One lovely summer week, my church choir had an appreciation picnic. Loathe to go, a friend insisted that we make an appearance. As with most things that I resist attending, it turned out to be a fun, delicous pot luck picnic, complete with my favorite Polish food, cabbage and noodles. We sat with a group of choir members and their families, and somehow the conversation turned to Amish Country. I explained that my only visit had been a few years back in the early winter, and that we'd not really seen much on the trip.' Harvey", a sweet, retired, never married senior in his 70s immediately perked up and suggested that he be my guide. Thinking he meant that he would provide me a map and a list of "hot spots", I agreed. We spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and talking about dozens of topics, and Harvey's offer slipped my mind.
A few days later, Harvey called me at home. At first, I couldn't place him, since I hadn't given my number. He launched right into planning our big trip to Amish Country. Did I want to go this Saturday or next? Was I available on a weekday next week? He would drive and pack snacks. Did I have any dietary restrictions? Suddenly, I was committed to a full day trip with him, no doubt about it. Not wanting to be rude, I agreed.
The big day arrived. We met at church at 8 am, he showed me the fully stocked trunk filled with a weeks' worth of food, and off we went. It's about a 90-120 minute drive to the heart of Amish Country, but he had a plan! We were to stop every 20 minutes or so for snacking on cherries or to stretch our legs. We must take scenic routes (no highways), stop at all attractions along the way, and take pictures at every stop.
Accustomed to a pretty prefunctory travel style, I found this suffocating. I had no patience for yet another old barn; I wanted to get to Amish Country so that I could get out of Amish Country and end this endless trip. Far from the quaint, back-road view of simple living I'd been hoping for, this is an industry! We finally reached Amish Country at about 1pm, just in time for lunch at his favorite spot. The restaurant seated hundreds of people and had all the modern amenities. It was like a cracker barrel with Amish decor, if there is such a thing. The food was pretty good, but seemed to have the same things I could order anywhere. If it weren't for the lovely view of the countryside and the little cap our server was wearing, we could have been anywhere.
After lunch, it was time to hit his favorite shops... at least 15 of them. Some were clustered, others were far flung and required more driving. Not being a tourist trinket, woodcraft or quilt buyer, I finally realized that Harvey was dragging me to shop after shop hoping I'd finally see something I'd like to buy. He was trying to please me. In the hopes that buying something would get us back on the road home, I bought some chocolates. It was our last stop.
Released from shopping, it was gaining on 6pm; I realized I needed to cancel or delay my plans with friends for the evening. A little tense at this point, I impatiently searched for cell signal and called to let them know, saying I didn't know what time we'd be back, but to please go ahead without me and I would call them when I got home. Harvey heard me and my tone, and I could tell was crestfallen that he was inconveniencing me and that I'd made other plans on our big day. I felt awful.
He started heading back and took the highway, only stopping every 30 minutes, rather than 20. He stopped telling me his stories from delivering mail in the 50s and 60s or of life in the neighborhood where he grew up and remains. He stopped incessantly offering me more cherries and water. We didn't go to any other roadside attractions. I tried to tell him it was ok, that I don't mind getting back later or missing my friends, and not to hurry on my account, but it was no use. It was quiet. I'd dropped my facade of enjoying it as much as he, and ruined it for him.
He only told one more story on the way home. Harvey's first job was when he was just a kid during the depression. He worked in the rail yard slitting cherry bags for about a penny a bag. The minute fruit is picked, it starts to decay and release methane. When fruit is trapped in a bag with its methane, it accelerates decay and feeds fungi. Bag slicers were almost always child labor. Boys would climb in and out of box cars in risky situations, slicing bag after bag after bag. That's why he always has cherries when he can get them.
A few weeks later, he brought in the pictures from our trip to a choir rehearsal. There I was, smiling at the historic house on one of his detours, smiling in front of an old barn, smiling while eating a meal in a huge mega-restaurant, smiling holding my bag of chocolates. I think I was having a great time and just didn't know it or let myself see it. Harvey didn't invite me to do anything again, and now I've lost touch with him. I wish I could tell him that I really did have a great time, thank him again for his wonderful hospitality and tell him that one of my biggest regrets in life was to take him and that beautiful day in Amish Country for granted.
Some of the best moments of 2003 were spent on detours and side roads while eating cherries with Harvey.
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