Skip to main content

Oh, the Things You Can See

You know that scene in "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" The one with the cow standing on the roof of a barn after the place has been flooded. I saw something as unusual yesterday, although my vision wasn't foretold by a blind seer.

I was sent to the fairgrounds in Small Town to see what I could see on behalf of the newspaper—there is a forestry heritage festival going on there this weekend on account of Ohio's thriving timber industry. The festival is all about respecting our natural resources and understanding how to use them wisely, but it's also about fun stuff like beef jerky, chainsaw wood carvers, and comic lumberjacks holding canoe jousts in a giant water tank.

I was walking through the fairgrounds with my notebook in hand, jotting down things of interest and making note of people to talk to—like the guy with the chainsaw who carves bears into big chunks of cottonwood—when I saw a horse walking on a treadmill. A horse. Walking on a treadmill. It was a big horse, too—a Percheron, which is a kind of work horse the Amish use. These things could move a barge down the Mississippi.

So, I walked up to an old-order Amish couple standing next to the horse and said, "Excuse me. I've never seen a horse on a treadmill before. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?" These people acted like it was an everyday occurrence and pointed to the shaft that ran from the treadmill to an ice cream freezer. The man explained the horse was just getting some exercise and could churn a batch of ice cream in half an hour. They were making vanilla yesterday.

In case you don't know, the Amish reject electricity, although some of them allow gas-powered appliances. They wouldn't think of owning an electric ice cream maker like the one in my house, and who wants to stand out in the cold turning the crank by hand all day. So, it seems resourceful to me to come up with this odd contraption. And you have to give the Amish credit for a healthy sense of humor, don't you think?

Here is a link to the article with a photo of the horse. I wouldn't bother reading the story, though.

Comments

MmeBenaut said…
I saw this story on your f/b page of course but it's good to see the photo. What a beautiful horse but he must be peed off that he's not going anywhere.
We don't have Amish here and although I know a little about them, I didn't realise that they don't use electricity. Rather puts things in context for me.
Why not read the story? It's a typical regional piece Robyn - one I've done loads of times lol - and did the job.

I feel sorry for the horse. As always, I'm interested to hear about Amish way of life - it's so very different from 'norm' life as we know it. I notice in your piece you did not refer at all to 'Amish'. Were you not allowed?
Scout said…
Mme Benaut, the Amish don't own phones or cars or use electricity. But they do borrow phones and ride in cars owned by someone else and cook and cool with gas. I don't understand their rules.

Lynn, I didn't think anyone would care about reading the whole story. And I didn't mention the Amish in the story because that's not as interesting a fact here, it's so common. And the Amish don't like to be photographed. I did consciously decide to leave out that distinction, but most people will probably figure it out based on the kind of horse, the name of the owner, and the county he lives in.
Shame; I'd love to see photographs - not to gawp, but because I'm interested in their way of life.

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...