Let's All Go for a Ride

Buggyland will never be Buggyland again. The New Order Amish bishop has lifted the ban on bicycles and a wave of motion has washed over us all. For a hundred years, both the Old Order Amish, the more conservative sect, and the New Order Amish, the more liberal, shunned cars and trucks, sticking solely to their horses and buggies. The Amish drove two-seater and four-seater buggies, one horse or two. They also drove carts with plexiglass enclosures during the bitterly cold winter months. Often, they rode bareback down the road.

Many of the Amish horses were retired harness racing Standardbreds with sleek musculature. They rounded curves with speed and finesse. The horses came to Buggyland with names like Electrify, Speed Demon, and Devil in the Details, soon to take on more Amish horse names like Toby, Stormy, or Harley, adapting to the slower pace of life around here.

The Buggyland Amish also have small tractors and riding lawnmowers. They are not against technology. They are just against technology that will strain family bonds. So, they take the rubber off the wheels of these vehicles and drive on the rims. That way their teenage sons can’t skip chores and drive their tractors to town to hang out with their friends.

And as nostalgic as we might find buggies, you do have to feed and care for the horses, take the time to hitch up your rig, and often take your life in your hands at night when you hope that cars will see your lights and your slowing-moving vehicle sign. Lights? Lights, you ask? How do lights work without an electrical system? The Amish often place a solar panel on the roof of the buggy, running a wire to a battery, providing power to red flashing lights.

“In Indiana, they can just hop on their bikes and zip down the road,” my Amish neighbors have complained over and over again through the years. “And all the roads are black-topped there. Here, we have to just ride in our buggies and choke down the dust on the gravel roads.”

In the Amish world, Indiana is the equivalent of California. Shipshewanna might as well be Berkeley, a progressive place where the rules are looser and the living is easier. On a drive through Elkhart County, Indiana, you might see Amish with gas grills and boats parked in the yard. Men might work in a factory instead of on a farm and wear running shoes instead of work boots. And, of course, they all ride bikes.

So, the New Order moved themselves a little closer to Indiana by allowing bicycles. And the Old Order was left to try to enforce the old rules. A couple of years ago, I watched those New Order bicycles begin to roll down the road, baskets and carriers hitched to the back, holding everything from groceries to babies. The Old Order bounced along in their buggies. About six months later, the bikes picked up speed. Wow, look at them pedaling now! They’re moving. Then I realized they weren’t pedaling. They were now riding e-bikes!

Soon, a local Amish man opened a shop, that sold e-bikes and accessories. Our city council adapted our light posts with plugs. The Amish rode their bikes downtown to recharge. Others bought self-charging bikes. I thought the whole endeavor looked like fun, so right about that same time, I bought a nice new recliner chair to crash in after I’d ridden my nice new e-bike. Only one complaint: coasting along the back roads, I wished for a little less dust.

It was a particularly dusty day when Leah Kauffman stopped by and asked if I could quickly run her to her in-laws’ house and back.

“I’m happy to do that,” I said, “as long as it’s a quick trip. I am really behind in my garden.”

Leah looked out on my weedy garden plot, her forehead wrinkling. Weeds were sprouting everywhere—in the walkways between the rows, around the garden fence, in the buckets I use to grow my potatoes.

We struck a bargain. I would drive Leah. On the way home, we would pick up her children and they would all help me in the garden.

Deal. Four children under the age of eleven tumbled out of my car and I equipped them with hoes, rakes and shovels from my garden shed/greenhouse.

Slam, bam. The children pulled the pigweed from the flower bed and hauled it to the compost pile. They dug out pesky burdock root. They yanked the quack grass out of the hosta bed, then mulched with wood chips transported by the garden cart. I wouldn’t have made that much progress in such a short amount of time if I’d hired a dozen English adults.

Assigned tasks completed, the smallest child stopped and looked at me. “Was Kann ich tun? (What can I do?)”

“You can help me plant that clematis that I bought,” I said, climbing up on a step stool in the greenhouse to give the other plants there an extra shot of water, a few drops dribbling down on his head.

“Getauft (Baptized)!” he said.

His older brothers were climbing all over my e-bike, feet on pedals, hands on the gears of the forbidden item.

Uh, oh, I thought. Their mother isn’t going to like this.

“Okay, boys,” Leah called them off the bike, and the boys jumped off immediately, their faces falling in disappointment.

We drifted into the house for a drink of water, Leah remaining outside to weed the herb bed.

“Whoa,” Annie, the oldest girl said. She’d discovered my new recliner and hopped in, instantly finding the control wand. “What does this do?”

I glanced out the window. Whew. Leah was well out of hearing range. This chair was electric and I didn’t see much difference between it and the e-bike. I could be corrupting these kids. But they wouldn’t be driving to town in it. And they were having so much fun. . .

“Okay, go ahead and press the top button,” I said.

The chair tilted back, Annie’s eyes opening wide.

“Now press the next button.” Ever so slowly, the footrest rose up.

The three boys were mesmerized. They jumped into the recliner and all four children held onto each other, giggling and throwing back their heads, their eyes growing round.

“Take it up,” I told Annie.

She’d quickly understood the controls. The whole chair rose up into the air, then down again. Then the back arched forward and back, forward and back, the footrest tilting the whole recliner into the air as if it were flying in space, the giggling rising into the stratosphere.

“Mom!” one of the boys called.

Oh, no, I thought.

“Mom,” another boy called. “Come here.”

Now, what was I going to do?

Leah was in the house. She wasn’t smiling.

I could be in trouble.

“Mom, try the chair,” Annie said, all the children scampering out.

Slowly, Leah sat down in the chair. Then Annie pressed the controls, and Leah’s head tilted back. Another press and Leah’s legs rose. A faint smile graced her lips. Leah relaxed into the cushions, the tension draining from her muscles, her body limp and loose. Her eyes closed. Her mouth dropped open, exhaling one long breath. “Ahhhhhhhhh.”

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