A View from the Buggy Read online

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota

  Cover photos © Chris Garborg; hendrsd / Bigstock

  A VIEW FROM THE BUGGY

  Copyright © 2014 by Jerry S. Eicher and Nathan Miller

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Eicher, Jerry S.

  A view from the buggy / Jerry S. Eicher and Nathan Miller.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-0-7369-5686-4 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-5687-1 (eBook)

  1. Christian life—Amish authors. 2. Simplicity—Religious aspects—Christianity. I. Title.

  BX8129.A5E33 2014

  289.7'3—dc23

  2013043550

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Contents

  A Horse Named Rose

  Jerry Eicher

  Color Tour

  Nathan Miller

  Going Fishing

  Erma Louise Schrock

  Horses and Boys

  Marvin Wengerd

  An Eventful Evening

  Janice Hochstetler

  A Priceless Gift

  Joanna Yoder

  A Precious Sunbeam

  Joanna Yoder

  High Water

  Malinda Hershberger

  Kerlin

  Eldon Schrock

  Billy Goat Style

  Oba Hershberger

  Our New Life Together

  Oba Hershberger

  The Pig Chase

  Sarah Bontrager

  Why Don’t We Butcher?

  Aaron Miller

  Spokes and Spooks

  Regina Bontrager

  Beyond the Stars

  Wilbur Hochstetler

  The Beginning of My Journey

  Miriam Schwartz

  The Continuing of My Journey

  Miriam Schwartz

  Those Lemon Bars

  Delores Schrock

  My Night Away from Home

  Samuel Chupp

  A Day in My Amish Country School

  Rachel Miller

  Joe, the Pet Crow

  Harvey Yoder

  A Girls’ Silo Filling Day

  Grace Ann Yoder

  I Ran the Red Light

  Levi F. Miller

  How to Have Good Neighbors

  Mose E. Helmuth

  They Said I Do

  Rachel Troyer

  Our Bean Bin Tipped Over

  Betty Gingerich

  Hosting Church

  Sarah Bontrager

  Can We Go to Law?

  Levi F. Miller

  Special Days in My Life

  Lori Miller

  Outreach

  Louie Weaver

  Pinecraft Excursion

  Norman Miller

  All’s Well That Ends Well

  Grace Elaine Yoder

  Barn Raising

  Harvey D. Yoder

  My Brush with Danger

  Aaron D. Beachy

  Winter Evening Chores

  Ruth M. Bontrager

  My First Wash Day Alone

  Maria Kay Bontrager

  The Day We Missed the Bus

  Crist Renno

  Musings from Our Sugarhouse

  Levi F. Miller

  The Wedding

  Harvey and Grace Ann Yoder

  Nickel Mines Tragedy

  Benuel M. Fisher

  To Market, To Market

  Rachel Troyer

  Penny

  Luke Weaver

  Under Arrest

  Omer Miller

  The Victory

  Kenneth Gingerich

  My Journey to Baptism

  Kenneth Gingerich

  Baptism

  Kenneth Gingerich

  The Buggy Wreck

  Titus Yoder

  Christmas Caroling

  Joanna Yoder

  The Amish FBI

  Nathan Miller

  Grandfather Eicher

  Jerry Eicher

  Working with the Threshing Ring

  Philip Stoll

  My Scary Day of Silo Filling

  Philip Stoll

  Babies Don’t Wear Watches

  Esther Weaver

  Nearing the Dawn

  Laura Yoder

  New Beginnings

  Nathan Miller

  Goodbye, Grandma

  Joanna Yoder

  About the Authors

  About the Publisher

  A Horse Named Rose

  Jerry Eicher

  Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away (Matthew 5:42).

  HUMILITY IS VALUED BY THE AMISH COMMUNITY, RIGHT UP THERE after godliness. Every member is expected to readily admit to his or her shortcomings. So I will open this book of true Amish stories with a tale from my family’s repertoire of less-than-stellar accomplishments.

  County Road 96 runs through the center of the little Amish community in Belle Center, Ohio, where our family had moved upon our return from several years in Honduras. Our time in Honduras had been a mixture of good and bad, but our return home was disappointing to the whole family.

  Dad had come up to the states some months earlier and made the down payment on the property that would be our new home. When he returned, he made a point of telling us that our neighbors, Eldon Yoder and his wife, Fannie, were friendly folks, as were other folks in the Amish community.

  I was 16 at the time and mourned our move away from Honduras. This preempted any interest I had in who our new neighbors would be. But when we arrived in Belle Center, Dad was proved right—the Yoders were fine, generous people. This was made clear when, upon our arrival, Eldon Yoder offered to sell us Rose, his best horse.

  Eldon Yoder was a short man with a bushy beard. His wife, Fannie, was always smiling. She was almost as tall as her husband, and a fluttering sort of woman. Fannie gave off a sense of eternal busyness, which contrasted with the easygoing nature of her husband.

  If Eldon had any regrets about the sale of Rose, I never heard him say so. And one would have heard such a thing in that small community. I hasten to add that Rose was a gentle, mild-natured horse when we bought her. This was one of her attractive qualities, Dad claimed. We didn’t need a dashing horse. We had arrived back Stateside bruised in heart and soul. A troublesome horse was the last thing we needed. Maybe that knowledge was what had stirred Eldon Yoder’s compassion to sell Rose to us—or perhaps it was simply our general bedraggled condition.

  Sadly, the sale of Rose to our family—though well-intentioned—quickly turned into a disaster. What happened, we never really knew. But something went wrong as we proceeded that turned a kind gesture sour. Not intentionally, of course. It just sort of happened. Dad knew how to handle horses, and he didn’t abuse them. He had been around horses all of his life.

 
; I know we liked the calm and gentle Rose and expected that she’d be a fine horse for us. But to our surprise—and no doubt Eldon Yoder’s too—she was soon ruined beyond repair. Perhaps she didn’t like this Amish family who had spent time in faraway Honduras. Whatever the reason, Rose began to balk. When hitched to a buggy, she simply refused to go.

  This is not only a most inconvenient trait for an Amish horse to have, but a well-nigh intolerable one. The whole family would cram into the buggy outside whatever farm the church service had been held at that Sunday. People were milling around, talking with each other as the Amish do after the services—and there we were, right in the middle of the driveway, with Rose refusing to budge.

  Dad would slap the reins and holler for Rose to go. Nothing happened! Rose stayed stubbornly in place. She’d even rear a little off her front feet, but she made no other movement. Next, we’d climb out of the buggy and pull on her bridle. This only angered Rose, causing her to rear higher and paw the air. We were the embarrassment of the Sunday afternoon church gathering.

  Eldon Yoder would come by and talk to Rose. He’d speak in soft, soothing words of comfort. But his touch no longer did any good. Rose didn’t plan to move for the Eichers until she was good and ready, and that was often a longer time than we cared to wait. The funny thing was that once Rose did take off, she hightailed it out of the lane so fast Dad could barely hang on to the lines.

  This was a situation that couldn’t continue for long. Dad tried every method of curing Rose he could think of. Every Amish horseman’s trick in the book, Dad tried. Nothing worked.

  A horse that won’t cooperate isn’t much good to an Amish man. So, sad to say, in the end, the inevitable happened. Dad had to sell Rose to the buyer of last resort: the local butcher shop. No one else wanted a balking horse.

  It troubled us greatly—this gentle horse we had somehow ruined. We questioned the integrity of our souls. Weren’t horses a decent judge of one’s character? Had we failed as a family to make Rose feel at home with us? No matter how hard we tried to figure out what had gone wrong, we came to a dead end every time.

  Through it all Eldon Yoder and his wife, Fannie, were our greatest comforters. They assured us that this could have happened to anyone. Not one incriminating word was ever spoken by them against this new family who had come from the ends of the earth to settle in the community.

  I’m not sure I could have done the same if Eldon Yoder and his family had ruined my best horse. Eldon was a good man who knew how to give away what God had placed in his hands and to fully let it go. I wish I could always say the same of myself.

  Color Tour

  Nathan Miller

  And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it (Psalm 90:17).

  COME HERE, THUNDER! COME HERE!” I CALLED AS I CROSSED OUR pasture. Thunder was our faithful standardbred buggy horse. I had equipped myself with a scoop of his favorite feed and a lead rope. I approached cautiously, knowing that pushing him usually didn’t work. Thunder was a suspicious horse and easily turned tail. Thankfully, today Thunder cooperated and I snapped the lead rope to his halter. We headed for the barn.

  The autumn day was comfortable, neither too hot nor too cold. The sky was clear and the family’s excitement high. My wife, Mattie, and I had made plans for a fall color tour with our three daughters and a friend named Delores. Taking time out for a family ride along with a picnic lunch would be a special treat for all of us.

  “Okay, are we ready?” I asked after I hitched Thunder to the buggy.

  “Yes! Yes!” came the happy chorus.

  “Giddap, Thunder,” I said, and we were on our way. Thunder wasn’t in a hurry and neither were we. The picture-perfect day matched our spirits as we slowly clip-clopped our way to deacon Omer Schrock’s house to pick up Delores. Here we exchanged our buggy for their one-horse wagon, which provided more room and a better view of the scenery.

  The late September countryside in rural Michigan was beautiful. We were headed eight miles to the northwest where the elevation climbed, allowing us to look out over the valley in which our small Amish community was settled.

  We relaxed and chatted as our wagon wheels slowly ate away the miles. The pace afforded plenty of time to visit, notice the birds singing, rabbits hopping, and squirrels scampering.

  We crossed the Muskegon River and turned left on River Road. The trees were stunning along this back route, bursting with varied hues of bright reds, yellows, and gaudy oranges. The traffic was low and the English people were friendly. Most of them waved as they passed our wagon.

  We must have been a rare treat for one man. He quickly pulled out his camera and took our picture as we approached. He barely had time to jump out of the way of an oncoming car as we passed each other. We waved to him and he waved back. We chuckled as we continued our journey.

  “At least we made his day,” I remarked to Mattie. “Apparently he doesn’t see too many horses travel this road.”

  I soon pointed to my right. “Look at this, girls!” Someone had carved an impressive totem pole using a variety of animals. An eagle topped the pole. This was the first totem pole our children had seen in real life. We probably would have missed the delight if we had hurried by in a faster vehicle.

  As we approached our destination, the road steepened and I had to urge Thunder to keep on the move. This was a longer drive than he usually took. But we soon turned onto the final stretch, a small dirt road not much wider than a two-track. We climbed the last half mile and we were there.

  The view so far had been pretty, but here, looking out over the valley with the forests in crimson colors broken by the fields, it was awesome. Farms dotted the hillside here and there. Cars meandered down the ribbon roads, appearing small from our vantage point. All was peaceful and quiet as we sat on a log munching fresh popcorn and drinking lemonade. Thunder was tied close by, gratefully resting up for his return trip.

  For a moment our little group sat quietly absorbing the tranquility and beauty. We were amazed how far we could see across the valley. We could even recognize a building that belonged to one of the Amish homes.

  “It looks much farther than it actually is,” I remarked.

  “That’s right, it does,” Mattie agreed. “This is so special. We get to spend time together and enjoy God’s handiwork.”

  “I really enjoy this,” I said in approval.

  About then Delores had a suggestion. “Let’s go for a walk. There’s a trail that runs through the woods over there.” She pointed to a beautiful stand of hardwoods on the right.

  “Yes, let’s,” the children consented happily.

  We slowly rose from our special log seat and stretched. We gathered the remaining picnic supplies and loaded them on the wagon for when we would later leave. Thunder was happily munching the tender grass, enjoying his break. We meandered slowly down the trail, fully enjoying this time of togetherness and family happiness.

  How blessed we are, I meditated. Thank You, Father, for giving me a beautiful, loving family. I have much more than I deserve. Thank You for Your love and care.

  Eventually I announced with reluctance, “I believe it’s time to get back and head for home.”

  “Oh, please, just a little longer,” the children begged.

  “I’m sorry, but we must get home before it’s too late,” I said. “Perhaps we can come again next fall.”

  “Yes, let’s,” they agreed.

  “Maybe we should make this a yearly tradition,” Mattie suggested.

  “I think that would be a great idea,” I agreed.

  Minutes later, the family had climbed aboard the wagon for home.

  “Is everyone loaded and ready?” I asked before I untied Thunder. When there was a chorus of “Yes,” I turned the wagon around, climbed aboard, and we began to retrace the eight miles back home.

  “That was really worthwhile,” I told Mattie. “Thank you for s
uggesting it.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” Mattie said with a smile. “It was really special.”

  Everyone was quiet and seemed a bit tired on the trip back. Emilee, the youngest, snuggled on my lap and was soon fast asleep. We traveled in comfortable silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

  Thunder eagerly pulled the wagon along. He sensed we were headed home and had an extra spring to his steps. In no time we crossed the river and reached the Schrock residence.

  We thanked Delores, glad that she had accompanied us, and hitched Thunder to our own buggy. We loaded one last time and clip-clopped the last stretch home. After we unhitched Thunder we unloaded the buggy. Thunder was turned out to pasture tired and happy, as we headed for the house feeling no less so.

  Going Fishing

  Erma Louise Schrock

  And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse (Malachi 4:6).

  ONE BRIGHT DAY IN JUNE OUR FAMILY WAS SITTING AT THE LUNCH table. Rapid conversation was flowing as everyone shared their bit of news from the day’s happenings so far.

  My brother Alvin piped up, “Dad! I talked with Jesse this morning. He’s wondering if we fellows want to go fishing this evening. He’ll pick us up in his van.”

  Our brother Aaron wasted no time in answering that question. “Yes, let’s.”

  Dad took a little more time to think this through. He glanced toward Mom. “Is there something else planned for this evening?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mom said. “Other than a quiet night at home.”

  “Please…let’s go,” the boys begged Dad.

  Dad finally nodded. “I’m in favor, and I think I’ll go along.”

  “What about me?” I asked. “I’m the oldest girl. Do I get to go even if Jesse didn’t mention me?”

  Jesse was our next door neighbor and an older man. He was a retired school teacher and spoke with a British accent. He sounded really intelligent. We children would hang around and enjoy his stories when he stopped by for a visit.

  “Do you want to?” Dad had a smile on his face, but he already knew that answer. If Jesse was taking the boys finishing, I certainly wanted to go along.

  “I’m sure Jesse wouldn’t mind you tagging along,” Nelson spoke up.