The night was quiet. In the distance I could hear the frogs croaking around the little pond outside our woods several hundred yards away. All the chores were done, the cows were turned out to pasture for the night so they could munch on the fresh grass over night. I could hear the occasional soft moo from a satisfied cow who had its udder relieved a few hours before from us milking it, and now it was getting its belly full. Way off in the distance I could hear a Coyote yapping. several seconds passed until I heard another answering it from a neighboring woods. On such a clear night out in the country, miles away from any major City or Highway, the sounds of the night carried for miles.
I was 9 years old. Still fresh and innocent about life. I was in that stage where Babies came down from heaven and into the bedroom on a cloud. Where if you fell down in the dirt, God would appear, literally, pick you up, brush you off, kiss your hurt spot, and then vanish into the thin air again. A time when mom and dad were my heroes, elders within the church were always right, and I fully trusted every adult I met and what they had to say, because that is what you do at that age. Aww but if only we could all hang onto the innocence of childhood for just a little longer!
Usually when supper was over, after crawling into my bed with my little brother, I would fall asleep right away. Maybe it was from the long days in the fields, or maybe falling asleep quickly is just something a 9-year-old boy does.
However, for some reason this evening I was laying in bed completely aware of my surroundings, the quiet, sultry summer night, and all the sounds in it.
And than I heard it. The distant, faint, clip clop of a horse’s hooves falling on the asphalt a mile away. A buggy traveling at midnight in the middle of the week??? I sat alertly upright in bed. Something didn’t feel right here. As the sound of the clip clops got closer, I glided silently from my bed to the second story window of our farmhouse. A farmhouse Built about a quarter of a mile back from the asphalt road that ran past our 255 acre farm nestled out in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. As I peeped out of the window, I watched the buggy come to a halt in the field across the road from our place next to the Amish farm half a mile away. In the shadows of the tall trees, I watched as 3 men climbed off of the buggy with pitch forks. I slowly froze with fear as that night I watched my very first act of the something few people from the outside world know anything about. Something that lies deep within the heart of the Amish communities. Something that is only muttered in undertones for fear of getting visited by “The Amish Mafia”Read More »Amish Mafia: Fact or Fiction