I am fascinated by the scenery showing in the Lancaster County
Cars stream along the Old Philadelphia Pike in Bird-in-Hand of PA, flashing by with high speed, which in contrast with several carriages passing by unhurriedly.
“Vroom…Vroom”
“Clip-Clop…Clip-Clop”
“Buzz…Buzz…”
“Clip-Clop…Clip-Clop”
Such an interesting rhythm sounded in a quiet morning like an unexpected nature symphony.
Not far away, several white wooden single houses scattered into a far-reaching field, with dozens of clothes, which are raised to the top of the roof, fluttering in the wind. Various simple colors, such as bright white, dark green and navy blue, are placed side by side neatly, look like dozens of small flags waving in the sky. That’s the typical way that the Amish dries up their clothing—using nature wind source.
After choosing Buggy Ride—a typical transportation for Amish community—a black wagon with two horses, I set off on a tour visiting the Amish farmhouse.
I love the feeling when sitting in the carriage. There is no difference from being sat on the back of a mini truck. Two rows of blenches facing to each other, reserving twelve seats for passengers. Our loyal drivers—two horses—seem to know every route that we want to visit, and follow the traffic rule disciplinarily—stop in advance when a car is coming.
Crossing two-way asphalt road, turning into a narrow country road, our wagon bumps along a gravel path. Along the road, four acres of the dried corps seem to be reaped several months ago.
“That’s my farmland,” said the Buggy driver proudly, an Amish man with a long beard and a light-yellow straw-hat.
He is a retired farmer, now, working for a Buggy Ride company. Even though the first language is German, his fluent English surprise me and encourage me at the moment.
On the left side of the country road, a white decent house causes me to think of a valuable single family located in Potomac River .
“It built in 1800. And I get it from my parents.” He explains. “We get these houses from generation to generation.” Also, the low tax benefits him to manage his property. On the right side of the house, a dairy farm is the main source of income for his family. “We sell milk to dairy company—forty-five gallon each day.”
At the end of the dairy farm, there is a small room filled with various aluminum utensils used as the container for gathering fresh milk. Meanwhile, the temperature controller, hanging in the wall, is the only thing can be viewed as a modern industry product.
“We keep the freshness of milk by cooling them down and managing the temperature properly.” The retired farmer said.
“Did you drink your milk?” one of the visitors asked.
“Yes, we drink whole milk and use it to bake cookies”
“You eat a lot of fatty milk, but you are still skinny!" she exclaimed.
“We never worry about the fat.” said our guide in a low voice.
Stepping out the farm, standing between the farmland, we appreciate the scenery showing in front of us. Two inches of the corn stalk still remain in the soil, leaving an unbounded field view into the eyes.
“It is so peaceful and beautiful.” said one of the visitors.
I turned toward him, nodding my head.
“Yes, it is.”
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