by Keim, Joe
Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation received by tradition from your fathers; but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot. (1 Peter 1:18-19)
Chapter 8
Life and Death
As we were growing up, Dad found ways to keep us busy. Because we practiced organic farming, we didn’t use any chemicals on our crops, but this created a tremendous amount of extra work for us boys that other farmers in the neighborhood didn’t have to be concerned about. When Dad sent us out to pick mustard plants, I’d scan the field filled with thousands of plants bearing dainty yellow flowers and think, We’ll never get done! Tears trickled down our cheeks in silent protest as we plucked each little stalk. We hated it so much, but we did it – for years.
We also harvested corn, and our twenty to twenty-five acres took a long time to gather. We husked by hand using a corn-husking hook. The job took a couple of months and sometimes ran into the winter. Even though I wore gloves, they got soaked and the cold bit into my fingers. I also wore this leather thing strapped on my right hand; then I pushed the hook along the husk to reveal the ear of corn. Once the husk was peeled back and the ear of corn was in plain sight, we’d break the ear of corn off and throw it on the wagon one ear at a time.
At the beginning of the season, it looked like an impossible task to finish, like moving a mountain one shovelful at a time. What made it harder on us was that our English neighbors with their big combines could husk an entire field of corn in one day, while we worked by hand one stalk at a time. As youngsters, the job seemed so big, but with so many of us, we often ran two wagons at a time and worked four rows at a time. Up and down, up and down, until we reached the last row in the center. Each wagon of corn was hauled from the field to the corn crib where we hand shoveled the ears of corn onto a gasoline-powered elevator. The chain-linked pads carried the corn up the elevator and into the crib. Every fall we loaded those cribs full of corn. Throughout the next year, we fed the cows and horses by emptying the corncribs one shovelful at a time.
Wheat and oats were usually cut during the hottest time of year. First, we’d pull the horse-drawn binder around the edge of the field. The binder cut the grain stalks about three inches from the ground and threw them into a binder web made of canvas. The web and gear contraption then moved the grain and stalks farther into the binder where rollers formed a sheaf, wrapped a piece of twine around it, tied a knot, and threw the sheaf on the ground. We usually started early in the morning and by evening sheaves lay scattered over the field.
After the milking and chores were done, our whole family went out to the field and began the long haul of picking up every sheaf and building what we called shocks. This task would often take us into the night, sometimes until after midnight. First, we’d stand two sheaves together like a teepee. Next, we set up others around the first two, leaving a hole to let the wind dry it from the inside out. On top of this shock we bent the last sheaf as a cover to keep the rain out. We did all of this by horse and manpower. We shocked all our wheat and oats and put loose hay up. In spite of all the work, the smell of fresh cut hay is still one of my favorites.
We had one threshing machine that we pulled around to help the neighbors, and while we were allowed to have a hay baler, we always put the hay up loose. The straw was blown into the huge barn and completely filled the large upstairs area, which we called the straw shed. We used this straw for bedding the animals and that kind of thing.
Having Fun
Looking from the outside in, one might think Amish life to be much like the old adage “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” but even though our entertainment options were few, some of the things we did for fun took up a great deal of our free time. For instance, we loved to go trapping. We’d spend months getting ready for trapping season. We’d boil the traps over a fire pit, pull them out of the pot, dip them in wax, and hang them. We spent the first day of trapping season setting traps for muskrats, fox, and coons. As a bonus, we were allowed to keep the money we made from any pelts we sold, which we usually put right back into trapping.
We also enjoyed hunting rabbits, squirrels, and deer – deer hunting was huge. And as soon as the season was over, we started planning for the next year.
We loved the outdoors and didn’t just hunt and trap animals. We enjoyed them as pets, too. We had crows, coons, rabbits, and even a skunk. Crows were my favorite. Today my ears are still tuned to hear them as they’re feeding their babies. That’s the sound we listened for as children. It meant we only had a few days, because baby crows grow so fast. With an armful of short two-by-fours, a bag of twenty-penny nails, and a hammer, we walked the woods in search of the nest. When we located the tree with the crow’s nest, we created steps similar to a ladder by nailing the two-by-fours to the tree trunk. This helped us get to the first limb. The nest was often nestled high up into the trees, so we climbed the limbs like sure-footed acrobats, stretched to reach the nest, and snatched the babies. Nests usually had just one or two baby crows.
We took them home and fed them egg yolks. The baby crows grew quickly and made good pets. All summer, they flew around the farm, landed on our heads, and lived in the house with us. Some of our pet crows learned how to pronounce words like a parrot. But in the fall, they traveled farther and farther away from the farm. As soon as this started, we had to clip their wings, or they would rejoin the wild and never come back.
Other fun pastimes included swimming in the summer and playing hockey in the winter when the ponds froze over. We made our hockey sticks out of pine wood so they’d be as light as possible. During weekdays, we would hurry and finish up chores as quickly as possible. By 8:00 p.m. we were headed for the pond with half a dozen gas lanterns, our hockey sticks, and shovels to clear snow off the ice. Within the next hour, boys from all over the neighborhood showed up and the hockey games began. With the intensity of professionals, we played until midnight. By then we were totally worn out and headed back home. Twice, someone fell through the ice and plunged down into twenty-five feet of ice-cold water. One time, my cousin Eli almost didn’t survive. We had always been told that if a person came up and went back down for the third time, he wouldn’t live. Eli went down for the third time before we could get a grip on him and pull him out of the ice hole.
In the summertime, those same ponds became our swimming holes. We were all great swimmers, and hardly a night went by that we didn’t go swimming in someone’s pond. During the day we worked, but as soon as the chores were done, all of us boys headed for the pond. It didn’t matter that our cows and horses drank from the pond water, nor did it matter that fish, turtles, and sometimes snakes swam in the same water. Many times, darkness would settle in, and we couldn’t even see each other’s faces – just splashing, laughter, and lots of fun.
Working for the English
Until we were twenty-one, we had to give regular job earnings to our father. But we were always trying to find ways to make extra money, because if we helped our neighbors with a project and were paid, we were allowed to keep the money. One day, it occurred to us that we could train horses for English people. Dad was already shoeing their horses, which gave us numerous connections with his customers. Before long, word got out that the Keim boys were in the horse-training business, and English people started bringing their horses and ponies to us, so we would train them to be ridden. We had a lot of fun training them, and it made for some extra money in our pockets.
One day, an Englishman came to us and said he was looking to buy pigeons for dog-training purposes. He said, “I will pay you boys fifty cents for every pigeon you capture and bring to me.”
Our eyes lit up, and so did our bank accounts. That summer we traveled ten miles in every direction and cleaned out every barn in the neighborhood. By the time we got done, there were hardly any pigeons lef
t within a twenty-mile radius.
One night during that time, a handful of us went to an Amish neighbor’s barn to catch pigeons and found out they’d just filled the haymow. It was so full we could walk across the top of the hay and grab the pigeons from the rafters. The problem with such a full haymow was that I couldn’t see the two-by-four structure that ran down through the center of the hay like a frame to keep it from collapsing. This framework created a hay hole that ran all the way from the haymow to the concrete floor in the barn below. It was so dark I didn’t even see the hay hole and I stepped from the hay into the opening and fell three stories. I hit the concrete floor in front of the cows in their stanchions.
The fall knocked me out, and I woke up with a big bump on the back of my head and a little blood. I got up and just went home. To this day, that hairless bump is still obvious on the back of my head and serves as a continual reminder of when I fell three stories and survived. I’ve always believed that Satan wanted to kill me that night, but God had other plans and wouldn’t allow it.
Building a Go-Kart
When I was about sixteen, my brothers and I found out Dad was going to be gone for a week. We’d always wanted to build a motorized go-kart, and this seemed like the right time to do it. We all got our heads together and drew up the plans for the go-kart. As soon as Dad left, we took four wagon wheels, fastened them to an axle, and attached them to a wooden platform that measured two feet wide and about four feet long. Next, we cut a slot in the wooden platform, right above the rear axle. We added a pulley on the rear axle and hooked a V-belt up to a little Briggs & Stratton motor right above the axle. The front of the go-kart steered like a wagon, so we steered with one arm and pulled the motor down with the other to tighten the belt.
Finally, we were all done and ready to try out the homemade apparatus. Excitedly, we pushed it out from behind closed doors and lined it up with the driveway. Since I was the oldest and the go-kart was my idea, my brothers let me go first. I grabbed the steering handle with my left hand; with my right hand, I reached back and pulled the running gasoline-powered Briggs & Stratton forward. At first, the V-belt smoked like crazy, but once the go-kart was moving, it was all glory. I shot out the gravel driveway at about ten miles per hour – with no brakes.
As I got close to the end of the driveway, I slowed down just enough to round the corner. From there on, the road widened and was paved with asphalt. The noise of wheels and gravel died down, and my ride became much smoother. Little by little I doubled my earlier rate of speed to about twenty or thirty miles per hour. But then it happened.
I hit some loose gravel along the side of the road and lost control. In the blink of an eye, I found myself lying flat in the ditch, doubled over in pain, and my go-kart upside down smoking like a brush fire.
My brothers came running, wondering if I made it out alive. We quickly turned the kart over and cleaned all the dirt and gasoline away. Soon we had the Briggs & Stratton back up and running again. For the next several days while Dad was away, we drove that thing all over the place.
To this day, my English neighbor talks about it. He says, “I stood at my window and laughed and laughed at these Amish guys out there with this little motorized vehicle.”
Looking back on the experience, I’m surprised we didn’t break our necks, but we had so much fun, and I don’t remember ever getting into trouble for it.
Contact with the English
We were so separated from the English culture that we seldom entered their houses. For my non-Amish readers, I want to take a moment to explain why we called non-Amish people English. It’s simple; they spoke the English language. We grew up speaking an unwritten dialect of Pennsylvania Dutch, which is our mother tongue that we used to communicate among ourselves. We didn’t learn English until we started school at age six.
I remember being invited to an English house one time. They made popcorn and showed us slides of when they went to Israel, but the thing that really caught my attention was the carpeting under my feet. Oh my, how nice it would be to have carpeting, I thought. But at our house that would be against the church rules.
At times, English customers who came into Dad’s shop brought us candy. My all-natural, organic Dad wasn’t happy about it. Once, he ended our sweet treats and made us dig a hole and bury the candy. Big wet tears fell to the ground as we obeyed him. I don’t remember going back and digging it up, but I remember how mad it made me. What’s wrong with having candy?
Our family made homemade ice cream quite often, but oh for the store-bought variety! Every once in a while, an English customer surprised us with several half gallons of store-bought Smith Dairy ice cream. What a special treat for all of us. Since we didn’t have an electric freezer to store the ice cream until suppertime, the whole family immediately stopped working and gathered around the ice cream boxes with spoons in hand. We ate right out of the boxes.
One day an English tobacco chewer came along and three of us older boys accepted one leaf of Red Man tobacco and chewed it. Within minutes, we became very dizzy and got sick – very sick. All three of us went and lay under the shade of the big elm tree, sick as dogs.
One of my biggest early adventures into the English world happened on an Amish holiday we called Pinkst Mundog. This holiday was celebrated fifty days after Easter. On this one day in the year, everybody went fishing. We often teamed up with cousins and other friends in the neighborhood. This day, my cousin Eli and I said we were going to the lake fishing, but instead, we went to Kmart. Going to town hardly ever happened. I didn’t even know how to get to Kmart, but Eli was a little older and knew the way. Regrettably, I stole money from my dad’s cash register to spend. We bought battery-operated watches, a toy car with a racetrack, and a camera − all forbidden by the church rules.
While we were there, Dad came to town. We were so engrossed in our illicit activities and enjoying our freedom that we didn’t see him walk into Kmart, but he saw us. However, he didn’t say a word to us, neither did he show himself. We never knew he was there until later that evening.
As we headed back to the community, we had so much fun with that camera. We took countless pictures and played with our toys and battery watches. Before we got all the way home, we agreed on our cover story. “We’ll say we fished all day and didn’t catch anything. But we had a good time.”
That night, my family gathered around the table to share favorite fishing stories of the day. Who caught the biggest fish, who caught the most fish, and who got the wettest? When I offered my cover story of how Eli and I had a few nibbles but no good bites, everybody was saddened that we didn’t catch any fish − all except Dad. He waited until everybody was in bed, and then he told me how he’d made a trip to Kmart that day.
A sinking feeling churned in the pit of my stomach before he even said that he saw us. Needless to say, Dad was very upset. Today I only have a single picture left from that day. I have no idea what happened to the rest, but Eli and I sure had a lot of fun.
Leander
My cousin Leander lived across the road from our house. We were best friends from childhood up, so every chance we had, we played together. We played ice hockey, went swimming on summer nights, and set traps for wild animals. During the school year, we walked the mile and a half to school together and talked about everything and shared many secrets.
During the summer months, Leander and I spent many Sunday afternoons searching for arrowheads. We sold these to an English man in the neighborhood for five to ten dollars, depending on the size and condition they were in.
We also collected bird eggs from all the different birds in our part of the state like some kids collect rocks. To save the shell, we used a small metal pin to poke a hole in each end of the egg, and then we blew the yolk and white of the egg out the opposite hole. That way, the egg wouldn’t spoil. I think we had about fifty different types of eggs in
our collections. If one of us had an egg that the other one didn’t have, we would trade. We placed them between dividers in a homemade shoebox, cushioned with soft cotton.
The two of us loved to ride our ponies together on Sunday afternoons and often raced them at high speeds. It wasn’t uncommon for us to get dumped off, but we never got seriously hurt. Leander and I shared everything. We even fell in love with the same girl – Lydia Byler.
When I was seventeen and he sixteen, the two of us spent many nights camping out in our homemade teepee, which sat just inside the edge of the woods near a pond we used most often to play hockey and go swimming at night. For several years, we had been jumping from a tree limb into the water, but it was so high up that our heads really took a pounding by the time we hit the water. If we accidently belly-flopped, the impact knocked the wind out of us.
Finally one day, Leander said, “Let’s build a real diving board.”
We cut and carried four round posts and two-by-twelve lumber all the way back to the pond and built a diving board. We were so excited and couldn’t wait to use it.
A few days later, Leander and I met up after the chores were all done and went swimming, enjoying our new diving board. Like so many other nights, when we finished swimming, we walked a few thousand feet into the woods and slept in our full-sized teepee. Within minutes, we were sound asleep. When I woke up the next morning, I realized I had overslept, and Leander had left without me. I quickly opened the teepee flap and saw him walking toward his farm with his gray shirttail hanging out.
