He's Hot

Our barn is falling apart at the seams. Badly engineered, it is sliding out to both sides and the roof will eventually cave in. All the Bubbas we've had look at it shook their heads in disbelief and told us we'd be better off (financially) to bulldoze it and start over. At first glance, it's a nice barn, but we can see the impending disaster as the beams pull away from each other and the doors sag. We keep hoping for an "act of God" to take it down, but we've not been that fortunate. And, of course, the horses are in there, so we can't really hope for that.

Poor dh. It flitted across his mind that the financing we received for the barn would buy a fast and sporty car. For a brief moment, he was in a little red convertible in his mind. But, selfless man that he is, he will continue to drive an old, beige mini-van so that we have a decent barn for his girls' horses. He always says it's worth it, because he thinks the horse activity builds character and keeps them out of trouble.

We contacted an Amishman builder in this area for an estimate. He arrived in an old van with a driver in a cloud of cigarette smoke, a wizened old farmer that looked to be 158 years old. Jake, the Amishman, was very approachable and amiable. He laughed at our miniature pony when it bit his knee and talked about his children having ponies and how they'd love the mini. He showed us photographs of barns and gave us a few ideas.

Lauren and I, having read several books on the Amish, were curious about seeing a true representative of them. He was no different really, other than his clothing and very slight accent. He had a gentle laugh. After he left though, I remarked to the girls about his clothing, "He looked hot." Anna paused momentarily, and said, "Mom! What kind of hot are you talking about?" We all laughed. Yes, I was very turned on by his straw hat and suspenders.

I think that the only thing that draws me to learning about the Amish is their sense of community and perhaps slower lifestyle that is sadly lacking in today's rushed world. Maybe the quiet, too. Perhaps it's there, though, and you have to look for it.

William and I went to get our hair cut, and while there, passed the hour waiting talking to a neighbor. We had a haircut by people we'd known for years. Then, we stopped at the grocery and then to the Farmers' Market in the town square. We bumped into many neighbors, and looked over the many booths. I was looking for pickles. My dill is ready, and as William often reminds me, "Mom. We have to make pickles." So, I found a bushel and got in line. When I got to the table to pay, I realized I was five dollars short. No problem, said the lady, pay me next time you come. "You're kidding me," I said. No really, she was sure I'd come back and give her her money, don't worry. She then called her daughter to carry my produce to the car a block away. She's right, I will come back.