kidron, where the men love their wives, the women are patient with their men, and the children will come wandering home right about suppertime.

Walking With Dignity

It's always been fun to observe how people walk.  There are so many styles.  Fast, slow, proud, dejected, swagger, waddle, and shuffle. Then of course, there's the Swartzentruber Amish lope.  I try that one sometimes. It has little similarity to how one might walk in a store or church.  The Amish lope is designed for covering a lot of ground as rapidly as possible without actually breaking into a run.  

It's a bit hard to describe, but we'll try.  First, you start walking normally, then while leaning forward slightly, jut out your neck and head and greatly lengthen your stride.  At the same time, get your shoulders swinging with your arms, and begin rocking your upper torso a little bit side-to-side with each long stride. To this combination, add a bouncing motion that comes from springing off your toes with each step. This gets the whole body involved in the walk, and it brings peak efficiency to your forward motion.  

Occasionally I try to speed-walk while maintaining an upright dignified posture.  This is difficult.  It leaves me with the feeling that my legs may out-walk my upper body, and I may fall backwards.  I can only do this in short bursts.

I remember an older fellow who worked at Kidron Body many years ago.  His walk was unique, but lended itself to high productivity.  Llewellyn Badertscher was a good upright Swiss Mennonite man of impeccable character, who worked in the maintenance department, and by virtue of his job, needed to walk a lot from building to building.  His style, was to lean way forward, put his head out even further, then trust his legs to keep up.  I always thought he resembled a chicken chasing a fly.  I've tried to walk like this.  It works well until you pass the gravitational point of no return.  It's a fine line, but there is a point where your legs can no longer keep up with your body, and you sprawl face down on the ground. The upside to this, is that you're already halfway there, so it doesn't hurt much.  Somehow Llewellyn had this mastered.  I never saw him fall.

There was a time when our family used to meet at Mansfield for Sunday lunch at the Olive Garden.  Maybe twice a year, Dick and Margaret would drive from Lima to meet those of us from Orrville, Apple Creek, and Kidron.  After a wonderful meal of endless salad and other fine fare, we'd head over to the food court in the mall, where we could sit and visit for an hour or so.  One day while doing this, we decided to shop a little.

Coming back from my excursion to the Sears Tool section, I found myself walking down a long aisle where Dad sat at the far end, facing me.  About that time, I noticed an older gentleman a few feet ahead of me who could have been Dads twin - at least from behind. But he didn't walk like Dad.  He had the old-age waddle, and walked slightly hunched over.  This called for some corrective imitation.  Even in his old age, Dad always carried himself with pride, walking very erect, with shoulders squared back, and head held high.   As I followed his twin, I said to myself, if that were Dad, he'd be walking like this; and I put myself in my best erect and dignified position, shortened my steps a bit, and moved forward with poise and purpose.  Soon the older gentleman peeled off to the left, and I remained lost in thought, walking like Dad.  I didn't know he was watching me.  When I reached him, he said, "I like the way you walk - shoulders back, head held erect - like you feel good about yourself."

I just smiled and kept quiet.  Wish I'd told him how proud I was of him, and why I was walking that way.  He's gone now.  It’s been almost four years.  

But the truth is, it seems my walks on Zuercher Rd have a greater resemblance to the Amish lope, then anything resembling dear old Dad.  Not only did he move with poise, he talked the talk, and he walked the walk, and I’ll keep trying.

And that's the word from Jericho Road, on the outskirts of our little home town, Kidron Ohio, where the men are rough around the edges, the women are beautiful, and most of the children will find their way back home.

Names

My almost-daily walks are always interesting.  As I high-stepped up the Zuercher Rd hill this afternoon it was chilly and breezy.  Quite a bit different than the hot days of summer when I’d wait until evening before heading out.  Often the wind comes from a westerly direction and the wooded area beside the road blocks it until I reach the open fields just past Amish Hershberger’s lane.  Today the wind was coming out of the south east, so it was cold all the way.  Near the top of the hill is simple one-room Amish schoolhouse followed by a corn field that was still being put up in shocks today by some of the same Amish youth who just last Sunday made my day interesting with their boom boxes.   

Cresting the hill I quickened my pace and soon reached Amish driveways on both sides of the road with mailboxes for the Stutzman and Hershberger families.  The Stutzman's house is close to the road, and they often have the laundry hanging on the porch and another couple lines out close to the road.  Today the clothes flapped ecstatically in the breeze.  Towels, wash rags, shirts, dresses, barn-door pants, socks and sheets.  It suddenly hit me that, as often as I’ve seen clothes hanging there, I’ve never seen underwear.  Hmmm.  Not that it matters to me, but it makes me wonder.

The mailboxes stirred some thoughts about other long German and Swiss names we have around our little home town.  I think Neuenschwander is perhaps the lengthiest.  First time I heard it, I thought someone was kidding.  Back where I come from in Elida, Ohio, Mennonites have names like Bear, Brunk, Bucher, Crisenbery, Good, Heatwole, Hartman, Ross, Smith and Stemen, with the occasional Troyer or Yoder who had wandered in from other places.  Come to think of it, all the Mennonites around Elida wandered in from other places.  Most of them have roots in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, leaving there during and following the Civil war.  Elida has good land - black fertile soil that my agrarian ancestors loved to farm.   

I don’t regret being born at Elida.  It’s a good place to be from, but sometimes a better place to leave, and that’s what my family did when I was twelve years old.  We headed east to Wayne County when Dad was called into the ministry.  And that’s when I began hearing these strange-to-me names - names like Neuenschwander.  Fourteen letters.   More of a sentence than a name, I thought.  

Within a few years one of the pretty Neuenschwander girls from the south end of Kidron caught my eye.  We were Seniors at Central Christian High School.  It was 1970.  We were married two-and-half years later.  But I’ve always been slightly uneasy about Juanita’s motives for marrying me.  She was able to cut 10 letters from her last name.  This is more important than you might think at first glance.  This has saved her so much time signing her name that she’s been able to piece several additional quilt tops.  And she’s avoided hand-writer’s cramps and carpal tunnel.  (You’re welcome, my love.)

With the wind to my back, and 3 more miles under my belt, I returned to our cozy home on Jericho Rd, where my patient wife, and my children and grand-children from Michigan and North Carolina were filling the house with love and laughter.

It would be difficult to think of any place I’d rather be right now than Kidron, Ohio, where the men are homely, but steadily improving, the women are beautiful for the most part, and nearly all of the children come back home - at least for the holidays.

Amish Day of Jubilee

We've long ago gotten used to Amish buggies with boom boxes loudly playing anything from country to rock-a-billy, hip hop, and acid rock.  It most often occurs very late at night and wakes us from our deep sleep as they go clippity clopping past our house.  It’s the youth, of course, and they’re enjoying rumspringa.  

Today took it to a new level.  Must be the Amish Day of Jubilee, or maybe today they just get a Mulligan.  I was trying to have a Sunday afternoon nap, but alas what seemed like a continual stream of buggies and boom boom booms with boisterous youth singing along to the music, brought me from my fitful slumber.

Ah well, too nice a day to waste anyway.  Weather-wise, such a nice mild reprieve from the cold wintry weather of the last few days.  A brisk 3-mile walk was in order.  Headed east on Jericho, rounded the corner onto Zuercher south, and began hiking up the long slope past Augspurgers at a fast pace, hoping to clear the plaque out of these aging arteries.  Walking is good for that.  Have been doing that almost daily since spring, and the hill isn't nearly as steep as it used to be.

Presently, I hear this loud music coming up the hill behind me.  Country it was - Shania Twain I believe - and singing along were a couple young ladies of the Swartzentruber variety.  Sorta surprised me to hear the young ladies, as it’s usually the young men who raise their voices with great abandon and a complete lack of inhibition.   

Now, to add to the charm of the moment, coming towards me from the other direction was another Swartzentruber buggy with an older couple behind the wheel.. er... horse.  The occupants looked rather grim it seemed, as they passed me.  This should be interesting, I thought.  Will the girls cut the music until the old folks are past?  Nope!  Contrary to my own youthful ways of hiding contraband, they cranked that boom box to a wild new level.   Shania Twain sang at the top of her lungs as the buggies passed one another… “The best thing about being a woman, is the prerogative to have a little fun, oh oh oh, go totally crazy, forget I’m a lady,men’s shirts, short skirts, oh oh oh, really go wild, yeah”.   The Amish girls were obviously relishing their moment of freedom as they continued singing their way past me, grinning blissfully and shamelessly. And then the buggy with the boom box disappeared over the hill, and I am left with a memory and a smile.

I continued on then, and by the time I reached Western Rd, the sounds were coming towards me from due east.  Couldn't even see the source.  But it wasn't long until they appeared.  This time it was a buggy full of teen-age boys, and as they passed me, they leaned out and waved crazily.  Probably under the influence of something that they were too young to consume.  But the strangest part is that they all had their faces painted completely black.  Jet black.

I’m afraid there’s gonna be some wild partying tonight.  And probably a lot of bundling to go along with it.   That’s the way of the Swartzies, as we call them.  Sunday night is date night, and young men don’t go home until morning.  

Ah yes, this is the life and times in Kidron Ohio, where all the men are homely, all the women are beautiful, and most of the children will come back home.