We're just back from a couple of days in Amish Country, where we like to go a couple of times a year. What is it that I say over and over to people we meet up there? Oh yeah, it's, "I hope you know how lucky you are to live up here!"
It's only 66 miles up the road from here to Lancaster (pronounced LANG-kister) PA, where the Amish people dwell in peace among what they call the "English" population. I don't know what the breakdown is, as far as how many of each type of citizen there are, and that's the point. The Amish shun modern conveniences, and so they ride along on foot-powered scooters or horse-drawn carriages. Hint: for those who love to grow beautiful roses, follow one of those carriages for a couple of miles, and forget about having to buy Vigoro fertilizer ever again!
And the great thing is that people let them live their lives as they see fit! Down here in the big town, they'd be filing for environmental impact statements for the horse poop, and fretting about how the horse-drawn vehicles slow down the Lexuses (Lexii?) that are trying to race off to somewhere, and generally worrying these peaceful people to distraction. They do their thing and that's all right with me. I do my thing and they are not the least bit involved.
And so Peggy and I go up there where the murder rate is about one-one millionth what ours is, and we don't even need an alarm clock because there is a rooster across the street and we can go to a place called Kitchen Kettle Village and pose for pictures like this: