This is More Like it

This is more like it!  One week ago, it was really cold and the skies served up an April snowstorm.  Every day since then has been nicer than the one before, and today is as good as it gets.  Sunshine and warm.  We thought our flowers may have been “cooked” by the cold, but they look fine.  The grass is green and growing, the leaves are sprouting on the trees, and dandelions grace our lawn with a bright yellow contrast to the deep green.  Dandelions are considered a weed I suppose, and many people spray their lawns to get rid of them.  I do like a nice green lawn, and sometimes wish mine was weed-free, but when I see these bright flowers raising their yellow heads in full glory, announcing the coming of spring, I can’t help but smile and enjoy them.  Sorry, dear neighbors of mine.  I hope the seeds don’t drift into your yards, but I must continue to view the dandelions as a gift of beauty just as pretty as the tulips and daffodils.  The bees like the dandelions too, and we like the honey.  

One of our honey bees has her proboscis deep into the grape hyacinth, sucking up nectar.

It was a good day for a long walk, so I took my favorite jaunt down Jericho and up Zuercher -- four miles round trip.  As I approached the Jericho Amish school house, the twelve-noon siren made it’s noisy wail from the tower next to our firehouse in Kidron.  Everyday at the same time, the loud sound pierces the air, beginning low and building to a high pitch before descending again to a mere growl, followed once again by silence.  It’s a familiar sound, and a welcome one.  You can set your clock by it.  Then I heard it again, this time coming from a couple miles southeast -- the siren from Mt. Eaton.  It is time for lunch.  Well shucks.  That means I may not see my Amish neighbors working in their fields.  That was one of the main reasons for this walk -- so I could get exercise while observing the bucolic and peaceful scenes of men and horses working the fields.

Road hazard warning

Then it dawned on me.  We are on daylight savings time now -- also known as “fast” time.  The Amish aren’t fooled by the time change.  They know the sun still rises and sets when it is supposed to, and their lives are not governed by the so-called wisdom of “saving” daylight.  Therefore, they do not change their clocks.  What is noon for me is eleven A.M. for them.  They will still be in fields for at least one-half hour, and perhaps one hour before breaking for lunch.

Sure enough, as I continued past the schoolhouse and further up the hill, there was Jecky’s son on the right side of the road, pulling a plow with four horses.  Further back in the field, Jecky himself was also working a field.  A glance on the other side of the road showed neighbor Stutzman harrowing his field.  Then, looking back, a couple Hershberger boys pulling a harrow with four horses appeared up over a knoll.  I walked further up the road and found a good spot to sit on a west-facing bank above the ditch.  This would be a good place to get a nice sequence of pictures.

Jecky’s son ended his furrow near the fence next to their long dirt driveway, raised the plow, and stopped for drink of water from a jug that was sitting next to a fencepost.  Then he hopped back onto the iron seat of the plow and shouted for the horses to go.  They walked along the field-end, next to the plowed ground, and then turned the corner to begin again -- this time headed toward me at a close distance.  From my ringside seat on the grassy bank beside the road, watching the scenes of yesteryear unfold, a warm and pleasant sense of peace settled in, complementing the welcome warmth of the sun on my back.

I like tractors -- especially my little gray 1940 Ford 9N.  I used it yesterday to plow my garden.  It’s always a pleasure to watch the dark soil turning while listening to the familiar sound of the ancient four-cylinder engine.  It takes me down a road of nostalgia -- a road that reaches all the way back to my earliest memories of our family raising a large garden on the fertile, river-bottom soil next to Hog Creek.  And now this.  Watching the soil turn silently behind a team of horses guided by an Amish teenager -- it seems like I should have to pay for a scene like this.  Then I began noticing the sounds of the plow -- a gentle rubbing in the soil, sometimes clunking on stones -- and the clinking of the metal rings that attach the harness to the plow.  As the horses came closer, I heard even more.  All four sets of leather harness were flexing and squeaking in unison as the horses strained to pull the plow.  Even quieter than that, but still noticeable, were the muted sounds of sixteen large, pan-sized hooves rhythmically plodding on the ground, accompanied by the heavy breathing of large, sweaty animals doing what they were bred to do.  Soon the pleasant sounds faded into silence as the horses and the plowboy continued away from me, and it was time to get on with my hike. 

A day like today required a little motorcycle ride too.  The old Wing sat silently in a corner of the garage since late October, and it was time to take off the cover and fire her up.  I kept a battery-tender on it all winter, and stabilizer in the full tank of gasoline.  Those little items make all the difference.  Hit the starter button and she fired right up.  It was a very enjoyable ride over to my Amish bakery where I picked up the weekly pie and bread.

Mrs. Ross just called me.  She’s on her way home from Massillon.

“Hey hon,” she says, “do you want to meet me at Dalton Dari-ette for supper?”  

“You bet I do!”  

And we did.  The place was packed!  It always is on a nice day.  Just seems like the place to go for good food and bumping into friends.   

Maybe we’ll see you there some time.

From Kidron, Ohio, the small town with a big heart.  Come for a visit sometime.  You’ll be glad you did.   Have a wonderful weekend.  So long.