When Sue Bender happened upon an Amish quilt, it prompted a journey of discovery. An artist and a therapist, the Berkeley, Calif., wife and mother of two sons, felt torn by the choices in her life. In this excerpt from her book, ”Plain & Simple” (Harper & Row, $16.95), she writes about the Amish women she came to know in her quest.
In March, 1982, a voice in me that didn`t make sense said, ”Sue, go and live with an Amish family.”
I think of myself as a sensible person, not someone who hears voices, or follows them, but this voice sounded so loud and clear and came from such a deep place in me, that it seemed like the voice of a stranger. I had to listen.
The Amish had come to America in the 1720s seeking religious freedom. In Europe, they had been persecuted for their strict beliefs, and their fertile land had been taken away, replaced by barren farm land.
Fearing their influence, the religious and political authorities had decreed that they would not be allowed to own land or live in close-knit communities. When William Penn promised them good land in Pennsylvania and the chance to form their own settlements, they came to America, bringing with them mostly ”spiritual baggage.”
In the 1690s, Jacob Ammann, the charismatic Mennonite leader for whom the Amish were named, questioned the enormous power and authority of the Catholic church, thinking there should be a clear separation between church and state. He criticized the vanities of the church, the ornate ceremonies, the luxurious clothing worn by priests, believing that something crucial got lost when the hierarchy of the church separated an individual from a direct experience of his God.
Ammann`s beliefs led him to seek a way for his followers to lead a good and decent life. He demanded a return to the plain and simple. Pious feelings and simple rural living should go together. He taught them to practice their beliefs. Worshiping in church on Sunday wasn`t enough. Applying what they believed day in and day out was what mattered. Customs and traditions reinforced religious beliefs. ”By their fruits ye shall know them,” the Bible said.
Testing the dream
Several months later, in June, a friend who was about to drive cross-country, agreed to drop me off at Brimfield, Ia. As we approached the town, life shifted gears. Suddenly, there were no more suburbs or factories, no more 7-Elevens, McDonald`s, gas stations, or billboards. But most of all, there was no clutter.
I met Gerry and Essie Smithson in their home behind the Brimfield General Stores. The following morning I sat under a giant oak tree next to the store, looked out at the peaceful landscape and cried. I was exhausted, excited and afraid.
The next day, I met the Yoders.
Gerry drove me over to meet them, and I got out of his car and stood facing the simple Amish farmhouse. A windmill not far from the house turned slowly in the slight breeze and cast its shadow over a red barn with acres of farm land beyond it. Then I saw Emma Yoder, heavy set with a round, kindly face and Lydia, her gangly 11-year-old daughter, coming out, smiling to greet me. I felt like Margaret O`Brien in an old movie-a waif, suitcase in hand and courage in her heart, awaiting her fate.
I said good-bye to Gerry and followed Emma and Lydia through a side door into the house. We went through a utility room and came into the large sunny kitchen, with its central table, black-metal woodburning stove, a linoleum floor and speckled beige Formica counters, something like the one I had at home: nothing distinctive, neither old-fashioned nor modern.
But the room glowed.
The feeling went beyond everyday cleanliness and order. The air felt alive, almost vibrating. Can a room have a heartbeat? Can space be serene and exciting at the same time? I`d never been in a room that felt like that.
I usually walked around in an excited state, my mind racing, but after being in the kitchen for a few minutes, I slowed down and began to feel calm. The difference was so dramatic that I wondered if this was what an altered state of consciousness was like.
Emma asked if I`d like a cup of coffee, and she fixed Nescafe and brought out some delicious chocolate chip cookies she had just baked.
”Would you like to meet my father?” Lydia asked, after chatting for a few minutes. ”He`s down the road helping a neighbor.” Walking along a country road with this lively pre-teen Amish girl, I was surpised how comfortable she was with me.
When we got to the barn where her father was stacking bales of hay, she introduced us. Eli, who was slim and wiry, looked at me through thin, metal-rimmed glasses.
”I`m a little out of breath,” he said. ”I work hard all day, and then I do this.” He wasn`t apologizing or bragging, just saying what was on his mind. ”We`d better get all that hay in the barn before the rains come,” he explained.
Besides working 13 hours a day as a farmer and blacksmith, Eli was the minister for his community, a job he would hold for life, with no pay yet great responsibility. His day strted at 5 a.m., feeding the animals, then off to work at the blacksmith shop several miles away.
Lydia`s grandmother, Miriam joined us for dinner that night. ”I usually eat at my home, but tonight`s special,” she explained. Eli acted as the host, surrounded by his harem: wife, daughter, mother-in-law and now me. He did most of the talking, asking me questions about my life in California. Emma, by contrast, was quiet and shy, almost disappearing into the background.
”It`s courageous of you to take me in,” I said.
”Yes,” Eli said, ”but I don`t think there will be any lawsuits.”
After dinner I asked if I could do the dishes. Emma was hesitant. ”Bet you have a dishwasher at home,” she said tentatively.
”Bet you have two,” Eli added quickly before I had a chance to answer. I felt uncomfortable. Did I have to apologize for having a dishwasher? I looked at each person at the table, wondering what they thought of me, what each one`s fantasy was of my life in California. What made them decide to take me in? Was it Eli`s idea, and the women had agreed to go along?
Lydia was given the task of showing me the dishwashing routine. She was specific and definite, and I understood immediately that I would have to pay attention and follow her instructions exactly. The plastic dishes were first rinsed in one container, washed and then rinsed again in another container to save water. Then each dish was dried and put away. Each step was done with complete attention-a cup placed here, a dish lined up there, nothing random. Simple movements, simple activities, all adding up to an unspoken ritual they all understood and followed.
I smiled as I thought about how I did the dishes-a small symbol of the pride I took in thinking of myself as a free spirit. Dishes were high on my list of hateful chores. If I was in the midst of cleaning up and got an idea for work in the studio, I dropped everything and left the dishes half-done. Creative people could be disorderly and undisciplined, I told myself-and besides, that much routine and certainty would be boring.
At five the next morning we knelt in the living room to say the morning prayer. ”Thank you, God, for all your help, forgive us our sins, help us with the land,” Eli said. In my honor they said the prayer in English. They spoke a German dialect with each other, but could easily switch back and forth.
After the prayer, Eli and Lydia went to feed the four horses, two cows, one goat and innumerable chickens. Then the animals were put out to pasture. Emma gathered eggs. Then we sat down to breakfast.
By six, Eli was off in his buggy. After he left, Emma, Miriam, Lydia and I went to the garden. We picked buckets and buckets of peas and hauled them into the kitchen. Out came huge stainless steel pots that still looked new, even though Emma said she`d had them for 25 years. It was the same with the shining black cast-iron woodburning stove, which turned out to be 30 years old.
”We`re just five or six people. Why do we need such gigantic pots?” I asked. ”They could feed an army.”
”We`ll cook some for dinner, but we`ll can the rest,” Emma said. ”That way we`ll be prepared. Sometimes our whole family gets together and that can be 200 people. We try to be self-sufficient.” They willingly spend time preparing and preserving food. Most of the summer harvest would be set aside for winter eating.
Emma`s world
The first questions every Amish woman asked me was: ”Do you have children? Do they live near you?” Most never ventured beyond that. They listened to what I had to say and thought carefully about it. I could buy things and I could travel. But they had the things they valued-family closeness, a community that cared and shared. As an outsider, I helped to test and then to reaffirm their faith in their values.
