Amish Paradise A day spent living among the Amish in Dover. The Review, Nov. 10, 2000 BY SHAUN GALLAGHER MANAGING MOSAIC EDITOR Ervin Miller shakes your hand and welcomes you into his home. He opens the screen door and you both step inside. You had expected the interior to look like an unfurnished log cabin with only a sliver of light peeking through the windows. Instead, it appears like a typical country kitchen, with an abundance of light pouring through the windows. The hardwood floor is so polished it looks wet. The countertops are stocked with jars upon jars of preserves and sauces. A modern-looking stove sits against the wall. But there is no refrigerator or dishwasher or toaster. And there are no light switches. Ervin, 29, stands with arms akimbo, surveying you, his guest for the day. His wife Betsy, who is due to have the couple's fifth child any day now, is standing by the kitchen table. Their fourth child, who was born two years ago, passed away of an unknown illness when she was 11 months old. Their other three children join them in the kitchen. It is 8 a.m. on a Saturday and the Millers, one of nearly 320 Amish families in Dover, have been up since 4:30 a.m. Eager to fully immerse yourself in their culture, you're wearing your only pair of button-fly jeans (the Amish don't wear zippers). You switched your pager to "off" as you drove up the driveway. Ervin looks like a typical all-American guy, except for a chunk of strawberry blond whiskers jutting out about three inches from his chin, making him look like Abe Lincoln without the sideburns. Ervin and Betsy's daughter Elizabeth, 8, is wearing a purple dress much like her mother's maroon one. The dresses are long-sleeved and fall to mid-calf. The only difference in their clothing is their bonnets - Elizabeth's is black and Betsy's is white, which signifies that she's married. Elizabeth scurries around the room, helping to clean up the dishes left on the table from breakfast. Kathleen, 5, is lying bundled under a few blankets on a couch near the living room. Aaron, 2, stands near the closet, singing gleefully to himself. It's time to get to work. Ervin scoops Aaron into his arms and carries him to the closet, where he carefully bundles up his son in a jacket and a wool hat. You follow Ervin outside as he grabs a snug-fitting denim jacket and a straw hat from a rack hanging on the wall near the door. Aaron quickly runs off to play with a puppy that circles around his feet. You walk alongside Ervin into the barn, past the milking machines (run by fuel, not electricity) and into the stable. There are 10 horses, a bull and six or seven goats housed inside the barn. Ervin leads one horse toward the middle of the barn and begins to groom it. "You want to try?" he asks, and hands you the brush. You've never touched a horse in your life except once at a petting zoo. You hesitantly start to brush the horse, and soon, you get into a groove. Twenty minutes and four clean horses later, you start to feel comfortable around the big animals. Now it's time to "hook them up." From a group of shelves on the wall, Ervin carries over four large horse collars, each with a multitude of leather straps and metal chains. He slips a collar onto each of the horses and then leads the horses to a trough full of water near the bull's pen. The horses lap up a few gulps before Ervin leads them out of the barn. He guides the four horses over to the grass, where there lies a large contraption that looks like a cross between a plow and a rickshaw. He lines all four horses parallel to each other and hooks the plow to a metal bar attached to the horses' collars. Since the Amish don't use motor vehicles, it's the four horses' job to pull the plow. Today, Ervin says, you are going to be sowing barley. You and Ervin guide the horses out to his plot of land, the size of about eight football fields. You climb onto the plow with him, and he gives the horses the command to go forward. And with that, you're off. "I often wonder what goes through these horses' heads when they're out here plowing the field," he says over the clanking plow and the clopping of the horses' hooves on the roughly tilled soil. After a few seconds of silence, he mentions what goes through his own head. "It gives me time to myself to clear my thoughts," he says. "Sometimes, though, I fall asleep!" Soon, you begin to see why. The view from the plow is always the same: four horses' rear ends. The sounds start to gel into one constant rumble, and without a conversation to keep your mind occupied, the work could easily lull you to sleep. But Ervin says he prefers his horse-drawn plow. "I used to work for an English man, working the tractor," he says. ("English" is what the Amish call all non-Amish people.) "I didn't like the noise. I couldn't relax." After a few sweeps of the field, Ervin pulls out a pocket watch and quickly glances at the time. "11 o'clock," he announces. "Time goes fast when you're out here." Around noon, you and Ervin lead the horses back to the barn and walk to the house to scrub up for lunch. Ervin sits down at the head of the meticulously decorated table and directs you to sit at the other end. Aaron sits in a highchair next to Betsy, and Elizabeth sits next to her cousin, who looks about 20 and has come to help Betsy with the day's chores. Ervin looks at you and explains, "We'll now have a moment of silent prayer." Everyone at the table bows their heads and you do the same. After about 30 seconds, Ervin raises his head. Betsy passes around the mashed potatoes, gravy, corn and steak she's prepared. In front of you is a glass of water and some jam and bread. And soon, it's just like any mealtime conversation you've ever had with your own family. They mention that the Apple Grove Schoolhouse just a few miles away is the longest continuously run Amish schoolhouse in the country. You ask Ervin if he minds doing without modern conveniences like electricity and lights. "I never grew up with electric, so it's not much trouble to do without," he explains. He has, however, considered what it might be like living in the outside world. "When I was younger, I used to think on it," he says. "When you're riding along in a buggy and some kid drives past in a fast sports car, you wonder what it'd be like. "But then you realize the opportunities you have. Some kids are born in the slums of the city. Here, we have a chance to get to know God, and that's something I think is real valuable." After a second helping of vegetables and a slice of apple crumb pie, you once again join the family in silent prayer and then follow Ervin into the living room for a few minutes of relaxation while the women clean the table and dishes. "This book might be of some interest to you," he says as he hands you a bound copy of the Dover Amish Directory 2000. Written on a typewriter, the directory lists the names of every Amish family in the area as well as facts about the settlement and its history. You quickly glance at the inside front cover. "Printed at Kinko's," it reads. It's now time to head back into the field. As you help Ervin re-hitch the horses to the plow, you ask him about how the Amish date and marry. "Young people usually start around 16 or 18," he says. "Never younger than 16." The average age to get married is about 20, he says. "But I wish it was a little older," he adds. "I don't think I realized the amount of responsibility [marriage] is when I got married." Back in the field, Ervin tells you about the typical Amish week. Monday through Saturday, the men tend to the farms, and the women do the cleaning and sewing and work in the garden. Children attend school until the eighth grade. After that, they work as adults. Sundays are church days. The Amish don't have any singular building they call a church, but rather, each family takes a turn hosting church services inside their house. Services last from 9 a.m. to noon. Afterward, the day is usually spent visiting friends and relatives or spending time in the home as a family. It's 4 p.m. when you finish the last sweep of the field. You help Ervin transport a new bale of hay to the field where the cows are grazing, and finally, you head back toward the barn. The two girls are bouncing on a trampoline near the side of the house. As you walk by, you grin at them and they grin back. Aaron picks a flower and offers it to you. "No, thank you, but I think maybe your sisters might want it," you say to him, knowing that he won't understand you, since Amish children speak only a form of low German until they enter first grade. He and his sisters smile back at you anyway. You look down at your boots, now covered with dust from the field and the barn. Your hands smell like horse slobber and your jacket has a small rip in it because you accidentally brushed up against some barbed wire as you tried to pet a cow. Ervin takes off his hat and gives you a hearty handshake. He wishes you well, and Betsy does the same from where she's standing with the children near the front door of the house. You leave their home needing to use the bathroom, since you weren't quite up to tackling the outhouse. You leave also needing a long, hot shower. And you leave with an impression much clearer than you had when you first entered the Millers' kitchen at 8 a.m. The Amish don't drive cars, use electricity, wear zippers or carry pagers. But they are not the stoic, gloomy people often represented by the media. One might walk in thinking their lifestyle only allows for a little sliver of light. But soon, it's hard not to see the abundance of light that pours from them.