At the Berlin Grande, the receptionist's cheeks are as pink as the peaches I purchased from a local farmer, and her smile is as sweet as the ubiquitous peach pie. I was not upset. Perhaps it is time to move on. Friday would have been the sixth extension of our planned two-night stay. Yet, the relaxed atmosphere of this Amish region in Iowa, kept us asking for more.
On my morning walk, the clip-clap sounds of horse-drawn buggies, make me happy to be here. As they pass, the driver, be it a long-bearded man, a woman donning a white bonnet, or a young boy sporting a straw hat, smile and nod. This is not the wide, almost artificial, smile of Salt Lake City, but a gentle one, which unconsciously, elicits a similar response from me. After a light rain, the smell of fresh horseshit permeates the air, and surprisingly, it reinforces my feeling of comfort. The Amish are shy, and wary of tourists, but once talking, they are as curious as anyone about other ways of life. Amish tradition rejects technology. However, to adapt to the modern age, they do not resort to prophets and their celestial revelations, nor do they seek the rulings of wise old men. In my opinion, they have a much better method. Each congregation, which is usually a dozen-or-so families, can define new regulations to govern their daily life. There are seven or nine (depending on who I asked), levels of permissiveness among the many congregations. Electricity in the home is generally forbidden, and a clear sign of an Amish home is colorful laundry drying on a neat front lawn. However, if you operate a home workshop, depending on the congregation's level, you may use electricity to light it up. No tractors, but there is something childishly lovable about a noisy motor-driven grass mower, mounted on a horse-drawn cart.
