Ah, The Simple Life!

Ah, the simple life... if only it were more simple!

Honestly, I can't wait to be a senile granny, sitting in my rocking chair and informing everyone, who'll lend an ear, how I learned to cook on a wood-stove and sew on a treadle machine! But then, as decrepit as I already feel, they'll probably believe me!

My Mom calls our three and a half years with the Amish, our "wilderness experience." It was truly a time of testing, frustration, and learning to appreciate life.

I was ten when we moved to the community. Shortly after we arrived, my sister and I were given the job of mulching the cabbage; but in order to do that, we had to carry a hay bale across the driveway and into the vegetable patch. We struggled. We groaned. We sweated. But we could barely budge that bale of hay!

A couple boys happened along at that moment. The oldest one was my age, his younger brother was eight. "Please," we begged, "can you help us?"

Although "big brother" looked as if we'd lost our minds, "little brother" saw we were serious and, without a word, grabbed the hay bale with one hand, carried it across the driveway, and tossed it into the garden. Then he ran to catch up with "big brother".

Melody and I stared at each other and gawked at the fellows striding down the road. I don't think a red-caped action hero would have surprised us any more.

Before long, we were toughened too (at least she was). I'll never forget the sight of her driving a team of horses during hay season as the itchy, hot stuff piled high around her and I tossed pitchfork after pitchfork of the stuff-- until my arms felt like they were falling off.

Thankfully, I didn't have to do quite as many outdoor chores as my big sis. It was discovered that I enjoyed cooking, and Mom was quite eager to relinquish that task. But when you live in a tiny, converted pig nursery and your only means of cooking is an enormous, cast-iron wood stove-- then the phrase, "if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen," takes on a whole new meaning!

Seeing our misery in such conditions, some of the men helped us level and cover a dirt-floor porch where we placed another stove for our "summer kitchen." Then, our table and chairs were moved onto the porch. We even had a sink, with continually-flowing spring water, for our dishes. This was great until Mom found a 6-foot King Snake in the silverware drawer!

When it came to farm life, the only thing that made us look legit was our short-haired collie, Ginger. After rescuing her on the side of the road, it became obvious that she was born for farm life...

One morning, as we were eating breakfast on our hard-packed, screen-less porch, someone glanced up and noticed the goats helping themselves to the strawberry patch. Jumping as one man, my entire family ran after the pesky critters, chasing them back into the pasture and attempting to mend the fence. Half an hour later, we all returned to our breakfast, only to discover that the chickens were making short work of the now-cold meal.

"Ginger, shoo!" That was the dog's cue. She knew it meant: "Get the feathered beasts away from the table!"

Dutifully, the collie complied, barking "ferociously" and charging at the fowl, who scattered in every direction. Then, obviously pleased with her work, Ginger sprang onto the table, snatched a pancake, and sailed to the ground, where she commenced to devour her prize!

Ah, the simple life!