By BABS MOUNTJOY
Over the past two years, I’ve had occasion to become involved with a
group of traditional Amish in our Pennsylvania county. They’ve done some work for me,
and I’ve done some work for them, and it’s been a delightful
Of course, I also see that the men and women work long hours to
accomplish the same tasks we can do in minutes, thanks to our machinery,
grocery stores, and dare I say it, Wal-Mart.
We visited one day when it
was noodle-making time. Two long tables were covered in white paper and
small piles of hand-cranked noodles graced every few inches, drying in
the sun. The Cabana Boy and I were both fascinated with the small pasta
making device and just watched in amazement. Could we do that? Sure. But
where would we find time for so much else that has taken over our
(We are growing our own sprouts and baking our own granola. It’s a start.)
Our family is too hopelessly tech-i-fied at this point, I’m afraid,
to ever consider a switch to the Amish life. The Cabana Boy’s head would
explode away from his cable modem line, and I’m so entrenched in the
word processor and Internet at this point, it’s the only place my girls
can find me on a regular basis. A life without cartoons for my scripted
ones? Perish the thought.
Our friends in the community are generous to a fault. Whenever we
stop out, we never leave without a basket of fresh fruit, or a crisp
cookie for the children.
Imagine our surprise recently when we uncovered
the plate sent home with us to reveal–pizza?
Pondering this earth-shaking revelation as we headed home, we
considered what other modern wonders might still be hidden behind those
painted Amish doors.
Are there hand-whipped mango-peach protein pack
smoothies shared by giggling girls in the larders? Do the elders sit on
the porch of an evening by candlelight with hand ground lattes and
biscotti? Are there…briefcases?
Some things we’ll never know. It could be better that way.