Growing Up Amish - Ira Wagler [18]
In 1968, my uncle Peter Stoll, a great jovial bear of a man and one of Aylmer’s founding patriarchs, abruptly decided to leave and move to Honduras.
Honduras.
Halfway across the world.
His goal was to start a new Amish settlement there, help the natives live better lives by teaching them Amish farming methods, and gain converts. This was a strange and startling thing, coming from an Amish man. The Amish traditionally live their beliefs quietly and don’t go around proselytizing a whole lot.
But Peter Stoll was different: softhearted and driven by a fervent desire to help the less fortunate. And once gripped by his vision, he didn’t waste a lot of time tolerating second-guessers. In short order, he sold his farm, held a public auction to dispose of excess goods, and set off for Honduras, thousands of miles away.
A few other Aylmer families got caught up in Peter’s vision and moved with him. Their departure really shook me up, especially because several of my classmates and good friends left with them.
Just like that.
Gone.
Out of the community, and out of my life.
There must have been something in the air around that time, because no sooner had the Honduras settlers left than our austere, barefoot preacher decided to scratch the itch that had been bothering him as well.
Long considered somewhat of a fringe element in Aylmer, Nicky Stoltzfus and his wife, Lucille, sold their farm and moved to a small, isolated community somewhere in the Midwest—someplace where they could live in extreme simplicity, where Nicky could allow the bristle of his mustache to sprout into the real thing, and where he could preach his long, bone-dry sermons in peace.
Even Bishop Peter Yoder got caught up in the moving frenzy. Shortly after Nicky and Lucille pulled up stakes, Peter and his wife, Martha, decided to leave Aylmer as well and join a new settlement that was starting up in Marshfield, Missouri. And once again, several other Aylmer families followed.
Why they went and what they were searching for was beyond the comprehension of my young mind. They just moved, and that was that.
Amish people do that once in a while, for reasons not readily apparent to little children.
But not our family.
We stayed put. My father’s feet were firmly planted in Aylmer. He had no intention of moving anywhere, and that was fine by me. Aylmer was the only home I had ever known. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Some of my older brothers and sisters, however, could.
* * *
My sister Maggie was the first to leave. Fed up with Aylmer’s harsh rules and stifling discipline, she moved to Conneautville, a small town in northwestern Pennsylvania, where she took a job working in a nursing home. For a while, she attended services at the New Order Amish church in the area, but after a few years, she decided to leave the Amish altogether and joined a local Mennonite church.
When she informed my parents of her decision, they made a hasty trip to Pennsylvania to try to convince her to change her mind. Mom didn’t say a whole lot. But Dad did. He blustered and cajoled and begged and threatened, but it was all in vain. Maggie remained firm.
Frustrated, Dad could do nothing, and they returned home defeated.
Those were tense and turbulent times. It was a huge blow to my father’s ego to have a daughter up and leave the Amish like that. My father was among the leading intellectuals of his people. A writer of many great stories, all laced with moral lessons and conclusions. Not to mention a strident defender of the Amish faith and lifestyle. What would his readers think?
Of course, even as Maggie embraced her new life of freedom, she still felt a connection to her roots, and returned home now and again to visit for a few days—truly a brave thing for her to do.
Dad always accosted her from the instant she walked in the door, berating and admonishing her incessantly during her entire visit. Frankly, I’m amazed she