Somewhere Back in Time With the Plain People : HER WORLD: Amish Life

We turned on Beechdale Road behind the village of Bird In Hand, Pa., and again on Stumptown Lane. The world became quiet. We slowed the car, rolled down the windows and breathed fresh air that smelled of the earth.

There was just enough breeze to keep a windmill stirring on the hilltop ahead.

On the horizon, where rippling fields met the sky, the heads of six mules appeared, like a row of bobbing balloons. They pulled a simple furrowing rig and were followed by a man on foot, a bearded man in a flat black hat. He too seemed to rise from the ground in this gentle country that is only 60 miles--but at least 100 years--away from Philadelphia.

This is Pennsylvania’s Amish country, where the Plain People, as they are known, shun modern convenience and worldly notions to live at peace with the earth.

Their clothes are plain and home-sewn, mostly black and white with occasional shirts and jumpers of plum, deep blue or forest green. Brimmed hats and bonnets are worn as an outward sign of humility by followers of this born-in-Switzerland sect.

As the farmer deftly guided the six-mule team through a sweeping turn, a young boy came out of a farmhouse to watch. He was dressed like a miniature copy of the man--broad-legged black trousers, full-cut white shirt, flat hat. He picked up a small tree limb, which he began swinging like a baseball bat.

All I knew of Amish life was what I had seen in the movie “Witness,” which was filmed not far from here. Scenes flashed back with each turn of the road.

Amish farms are as easy to recognize as the people: They are of wood and stone, big and graceful, with enough room for lots of children--a dozen in a family is not extraordinary--and three generations under one extended roof. Huge barns and silos are clustered nearby.

But the telltale sign of an Amish farm is what you don’t see. There are no wires connecting the house to the poles by the road. The Amish have neither electricity nor telephones in their homes. Water is pumped in a waterwheel and windmill.

They avoid worldly intrusions such as automobiles. The vehicles to watch out for in Lancaster County are horse-drawn buggies that the Amish drive lickety-split through town and country. These carriages are enclosed, gray and rectangular, resembling a deep coffin with a front window.

At times, you would swear that the carriages are driverless, since the Amish sit far enough back to remain invisible, except for their hands on the reins. Amish youngsters peak over their parents’ shoulders to stare with wide eyes at the fast, modern world and the oddly dressed tourists who stare back.

They say the buggies, pulled by high-stepping trotters, roll along at 8 to 10 m.p.h. It seems faster when they pass your parked car on a dead run home, their spoked wheels a smear of silver. It seems faster when you are walking across Route 340--the main street of Bird In Hand--and two carriages whoosh by, heading in opposite directions.

After too many accidents between horse and auto, the law requires that carriages have a red triangular warning sign on the rear. They also must use battery-operated turn signals.

In front of Diane’s Deli on Newport Road, we pulled into a parking space and then saw a sign on the fence: “Horse and Buggy Only Please.” We parked farther down, just in time, since a trim gray carriage, drawn by a chestnut mare with flying mane, whipped around a corner and into the space.

The driver was a woman, who moved so fast between carriage and shop porch that she seemed a blur of long green skirt, black jacket and bonnet. Her exit was just as swift, though she was carrying something round and rosy. We guessed it was a pumpkin or maybe a ham. We never really saw her face.

The carriage took off at a fast clip down Eby Road and turned where a rural mailbox was marked Riehl. Amish surnames tend to be short: Zook, Lapp, Click, Good.

The impression a visitor gets is one of a silent clan, a people who live beyond a glass. The Amish learn early on to avoid eye contact with strangers, who often bear cameras, and to ignore the titters that their old-fashioned clothes may bring.

The best chance for smiles and gentle conversation is along the farm lanes beyond Bird In Hand and Intercourse, where Amish craftsmen sell handmade quilts.

The Amish are proud of their produce. Roadside stands with hand-lettered signs list seasonal treats: chow-chow and relish, berry jams, jellies, baked goods, homemade root beer and, sometimes, ice cream.

We made our drive on a bright, sunny day that followed a week of rain. Everyone was in the fields. The farm stands were empty. We came upon no community gatherings: the legendary barn-raisings, horse sales or weddings.

In order to see farmers work the fields with those precision lines of mules, or to watch Amish schoolchildren playing circle games of yesteryear, do not go there on a Sunday.

The Amish observe a strict day of rest. The People’s Place, a splendid Amish interpretation center and museum on Main Street in Intercourse, shuts its doors. Many non-Amish neighbors close shops and restaurants.

The land is as quiet as a prayer.