State of the states: Chianti dreams and the Amish

We are all fascinated by the Amish. I am not quite sure why. Part of it, I think, may have to do with dreams. When we were young uni students groups of us used to spend dreamy nights drinking Chianti, encircled in the dim glow of candles spilling thick wax trails over raffia basketry of our empty Chianti bottles, as we talked long into the night. Dreaming. Imagining, even designing, a tiny perfect Utopia where we could all live differently, communally: sharing, caring, a simpler life than that we could see ahead of us.

We didn't, of course. Tho' we were sure at the time we would. But the Amish did. And their reality is a little like our Chianti dreaming.

Plain and simple folk, they are, and claim to be. And that's their philosophy, their way of life, which defines how they live. Pacifists, they hark back to a far simpler era than we ever dreamed -- where there is little or limited use for computers, motorised vehicles, engine-power, tho' they don't, these days, rule them out.

Some might call their beliefs rigid, restrictive. Others abhor their shunning practices used to keep non-conformists in line. That aside, horse and buggy is a fine speed for the simple yet busy lives they choose to lead.

They came to America when followers, under the leadership of Jacob Amman (Amman - Amish), split from Annabaptist Menonnites in Switzerland during a schism. They emigrated, their descendants ending up in Montgomery, Indiana -- not far from here.

We are drawn to them. We dawdle over every Amish encounter. We ate at their Gastof Inn. Slow-ate their simple but freshly prepared Amish fare, served by apple-cheeked waitresses in long skirts, flat functional shoes, hair tucked demurely under summer-white, head-hugging, fine cotton caps, who cared for us with meticulous charm. We checked out their beautiful hand-crafted rugs, quilts, folk art and handicrafts in small shops nearby.

We drove an entire lazy afternoon up and down white grit roads checking out the small Amish school watching children there at happy play. We admired Amish farms and hay barns --so neat and white, so simple and functional. We followed countless charming Amish horse-drawn buggies as they kicked up soft white dust down untarred but picturesque country roads.

So entranced were we that when we found an Amish buggy repair shop we simply had to stop. And we all were welcomed in and invited to see the fine finished products of their craft which involved many Amish men in the community sharing the load of wheelwrighting, upholstery making, chassis building and cabinetry.

We learned the differences between a vis a vis buggy (face to face seated, essentially open, tho' hooded) and a gentleman's Brougham (a more formal closed carriage with a box driver's seat) and watched numerous men in long shirts, brace-pants, and straw hats set about their work in the various buggy repair sections in this busy but happy community.

Men's work, the buggy building. Women were close by mowing lawns in long dresses, some in bare feet; others were feeding and harnessing horses, and some were heading off in buggies, probably to collect children from school. As the day was nearly done. Sweet dreams there under that soft September Indiana sun.