One Light Still Shines: My Life Beyond the Shadow of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting by Marie Monville Read Free Book Online Page A

the same joy the Amish families seemed to have. For me this was a chore, and I did not particularly enjoy the time spent stooped over pulling weeds or stemming string beans. I wondered: Why did the Amish kids not seem to mind?
    I was thankful that I didn’t wear the same styles of clothing as the Amish girls my age. Their solid-colored dresses were made of cotton-polyester blends, which couldn’t breathe on hot summer days filled with outdoor adventures. On top of the dresses they wore an added layer of fabric — an apron, which I didn’t imagine was a blessing when the temperature climbed into the 90s! But I never saw complaint on their faces.
    The sweet and gentle nature of the Amish children was always evidenced by their genuine attitudes of service toward one another in whatever task they were assigned. Although they were generally quiet in public, their eyes danced and sparkled as they smiled and waved from the backs of their buggies as cars passed. Though it was a scene I saw daily, I never tired of the sight of those adorable, innocent faces framed in black bonnets for girls or brimmed hats for boys.
    On the whole, Saturday afternoons in the Amish community are set aside for preparation for Sunday’s church activities. Stone driveways are raked to remove debris and remnants of the past week’s farm duties. Lawns are manually mowed — no gas-powered mowers here. The older girls in the household typically take on this task while the men work in the field or barn. Sundays are spent attending church and fellowshipping, so horse-drawn buggies abound on the roads. Each bishop leads two separate congregations, alternating his Sundays between them. On the Sunday when one congregation doesn’t have a church service, they spend their day visiting family and friends, sharing meals together. Many Sunday evenings are filled with volleyball games, hymn sings, and time enjoying neighbors’ conversation and company. Just as they work so hard together all week, they relax and refresh together as well.
    My family life, it seemed to me, held few similarities to theirs. Raised the middle child of three siblings, I was destined to be a peacemaker. Ken was the eldest, born in 1974, three years before me. Vicki came along four years after me. Despite our age differences, we often played together. After all, our little town of Georgetown was out in the country, so we didn’t have friends within walking or biking distance. Our school friends, like us, were bused in from miles of rural countryside where even visiting a “next-door” neighbor would often require a parent’s willingness to drive us kids. It was always a treat when aunts and uncles would visit and bring cousins to play with us.
    From the time I was born until the summer after third grade, we lived in a little yellow house next to a large Amish farm belonging to the Esh family. Our ranch-style house was close to the road, but the Eshes had a long lane that ran along the right side of our property and beyond, down their hill and back up again to their big gray house and their expansive two-story white barn. I’d swing in my backyard, overlooking their cows and horses, their two silos, and many acres of farmland. I remember the summer day when their grandfather gave my cousin and me a ride in his buggy up the farm lane; the upholstered interior was softer than I had imagined. Bouncing on the seat as the wheels jostled over the bumpy driveway was great fun!
    There was an electric wire along the top of their fence, powered by the diesel generator (not uncommon on Lancaster Amish farms to not only cool the milk but also power the fences), which helped keep the cows and horses within their enclosure. When we were playing baseball, my siblings and I took turns retrieving any balls hit into the field, hoping the fence wasn’t turned on. We tried to stay clear of the wire so we wouldn’t have to find out! Oneafternoon, Ken was at bat and sent the ball sailing over my head and