A View from the Buggy

by Jerry S. Eicher

  We wish you a blessed Christmas,

  And a happy new year!

  “Well, that’s all the songs we picked,” Nathan told Jesse. “Do you have any you’d like us to sing?”

  “Oh no, no,” the slim, elderly man said. “I’m happy with what you chose to sing. It was beautiful. Thank you for coming.”

  “We enjoyed it,” Nathan said as we filed up the stairs.

  We burst out into the cold and piled back on the wagons. I found a place beside Lois on the leather wagon seat.

  “We’re going to Eugene Shermann’s next, aren’t we?” Lois asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I’m glad our group is going there. I’ve never been there.”

  It wasn’t long before we swung into the driveway at Eugene’s. We girls huddled beside the garage where there was a little protection from the wind. Christmas lights hung above us from the eaves and twinkled on a bush.

  Before long Nathan opened the garage door. We waited in the garage while he knocked on a door leading into a small entryway.

  The door opened, and a stoop-shouldered gentleman appeared. “Come on in! We’ve been expecting you.”

  Everyone squeezed into the tiny entrance. Being one of the last to enter, I hesitated. Was there room for me? Carol Ann slid over on a chair and motioned for me to sit down.

  Quickly I joined her. “Couldn’t we sing better if we stood up?” I whispered.

  “There’s hardly room to stand up with this table and chairs in the way,” she whispered.

  “I guess you’re right,” I answered as I found the right page in my songbook.

  Elmer started the first song and everyone joined in. It was uncomfortable to be so crowded, but the singing sounded nice in such a small room. I glanced at Eugene as he wiped a few tears. His petite wife sat on a chair beside him with a sweet smile on her face.

  “Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!” Elmer started the second verse and I turned my attention to the songbook and put my all into the song.

  We sang a few more songs then bade Eugene “Goodnight” and “blessed Christmas.” One of the girls handed them a plate of homemade candy before we headed back out into the cold.

  “Is it okay if I sit on your lap?” I asked JoEllen as I scrambled onto the wagon.

  “Sure. Someone has to sit on a lap. You’ll just keep me warm,” she said.

  So I did and we started off down the road again. The horse didn’t go as fast as he had at first, but he kept up a steady pace.

  “Brrr, it’s colder when you’re sitting on top,” I said as I pulled my scarf over my nose.

  Our next stop was at Tom Shaw’s. Tom and Terry did taxi work for the Amish, so we knew them well. We filed into the kitchen and were soon heartily singing.

  After the parting verse, Tom passed out cookies for everyone.

  “Are you going to sing a song for us now?” Nathan teased.

  “No, I can’t sing,” Tom chuckled.

  I looked at the Christmas tree set up in the living room and the many Christmas decorations throughout the house as I munched on my cookie.

  “Well, we’d better go,” Nathan said a few minutes later. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for coming to sing, and also for these goodies.” Tom held up the plate one of the girls had given him.

  I added my own thanks as I turned to go outside.

  We started off for our last stop. I listened to the chatter swirling around me and added my own two cents occasionally. How I enjoyed socializing with my friends!

  The horse pulled in at Dirk Pattee’s house and everyone hopped off.

  “I’m going to leave my gloves on the wagon,” I decided impulsively. “That way I won’t have to hold them and my songbook while we’re singing.” I tossed my gloves under the seat and hurried to join the group of girls.

  Nathan and Mattie led the way to the back door. Nathan knocked and we waited expectantly. He knocked again. Still no one answered the door.

  “I’m going to try the front door,” Nathan decided. He disappeared around the corner of the house.

  “Do you think they aren’t home?” JoEllen asked.

  “We let them know we’re coming,” Miriam answered.

  “I wish someone would answer the door. I’m ready to go inside where it’s warm,” I said.

  “Maybe we’ll have to stand out here to sing,” Carol Ann said.

  Just then Nathan reappeared around the corner of the house. “They’re coming out,” he told us.

  Sure enough, the basement door opened and a middle-aged man and young boy stepped outside.

  “This is going to be real caroling,” Regina whispered as we stepped closer together to form a circle.

  Miriam started the first song and everyone joined in. The song sounded small as it drifted away into the night. I pulled the cuffs of my coat over my hands and turned slightly so the yard light would shine on the words in the songbook. Perhaps I should’ve worn my gloves after all, I thought.

  I glanced around at our little group, red-cheeked and cold but singing heartily. A gust of wind blew a shower of snow over us, and we moved closer together. My heart warmed. This was real caroling! Why, this was more adventurous than any of the other places had been. This was fun!

  I turned my attention to the song and joined in with my whole heart.

  After the parting verse, Dirk thanked us for coming, but no one lingered to visit.

  “Let’s start off running back to the community center,” someone suggested.

  “Yes, that would feel good and would warm us up,” I agreed.

  I grabbed my gloves off the wagon and joined the others to run out the driveway. We jogged down the road, but before long my side started to ache and I was relieved when a few of the others slowed to a walk.

  It didn’t take long to walk the rest of the way to the community building and we burst in the door to the bright warmth.

  “Oh, it smells good in here!” I exclaimed as I unwrapped my scarf.

  “I know. It makes me hungry just to smell supper,” Miriam said.

  Finally, I had my coat off and my boots placed beside the door. I sank down on a bench beside Ruth. “I’m ready to sit down and warm up,” I commented.

  “Me too,” Miriam said. “I hope the other group comes soon so we can eat.”

  “Let’s sing while we wait,” someone suggested.

  “Yes, let’s,” I agreed, and fetched my songbook from the shelf.

  After a few songs the others burst in the door, red-cheeked and cold.

  As soon as everyone had removed their wraps, we were seated at the long L-shaped table that had been set up. The lights were dimmed and the candles on the table lit. Small glass dishes filled with candy sparkled in the candlelight.

  “Let’s sing ‘Come and Dine,’ and then we’ll have a silent prayer before we eat,” Melvin said. The room was quiet as everyone bowed their heads, but at the amen the chatter started again.

  Steaming bowls of chili were sent around the table followed by trays piled with individually wrapped hot ham and cheese sandwiches. A cup of hot chocolate was offered to everyone.

  “This is just what we need to warm up,” I said as I took a spoonful of chili.

  “Were you really cold?” Rebecca asked.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” I answered. “I got cold at the last place, but I wasn’t chilled. I thought I was warmed up by the time we walked back here to the community building, but my toes hurt after I took off my boots so they must’ve been cold.”

  We described our adventures to the ones who were in the other group and they described their evening. Cinnamon rolls were sent around to top off the meal.

  “These are from Eugene Shermann,” Bertha said as she set a container of pretty cut-out cookies on the table.

  “So that’s what was in the package he gave to Miriam,” I said as I picked out a star-shaped cookie.

  After the delicious meal we girls quickly washed the di
shes and pulled on our wraps once again.

  “Goodnight!” I called to my friends as I headed outside to Titus’s buggy.

  Caroling was over for another winter, but a warm glow remained in my heart. It had been a worthwhile evening and we had made good memories.

  The Amish FBI

  Nathan Miller

  Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world (1 John 4:1).

  A NOTABLE TRAIT AMONG THE AMISH IS SIMPLICITY. THIS IS APPARENT in several areas of life, but usually it’s most evident in dress, vocation, homes, and even health. No radios, television, or cars. Simplicity is also evident in the way the Amish think. Amish people tend to trust others and take things at face value, sometimes to their misfortune.

  Amish people will not go to the doctor for every sneeze and sniffle, which is a testament to their frugality. However, when sicknesses do occur, age-old home remedies are applied, in which they combat one illness after another. Garlic for colds, Unkers for congestion, prune juice for constipation, and the chiropractor for everything else.

  Unfortunately, down through the years certain health scams have found their way into Amish homes and taken advantage of these frugal and traditional folk.

  Simplicity however doesn’t exclude all new innovations. In many Amish publications such as Die Botshaft or Plain Interests, distributors hawk their latest cure-all products and devices. Some of these have good qualities, while others arouse suspicion. And some health products call for more research than the cure-all tincture. These products, regardless of their claims, do demand a certain strain on the Amish pocketbook.

  My dad, being a bishop, was always wary of scams or fraudulent products that deceived his flock. One day many years ago, Dad called my brother Norman and me together for a brief meeting. He told us, “There are some health products being used that need some investigation.” Both Norman and I, being technically inclined, couldn’t have been given a better assignment than to do the necessary investigating.

  One product was called “The Black Box.” This was a diagnosing device that operated very simply: The theory was called radionics, a high-tech sounding word for any Amishman. The Black Box had several dials and a well in the center of the box. The sick person placed some human tissue such as hair, blood, or saliva into the well. The practitioner then turned the dials and simultaneously rubbed an adhesive plate. When the adhesive plate became sticky, the health practitioner checked the numbers on his dials. He then consulted a chart which showed him what disease the patient suffered.

  The process was so simple and natural that it appealed to the Amish sufferer. The treatment was neither invasive nor expensive when compared to hospitals or medical specialists. It appeared scientific enough to give it credibility, so it surely must be real. In fact, a patient could just send his photograph as a specimen. How convenient! This was, of course, taboo in Amish culture, since photographs are forbidden.

  The interesting fact about this particular Black Box was that throughout the years it had lost its technical complexity to the point of having only several wires. In fact, users claimed it worked just as well without batteries installed! The Black Box was definitely suspect.

  Our second assignment proved more interesting than the Black Box and very nearly got Dad in trouble.

  This particular device was said to detect parasites in the human body and then effectively electrocute them. Upon reading the accompanying literature, one could easily be taken up with the horror of these critters and the necessity to rid oneself of them. Incidentally, Amish parasites are no more pleasant than English ones. So now we have these huge promises of health and happiness delivered to eager listeners. Never mind the pocketbook! Never mind the lack of scientific evidence. It looks high-tech and they say it works!

  Enter the Amish FBI: Norman and myself.

  “Okay,” I told Norman, “we can easily duplicate this contraption.” We studied the simple print diagram provided by the author. A resistor here, a transistor there, a condenser between the two, and a speaker to boot. Of course this modern medical device required a battery and even a short copper pipe to hold while it was operated.

  With two Amish skeptics bent over the smoking soldering iron and the bishop impatiently waiting for results, the future for Amish parasite hunting was really being threatened. It took a number of intense after-supper sessions in our upstairs bedroom laboratory, but finally we were ready to throw the switch.

  The device operated on an interesting theory by detecting certain frequencies radiating from parasites and then sounding a buzz on the speaker. Our ears strained to hear the telltale buzzing sound from the speaker. Nothing. We turned dials up and turned dials down. Nothing. We pulled on this wire. Pushed on that one. Nothing. Surely we weren’t that healthy! According to the literature, everyone has parasites!

  Giving up was not an option. We had to get answers. So what happens if we add a length of wire to the piece? There! A buzz! And if I take hold of the copper pipe this way, it sounds one way or if that way, it sounds another.

  I rushed out of the lab, down the stairs two at a time. I found my father dozing on the rocking chair, but not for long.

  “It works! ” I yelled.

  Dad jumped, his eyes wide. “I don’t believe it!” he said, trying to convince himself. His hopes of documenting a hoax caused him to tremble.

  “Come and see,” I responded.

  He followed us upstairs to our detective lab and skeptically eyed our mess of wires.

  “Listen,” I said, turning the dial while holding the copper pipe. Sure enough, we could hear the buuzzzzz, buuzzzz.

  There was no mistake. I must have the worms. Dad finally turned and left the lab, thoughtfully stroking his graying beard. Did his boys have parasites, were they practicing witchcraft, or was something else going on?

  We decided to take the “something else is going on” road. Norman and I diligently bent to the task before us.

  “What if we attach this wire to a longer wire?” was the next logical experiment. The sound changed. It was clearer somehow with less static. Plus, we didn’t have to hold the copper pipe any longer. Now we had lots of noise with no human attached. Was the room full of parasites? We didn’t think so.

  We turned the dial and cranked up the speaker volume.

  “Whoa here! I hear voices!” Norman looked shocked.

  I planted my ear to the speaker. It was unmistakable. We heard voices. It was unintelligible but distinct, with faint music. Were they parasite voices? Or perhaps spirit voices? Or was something else going on?

  By now Dad was worried. What had he gotten his curious boys into? It all started quite innocently but where was this heading? This was certainly no ordinary medical device. But what was it? It certainly seemed like a hoax, but what sort of hoax?

  Meanwhile the Amish FBI picked up speed.

  “You know, I think this is a crystal radio,” I announced after deep contemplation. I compared the two circuits and they were strikingly similar. The only way to know is to build one, we concluded innocently enough.

  The next day found us at the local electronic shop asking for a diode.

  “What do you need a diode for?” the burly proprietor demanded as he riffled through a cardboard box of tiny parts.

  My face changed colors as I stuttered, “It’s…it’s for a project.”

  I felt foolish but quickly recovered as we hurried home with our precious piece of the puzzle. Once home, it didn’t take long to build the crystal radio.

  We held our breath, threw the switch, turned the dial and…Presto! It buzzed. And spoke. The same unintelligible garble mixed with faint music. Now we knew. What a hoax! A radio to test for parasites! What a joke. The Amish had spent hundreds of dollars to get tested with nothing better than a radio!

  But a week later our tune changed. Dad was worried. His boys had proved that his flock was being fraudulently tested with a helpless ho
ax. But the troubling part was the only thing the people heard was, “The bishop’s boys built a radio!”

  Anathema! Radios are worldly! Whoever heard of an Amish bishop letting his boys build a radio?

  Fortunately, the truth prevailed and in time Dad proved his sincerity. The project was disassembled and the Amish FBI remained unscathed, none the worse for wear.

  Grandfather Eicher

  Jerry Eicher

  Excerpted from My Amish Childhood

  “Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the LORD (Leviticus 19:32).

  THE FAMILY LIVED IN A LONG, WHITE HOUSE WITH LARGE WINDOWS IN the front. Toward the back the house had a wing attached with the mudroom and woodshed. A portion of the house had an upstairs, the roofline leaving the welcoming sweep of the front windows unaffected. Here the sustained memories of that period of childhood lie. I find that strange now. I would have thought they would be at Grandfather Stoll’s place, or even at home. But they are not.

  Here I remember the prayers at mealtimes around the long table. Grandfather Eicher would lead out in his sing-song chant that charmed and fascinated me. It was as if he knew a secret he wasn’t telling us. Some hidden pleasure he had found that we could not yet see.

  I remember him laughing. That was how he approached us grandchildren, his white beard flowing down his chest, his face glowing. And it didn’t take a special occasion to put him in such a mood. It was as if we were the occasion.

  Grandfather Eicher was a minister back then. Once, after we’d returned from living in Honduras with our hearts aching in sorrow, he approached me in the washroom and said there had been complaints that I was singing parts at the Sunday-night hymn singings. He told me, “We don’t do things like that around here.” He laughed as he said it, and I knew someone had put him up to it. Grandfather Eicher wouldn’t have cared one way or the other whether a few bass notes were growled at the hymn singings. But I nodded my agreement. There would be no more parts singing on Sunday nights.

  I never knew another man who made you feel so at home, yet he never drew close, as if his heart was always far away, somewhere else.