A brief history of the Amish and
their customs/beliefs
Geauga's settlement is more than 110 years old
Ashtabula's Yankees, Amish learn to get along
Part I -- Migration and settlements
overview
Part II -- The Conneaut Settlement up close
Part III -- Farming challenges in Ashtabula County
Part IV -- Cottage industries and the future
All Stories and Photos by:
Carl E. Feather
Lifestyles Editor, Ashtabula Star Beacon
The Amish are the product of the "radical reformation," an extension of the 16th century Reformation that was led by Luther and Calvin in Europe.
One of the largest groups to emerge from that movement was the Anabaptists, who promoted worship services in the home, adult baptism and total separation of religion from state. Because Anabaptist churches were not affiliated with the state, they came under severe persecution and most were wiped out in wars or programs of genocide.
Menno Simons, a Dutch Anabaptist leader, took his followers to Switzerland
and other remote areas of Europe. In the late 17th century, Jacob Amman
and his followers split from the Swiss Mennonites over issues of foot washing
and avoidance of believers who refused to repent after being approached
about wrong doing. Otherwise, Amish and Mennonites remained similar in belief,
although their practices differ.
Migration of Amish to the United States for religious freedom began in the early 18th century and continued through World War II. The fact that the Amish come from diverse regions of Europe have given them many subtle cultural and ethnic differences within the larger framework. But perhaps more significantly, splits over beliefs and their approach to the modern world have created many factions and layers of Amish thinking, ranging from the White Top Nebraskans of the Old Order, the most restrictive group, to more much more liberal levels.
Virtually all of the Amish in Ashtabula County are of the Old Order.
The Old Order Amish Mennonite Church does not report its membership. Most researchers place the total U.S. Amish population between 100,000 and 130,000. Ohio, with an estimated Amish population of 45,000, leads the nation's 22 states who have Amish residents. Pennsylvania and Indiana come in second and third, respectively. There is a small population of Amish in Ontario.
The Amish do not seek converts to their faith, most of the members are descendants of Amish parents. This emphasis on separation and avoidance of evangelism separate them from other Evangelical and Fundamental churches. Other differences include a belief in remaining separate from the world, pacifism and a lack of written tradition. Amish life is ordered by the Ordnung, an oral tradition that differs among the church districts and is administered by the bishop.
Old Order Amish use three languages. A German dialect called Pennsylvania Dutch is spoken in the home. High German is used in worship. English is taught in the schools. Amish children who have not been to school are not likely to understand the "Yankee's" language. Other than what they hear spoken in conversations with the English, they are not exposed to English until they enter school.
The schools are one-room buildings in which eight grades are taught by one teacher. A class size of 20 is preferred, although Amish schools in Ashtabula County have had 35 students or more. Each family in the school district contributes to the operation of the school, as well as paying real estate taxes for public school support.
Many modern conveniences are shunned by the Amish, not so much because of biblical restrictions, but because of the impact they would have upon the settlement's unity. Joel Hartman, professor of rural sociology at the University of Missouri, said the automobile is an example.
"There's nothing inherently wrong with the internal combustion engine," Hartman says. "But they recognize what would happen if they allowed the automobile for personal travel. It would just destroy the boundaries of the community."
Most Old Order Amish do not use electricity, have radios or TV sets, indoor/flush toilets or telephones. They can ride in automobiles, use internal combustion engines for powering a washing machine or sawmill, and talk on a telephone that is not installed in their home. Illumination is provided by kerosene and white gas (Coleman fuel) lanterns.
Their clothing is plain and dark. The men's pants do not have zippers, as these are seen as symbols of the military. Likewise, adult men wear a beard but not a mustache. Women wear a plain colored dress with long sleeves, bonnet and apron. If the woman is married, she wears a white prayer covering; black if she is single.
The search for a spouse begins when the youth turn 16. Weddings are usually held in November or early December, after the couple's intentions are "published" in October. Marriages outside the faith are not permitted. A diamond is not given as a sign of the groom's promise, but he may give a clock or china to the young woman. The bride wears a blue or purple dress, which will also serve as her burial gown upon death.
After the marriage, it is typical for the couple to live with the bride's parents until spring, when they can set up their own home. In the Ashtabula County settlements, several larger tracts have been acquired by families with older children who have built new homes adjacent to their parents after marrying and leaving home.
The Amish consider having a photograph made of them to be a violation of Exodus 20:4, where God gave Moses the commandment against making a "graven image." In respect for that belief, the illustrations for this series will focus on the crafts of the Amish, their environment and the work they have accomplished in our community.
Geauga County, which has the fourth largest settlement of Amish in the state, received its first Amish family in 1886.
Samuel Weaver and family came from Holmes County to Parkman Township that year, drawn by reports of cheaper land prices -- $20 to $40 an acre. The area had been scouted by Bishop David Miller of Holmes County in the fall of 1885. Miller made the two-day trip by horse and buggy over narrow, rutted roads. As with the situation today, land prices in Holmes and Wayne counties were just too high for young people to get started in farming there. They sought good land at a lower price to start another settlement.
Miller found a significantly different country in Geauga County from what he was used to in Holmes, where farms were highly developed. Abundant crops of clover, corn and wheat grew in the north-central Ohio farms, where the Amish had practiced "liming" for years. There were dairy herds of brown and yellow cattle, as well. And barns were banked -- an earthen bank led to the doors, creating a basement where cows, horses and hay were all on the same level.
The newcomers found only one banked barn, stands of virgin timber and tired, overworked soil in Geauga County. One Amish history book notes "the old natives did not consider it a paying deal to spend money on lime and fertilizer, but this soon was changed. The rotation had been to raise corn, oats, wheat, seed down the wheat to timothy and alsike (sic). Of course, the clover would fizzle out after a few years, but the timothy was allowed to stand for years, until it also became too thin and the white so-called "poverty grass" would appear. Then, and only then, would the sod be turned."
The Amish introduced the use of lime and fertilizer to the farmlands, which caused some friction between the "Yankee" landlords and their Amish tenants. Only after the landlords saw the lush results did they admit that spending money on these products was not a "waste."
The historians note that the Amish who moved north were not "too well heeled financially" and had "rough sledding" the first 10 years. "Sometimes they were rather hard pressed to scrape up enough food to feed their guests, and grandmother would secretly admonish her children to go easy on the food until they were sure the 'fremde leute' would have enough," recalled an unidentified writer. "No wonder some of the visitors carried word back that Geauga needs only a roof to be a poorhouse."
Settlers also came from Holmes and Lawrence counties and Indiana in 1888 and 1889. John Kurtz came from Pennsylvania, Eli Borkholders from Indiana. By 1898, a land rush for Geauga County had begun in earnest. In one spring, 22 families located into the Nauvoo and Hoyes Corner areas. Many of them came as renters, working on a cash or share basis until the Yankees agreed to sell their farms.
Today, Geauga County hosts the fourth largest Amish settlement in the state. According to the Ohio Amish Directory, the population was 8,075 in 1993. There were 53 Old Order and one New Order church districts in the county. The number of households was listed at 1,615.
By comparison, Ohio's largest Amish settlement, Holmes/Wayne/Tuscarawas counties, has a population estimated at 35,000.
One of the most amazing things about Amish culture is that while more than 200 years separate it from late-20th century "Yankee" society, the two co-exist relatively harmoniously.
Some of this is attributable to the fact that the Amish are first and foremost a religious group that enjoys the freedom to practice its beliefs under the Constitution. For example, while high school education is compulsory for most of the general population, Amish children are required to attend only through the eighth grade. The Supreme Court in 1972 handed down a landmark unanimous decision that exempted the Old Order Amish from state compulsory laws. Even so, Amish children continue to learn in the home after they leave school, and many Mennonites and progressive Amish attend high school and even college.
Ashtabula County Commissioner Duane Feher says officials from the county's building and health departments and a commissioner held a meeting with the Amish community leaders a couple years ago to familiarize them with local and state regulations. "It was pretty much determined that everyone would follow the regulations just like everybody else does," he says.
Raymond Saporito, Ashtabula County Health Commissioner, says his department's most common standoff with the Amish community is over septic system regulations. The Amish prefer to build privies rather than use indoor plumbing. Saporito says state regulations require these privies be equipped with a closed septic tank that is periodically pumped. Further, regulations require a second septic system that will handle "gray water" produced by the household, such as bath and kitchen sink water. Amish frequently balk at these regulations, which place a substantial financial burden upon them as they try to fix up the old farmsteads, many which have inadequate systems.
"It's a challenge," Saporito says. "They perhaps have
conflicting viewpoints on what kind of septic system they would like to
use and why is plumbing necessary."
Ensuring that all children in the county receive proper immunizations also is a concern of the health department. Saporito says the county's nurses work with the church district's bishops to ensure communication and awareness of immunization requirements.
"Our nurses do a good job of working with the leaders and bishops to assure their children are protected," he says. Saporito says the immunizations are essential for the protection of the Amish community as well as the general population. Accordingly, the county offers in-home immunizations for Amish children.
Saporito says the state also has programs that help Amish families tap into medical care. These include programs for children with physical deformities and the Well Child Clinic. The latter makes free physical examinations available to the family. Part of that exam includes an oral assessment. If dental problems are revealed, the patient may be referred to the county's Primary Dental Care Program, which has a small grant for providing free dental care. Saporito says many Amish children have been helped through this program.
Another common area of conflict is transportation. There is frustration on both sides of the wheel -- motorists don't appreciate the speed-arresting presence of Amish buggies on 55-mph roads. Likewise, the Amish find motorists' impatience downright rude. Joe Shetler of Pierpont says he's had motorists shake their fists at him, yell and display a certain finger as they whiz by his buggy.
"We try to encourage among our group for people to stay to the side," Joe says. "It can't be helped. We got to travel to a certain extent. The horse and buggy was here before that real fast thing."
Bob Jackson, a Pierpont Township Trustee, says the trustees have erected
signs warning motorists of buggy traffic throughout the township. Harry
Osburn, Monroe Township trustee, says traffic-related complaints are the
most common ones they receive relating to the Amish. He says a frequent
complaint is that the buggies are improperly marked or carry no nighttime
illumination. Trustees sent letters to the community reminding them of the
need for compliance on this issue. Even so, there have been several buggy
and motorized vehicle accidents in the settlement since 1994. As in other
communities where there is a growing Amish presence, traffic issues are
unlikely to go away in the Conneaut settlement.
Joel Hartman, associate professor of rural sociology at the University of Missouri-Columbia, says the Amish buggy's impediment to rapid rural travel make the group one of the most susceptible to "road rage." He says resentment toward the Amish also can arise in a community where Yankee farmers have lost family farms for economic reasons. The Amish come in, turn the farms around and make the farms productive again. "It's like rubbing salt in an old wound," he says. Hartman says the Amish are able to accomplish what the English cannot because Yankees use a capital-intensive system of farming while that of the Amish is labor intensive.
But resentment does not appear to be an issue in the Conneaut settlement, where small farm owners who want to retire are thankful for the Amish. But the sales have not been without controversy. Joe Shetler says one of the most bothersome comments he hears in the community is that the Amish are placing a tax burden on the rest of the population. Joe wants to set the record straight on the issue.
"You wouldn't believe the people who tell me that we don't pay (real estate) taxes," he says. Joe believes this myth arises from the public's association of the Amish with religion and an assumption that their real estate, like that of a church, is exempt from taxation. "People look at you like, 'well, we're paying your way.' People think that the more Amish that come in, that's more people they will have to pay for," he says.
County Auditor Sandra O'Brien confirmed that Amish do pay real estate property taxes like any other private land owner in Ashtabula County. In fact, the Amish support our public schools with those taxes, but receive no benefit from them. They also pay an assessment to the parochial school board to support their own school. Dan Shetler, who is treasurer of the district, says that amounts to about $110 per family.
"The only break they get is the CAUV (Current Agricultural Use Valuation), where the farmland is valued by the crops produced rather than on the open market," O'Brien says. "It's a break to help the farmers keep farming." Even at that, O'Brien says some of the Amish are reluctant to complete the rather complicated paperwork needed to apply for the reduction. "We run into some of them who are kind of ornery and don't want any break at all," she says. Regardless, she encourages them -- and all farmers -- to take advantage of it.
"I believe in the CAUV," she says. "For farmers, it's a great help to them. They are the largest business in the state, they are a viable industry and contribute a lot to our economy."
By and large, Ashtabula County's Amish farmers do not tap into government agriculture services, although they are available to them. Nathan Paskey, district manager for the Ashtabula County Soil and Water Conservation District, says the Amish historically shun use of these services. From a conservationist's view point, Paskey says their farming practices are opposed to the current trend of no-till and low-till farming. But he does not see runoff as a serious issue with the relatively small amount of acreage being farmed.
"If we had thousands of acres farmed by the Amish, there would be some impact," Paskey says. Overall, he's pleased that the land is being worked again.
"It's good to see someone actually farming it," he says.
The tired farms and ramshackle homesteads of southeastern Ashtabula County are bearing new crops this summer.
Blossoms of blue trousers and shirts dance on clotheslines like bleeding hearts inflated with the spring breeze. Silver milk cans filled with the output of a grazing herd wait by barn doors. Spade gardens host neat rows of potatoes, onions, tomatoes and peppers. Women and children in long, drab dresses labor over strawberry patches while bearded men drive teams across future fields of oats, corn and hay. The air is tinged with hardwood smoke, a hint of fresh hay and a pervading earthliness of mammal and soil.
Stars and rings stitched from scraps of patterned material and throws of heavy fabric worked on rug looms are the white homesteads' harvest. They are spread across beds and hung on the walls of shops where only sunlight is permitted to dispel the darkness. Throughout the region there is the tap of the harness maker's hammer, the squeal of the sawyer's blade, the rhythmic hum of the shoemaker's sewing machine and growl of the woodworker's lathe.
They are spewing out products of the Amish, arguably America's greatest cultural and religious anachronism, certainly its most enduring. William Penn's "holy experiment" in religious tolerance brought the first wave of Amish to southeastern Pennsylvania in the early 18th century. Today, there are more than 100,000 of them in 22 states, with the largest population in Ohio.
Joel Hartman, associate professor of rural sociology at the University of Missouri-Columbia, says the U.S. Amish population doubles every 20 to 22 years. Large families are the norm, with 12 to 15 children common. Hartman said the rapid growth has made it difficult for the members to adhere to their tenet that the immediate and extended family must remain intact in a local area.
Further stress has come from another Amish belief. "The more conservative Amish have long had a saying, 'You must first and foremost be a farmer,'" says Hartman. But when the farm land becomes saturated and commercial and industrial development surround the community, only two options remain, both of which involve modification of the belief system.
Hartman said for some Amish, such as those in southeastern Pennsylvania, the answer has been diversification into non-farming livelihoods. "About 25 or 30 years ago, they changed the rule, you no longer had to be primarily a farmer. That opened the door for young people to stay at home," he says. Amish businesses such as quilt shops, sawmills and cheese factories were born of this change in philosophy and gave rise to thriving "Amish Country" centers like Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and Holmes County in Ohio.
But diversification has brought new ills. Commercialization imposes an even greater premium on farmland as a acre of land devoted to a craft store can raise more cash than an acre of field corn. As real estate values soar, so do property taxes. Farming is placed beyond the reach of young Amish people who want to remain in the community.
For those who see farming as an essential part of their faith and tradition, only one option remains: move from the established community and start a new settlement where farmland can be acquired and worked at a cost significantly below that of the established settlement. "They tend to gravitate to an area where the land is relatively cheap, at least in regard to where they came from," Hartman says.
It was that less expensive land that drew the first wave of Amish to Ashtabula County in 1991. Its founder is a middle-aged, reticent man who does not want to see his name in print. He lives on South Denmark Road with a family of a dozen or so members. They came from Middlefield in Geauga County, as did the other 25 or so families who make up the "Cherry Valley" settlement that spills into Denmark and Dorset.
The settlement is largely a farming one. Its members are low-profile, perhaps in defiance to the high level of Amish recognition in their home county. They have one church district and one school, which also receives students from the Andover settlement.
Geauga County's Amish community spills into the county's southwest corner, where a small settlement has been present for more than two decades. Growth in that community has necessitated the construction of a new school, Windsor Parochial, which is will be going up on Wiswell Road in Windsor Mills, according to the County Building Department. The Amish community extends south to Mesopotamia in Trumbull County.
Israel Yoder and his family established the Andover settlement in February 1992. Israel belongs to the "White Top Nebraskan" Amish order, the "lowest" order in terms of simplicity and adherence to Amish tenets. They are distinguished from the other Amish by their white buggies, says Mary Hockran, Realtor with Spieth Realty in Andover.
Hockran sold Israel's farm to him, and describes her dealings with his family and others who have come to Andover as "an absolute delight."
"They are good neighbors," Hockran says. "I've learned a lot from them."
Israel's farm is north of Andover on Route 7 in an area that now has a cluster of Amish homesteads. His father, Isaac, lives up the road; a sister is across the highway from their farm. Another sister is on Pymatuning Lake Road, and there's a brother on Leon Road. All told, there are about a dozen Nebraskan Amish families in Andover settlement. Hockran said there just aren't enough small farms to create a large community. "Small farms are difficult to find," she says. "Most of the Amish prefer farms not more than 50 to 100 acres. Most of them have a hard enough time farming 50 acres."
Israel's farm is large, 207 acres. In his home community near State College, Pa., his farm was but 32 acres. His boys wanted to drive a team and Israel saw a need to provide them with farmland for their future.
"We were looking for a bigger farm and the prices were so high, we decided we couldn't afford it," Israel says as he sits on the rough, gray timber of a farm wagon. "We'd be in debt too long."
But things have gone badly for Israel and other Amish in the community. Milk prices are down, fertilizer costs and taxes up. "It's hard to buy a farm and make enough money on it to pay for it," he says.
Israel supplements his farm income with a portable sawmill. His wife bakes pies, cookies and bread, which are sold from the house on Fridays and Saturdays. In the summer, the settlement's Amish ladies peddle their baked goods at the flea market south of Andover.
Hockran says the Amish have been good for Andover. "Our Amish have added a flavor, a quaintness, that was missing," she says. Israel also feels comfortable with his new setting.
"It's hard to explain," he says as he watches one of their seven children play in the backyard. "It's a nice community. There's nice people here."
Down the road from Israel's farm, in Williamsfield, a new community is taking shape. Established a year ago by families from western New York, the settlement is clustered around the intersection of Routes 7 and 322. There are five families in the new settlement, too few for a school of their own. The children from Williamsfield attend school in Kinsman, home to another, older settlement in northern Trumbull County.
The most intensive migration activity has occurred in the three rural townships stacked above Andover -- Richmond, Pierpont and Monroe. Ed Curie, broker with Miller Realty, said the farmland east of Route 193 is generally too distant from the Cleveland market for commuters. This has created an opportune situation for the Amish. "The Amish has picked up some of those farms, and that's helped, absolutely," he said.
The "Conneaut" Amish settlement has about 60 families, with at least six more in the process of locating there. The settlement spills into Pennsylvania to Cherry Hill, where a new school will be built this summer. Another new school is planned for Traxler Road in Pierpont Township. Schools on Middle and Beckwith roads, with a total enrollment of 74, have served the community for several years.
Hartman said the population of an Amish community can be estimated by dividing the school population by a factor of .22. In the case of the Conneaut settlement, that would place the population at around 350. It is likely the smaller settlements add another 150 to 200 to the county's Amish population estimate.
Realtors are divided on the impact which this influx is having on farm land prices. Curie says it has neither increased prices nor decreased market time. But Jim Case of Old Reserve Realty believes it has helped values and expedited the sale of small farms that have traditionally been difficult to market. But they do agree that the Amish are giving new life to land that has been neglected for years.
"I think they're putting production back on the smaller farms that are not farmable with modern equipment," says Case. "They're doing it with horses, so it works for them."
Joe Shetler felt lost the day he moved to Ashtabula County.
It was October 1995 when he, his wife Anna, three children and three grandchildren left their home near Jamestown, N.Y., and moved to the run-down farm on Lewis Road in Pierpont Township. The farm had been idle for 20 years. It was overgrown with brush, the fields were a decade shy of becoming forest. The house needed extensive work. Joe had brought with him more farm equipment than there were buildings to hold it. Then it started to rain.
He wondered if he was making the right move, a move that three brothers and two sisters had made before him. Joe, at 43, was the oldest, and the last to arrive from the home settlement.
"It was hard to leave everything," Joe says while sitting in the living room of the farmhouse. "You knew where everything was back there."
Back there, Joe had a 75-acre farm whose land had been worked in the Amish tradition for decades. It was drained, fertile and productive -- Joe and his boys raised heifers, young cattle that have not borne a calf, on their New York farm.
But the settlement's size was becoming unmanageable, and farmers like Joe Shetler and his boys felt pressured by the land squeeze. Joe estimates the settlement had 250 households. "It was time to start another settlement, to branch out," he says.
The western New York community was itself a daughter settlement, established in 1949 by families migrating from Wayne County, Ohio. Some of the members, Joe included, tried establishing a settlement in Belleville, Ontario, Canada. But after eight years, the settlement failed and the handful of families returned to the United States. Joe said there was too much government control in Canada for the Amish to survive. "It's Communism," he says. "Everything is a government program, they give you quotas of what you have to raise. And the land is expensive. It got to the point where it was $3,000 to $4,000 an acre."
But the situation was not much better in New York, where taxes cut a deep furrow in the farmer's profits. William Miller owns a custom leather shop on Route 84 in Bushnell, just west of the state line. Miller said New York taxes were "ridiculous." "I have a brother in New York with 4.5 acres and he pays $2,500 a year in taxes," William notes. Menno Yoder, who owns a 67-acre farm on Route 167 in Pierpont, says his taxes on 135 acres in New York were $4,800 annually. Here, he pays a quarter of that. A son-in-law in New York pays as much on 2.5 acres.
While Amish from the western New York settlement have found tax relief in Ashtabula County, their cousins from Wayne County have been attracted by the lower land prices. Eli Miller, 23, migrated to Pierpont with his parents in 1994. Eli is from Wayne County, where quality farm land can fetch $10,000 or more an acre. Eli says subdivision of farm property for residential use has made it impossible for a young Amish family to start farming there. "Right now, you can buy a farm up here for $1,200 an acre," he says. "Down there, they are all getting split up. You can hardly buy one."
The overcrowding and rising taxes in New York and high land prices in Wayne and Holmes counties are the primary pushing forces of the Amish migration to Conneaut settlement. The attractions are a rural setting conducive to their lifestyle, availability of services, reasonable farm land and taxes, proximity to the parent settlements and markets, and a familiarity with Ohio.
"I was born and raised in Ohio, and I kind of feel like this is home base," said Dan Shetler, who owns a farm on Hildom Road.
Dan and his brother Henry were the first to purchase land in what has become the Conneaut settlement, Ashtabula County's largest Amish community. Most of the families who are part of this settlement live in Pierpont and Monroe townships or across the state line from Shadland Road north toward Cherry Hill. Dan Shetler estimates the settlement's size at 60 families, with several more in transition. Joe Shetler said about 12 of the households are in Pennsylvania; the balance stretch from Route 84 south to Footville-Richmond Road and west to Route 193.
The settlement has two schools, one on Beckwith Road and another on Middle
Road. Two more are planned for construction in the near future, including
one in Pennsylvania. A board of three members, elected by the community,
oversees each school and equalizes enrollment between the districts. School
starts in mid-August and goes straight through to mid-April with few vacations.
One teacher is assigned to each one-room school building.
Eli Miller, Dan Shetler's brother-in-law, is bishop of the community. He lives in Wayne County and makes the trip to Ashtabula County as needed. In the Old Amish tradition, church is held in members' homes on alternating Sundays. The Sundays that services are not held are devoted to visiting the shut-ins and sick or attending service at another settlement.
The community revolves around Pierpont, whose businesses provide many of the basic needs of the Amish community. "It's nice, I like Pierpont," says Joe Shetler. "It's a little rural town. I couldn't live in a city."
Menno Yoder's farm is on Route 167 about one mile east of Pierpont. He considers himself fortunate to have a found a farm so close to town. Basic services needed by the family -- bank, grocery store and hardware -- are just a short buggy ride or walk away.
Pierpont merchants have accommodated the settlement in various ways. Dan Swift, owner of Jamboree Foods on Route 7, installed a buggy hitching pole about two years ago. Andover Bank has a post, and Bob Jackson, a township trustee and Pierpont Hardware owner, plans to put one up under a shade tree behind his store.
Jackson said the Amish have been good for business, although he can't put a figure on the sales increase attributed to them. "It's typical hardware that they buy," he says. "We probably sell most of our nails to them. They spend a lot of time in here. There isn't a day you don't see them in here."
Jackson said the Amish are his biggest buyers of stove pipe. "Nine out of 10 people who buy stove pipe are Amish," he said. If there is an item they need but the store does not stock, he orders it. Some of the requests take him by surprise, like battery operated trouble lights. Jackson said the lights can be connected to a battery and provide a light source consistent with their practices.
Gary Berrier, owner of Dorset Milling in Dorset, said the Amish account for about 25 percent of his business. Berrier saw a need in the surrounding Amish settlements for a farm equipment supply store. He began stocking the implements four years ago. "It's helped out," Berrier says. "It's another aspect of business."
Dave and Laurel Ring saw a need in the Amish community and used a back room of their Root Road farmhouse to fill it. "Laurel's Pantry," a bulk food store, opened in January 1996 and has a clientele that is about 90 percent Amish. The store is small and open only four days a week, but Laurel said they are planning to remodel a section of the barn and open a larger store there. To further accommodate their Amish customers, they offer delivery for a small fee and accept orders by mail and phone -- called in from a Yankee neighbor's house.
"We get three or four customers a day," she says.
Mary Ann Wiser also saw a need in the growing community and used her interest in sewing to meet it. After she and her husband Ray sold their Middle Road farm to an Amish family, Dan and Clara Miller, they built a house on a small plot next door and opened a fabric store. Wiser's Fabrics, which is stocked with quilt-making supplies, has a clientele that is about 85 percent Amish.
Ray is engaged in another spinoff industry, Amish taxi service. Numerous taxis, both part time and full time, operate in the region, including one that makes a regular run to and from the western New York settlement several times a week.
Carol and Harold Dillon have operated a Amish taxi service out of their Andover home for the past four years. Carol said their two vans -- a 12-passenger and a 15-passenger -- could be running every day of the week if they wanted to be that busy. At one time Harold also made runs to Indiana, Michigan and Pennsylvania, but he recently cut back to local runs only. Carol said most of their trips are for shopping, visiting relatives and transportation to jobs. The Aldi grocery store in Ashtabula Township is a regular destination for many of the Amish taxi services.
At least one Yankee business that the Amish enjoyed in New York followed them to Ohio. Lyell Caleb, who runs a home-delivery produce route for the New York Amish settlement, extended his line to Conneaut after helping a family move here. Once a month, Caleb peddles apples, potatoes and bananas to 55 Conneaut settlement homes. "When I pull up in the driveway, the kids say 'There's the apple man!'" says Caleb.
The Amish presence has introduced Yankee buyers to some new shopping concepts, as well. Grandma's Pantry, a bulk food store north of Pierpont, opened shortly after Laurel's Pantry. Their clientele is mostly Yankee, but owner Betty O'Baker says the Amish purchase bulk flour and sugar from them. A hitching post and delivery service encourage their patronage. Her husband Ron runs an Amish taxi service. They agree the Amish have been a positive addition to the community.
"There have been farms around here that have been run down ever since I can remember, and they're fixing them up," Betty O'Baker says.
"I think it's good for our community," says Dan Swift. "We're a small community and fit right into their lifestyle. By them coming and buying farms, they're helping the small farmer who wanted to retire. It's always been a concern what the small farmer is going to do when he retires because nobody wants to buy small farms anymore."
Dick Campbell is one of those farmers. Campbell said his Route 167 dairy farm had been in the family 100 years, but health problems were quickly bringing an end to his farming days. None of his three daughters had an interest in keeping the farm in the family. He realized that selling the farm to an Amish family would provide continuity in land use.
"The thing about farming is the English can't make it on a small farm any more," Campbell says. "There is a market now for the small farms with the Amish moving in, and that will help keep up the older farms better."
Before selling his farm to Menno and Amanda Yoder, Campbell visited the couple's residence in New York to assess their pride of ownership. "They were a nice, neat, clean family who kept their other place nice," he says. Campbell agreed to sell and ceased dairy operations at the farm May 28, 1997. The Yoders moved in June 2.
"They seem like very nice people and they're keeping it nice," he says.
Both township and county officials also give high marks to the Amish community for reclaiming vacant land and declining homesteads. Duane Feher, Ashtabula County commissioner, said the Amish may an answer to the "farm land preservation" issue that was raised by an agriculture committee that convened in the early part of this decade. Feher said the committee could not come with a solution to the problem of small farm demise, but the Amish have.
"A number of our farms were not being used and the Amish have been willing to buy them, pay taxes on them and farm that land that had been fallow and unproductive for years," he says.
Monroe Township Trustee Harry Osburn says the Amish have become good neighbors and raise few issues, aside from traffic hazards. "Generally, most people seem to approve of them moving into the area," he says. "They see it as an asset to the community."
Pierpont resident Paul Mako sold 164 acres of his Hammond Corners Road holdings to the Neil Kauffman family two years ago. "I like them," he says. "I like them real well. They're cleaning up the neighborhood, building a lot of buildings and getting a lot of tax dollars into the county. Gosh, you can go around here and seen 30 new homes and many new barns. They're doing a job and they're doing it right."
Two large stakes attached to a wooden cross bar and pole followed Eli Miller as he labored through the clumps of clay in the side yard of his Schrambling Road home. As Eli made rows for the seeds and vegetable plants, his wife divided her attention between their infant and the planting chore.
Eli is living his dream, albeit there are many days it is not an easy one. "I always wanted to farm all my life," says Eli, 23. "Farming was in my heart."
While farming was in Eli's heart as a teen-ager in Wayne County, finances for accomplishing that end were not in his bank account. With land prices approaching $10,000 or more an acre in Wayne and Holmes counties, Eli and his brothers faced a future of working in a sawmill, slaughter house or pallet factory, outside work options allowed by the Old Order Amish Ordnung, the oral rules of the church.
Eli's father is Andy Miller, who lives across the road from Eli's leased farm. He and his wife Susan had 15 acres in Wayne County, where Andy worked in a pallet shop and farmed a little on the side. It was Andy's sons who convinced him to change careers and buy a farm in Pierpont Township. "We brothers were pushing for it," Eli says. "I'm probably part of the reason he came. I pushed more than I should have."
"Because of my boys, we moved on this farm," Andy says as he pauses from shoveling rich dirt onto a spade garden. "It was for the future of the children."
Andy and Susan bought their 68-acre farm from Eugene and Janet Brockett. Eugene Brockett said the dairy farm once encompassed 200 acres, but he decided to divide it and keep a few acres for himself. Brockett advertised the land in the local newspaper, but had no response. "Yankees won't buy farms this size because there's no money in farming," he says.
Brockett noticed the influx of Amish into Monroe Township and decided to talk to them in the event they knew someone looking for a farm. Andy Miller heard about the opportunity and approached Brockett. "He came up and we got together on the price," Brockett says. "I sold it to him. It was just a quick deal. I had given up on selling it."
Before Brockett finalized his deal with the Millers, he made a trip to Wayne County to see how they took care of their homestead there.
"He gave me a down payment and I didn't know if I wanted to sell it to them or not. They had 11 kids, including five teen-age boys," Brockett said. "Nobody wants to have trouble with their neighbors. So I went to Wayne County, and what I found was somebody I would want as a neighbor."
The Millers arrived Sept. 20, 1994. Andy and his boys began clearing
brush from around the 1860s farmhouse, whose yard had not been mowed in
15 or 20 years. "It was full of snakes and groundhog holes," Andy
says. They rebuilt the barn, added a blacksmith shop, a 32-by-72-foot utility
building and a wood house.
"In four years, he's taken the old farmstead that you weren't real proud of and he made a showplace of it," Brockett says.
But Andy and his boys have discovered that farming in Ashtabula County is neither a prosperous or promising occupation. For Andy, it has meant making a transition from pallet factory worker to full-time farmer and part-time blacksmith -- or vice-versa, depending upon the season and profit potential of the activity. For Eli, it has been a sobering experience to realize that dreams are often made of tears, sweat and clumps of clay.
"I always wanted a life like this," Eli says. "But it's always different from what you think it will be. You have to work harder than you thought you would."
Eli says the neglected farmland is not on par with what Wayne or Holmes county offers. Years of farming with tractors have compacted the clay soil, making it difficult to work. He estimates it will take 10 years of working before it can resemble that of Amish farms in Ohio's veteran Amish regions. "It's poor soil, but it's more affordable for us," he says. "This is about the only place in Ohio where we might have a chance."
Eli's words reflect a deeper reality of the Amish who have come to Ashtabula County. They are not the wealthy, well-established farmers of Lancaster County, Pa., or the craftsmen of Holmes County with a backlog of orders. They are, by and large, migrants pushed from their communities by a lack of financial resources to meet the challenges and pressures of their home settlement. They are migrants in search of a better way of life and opportunity for their offspring; migrants trying to ensure a way of life begun centuries ago.
Joel Hartman, associate professor of rural sociology at the University of Missouri-Columbia, said one of the myths held by Yankees about the Amish culture is that there exists a uniformity of prosperity and social class across the faith. The opposite is true, with many strata of belief and economic class within the Amish orders. "They are not all the same people," he says.
Yankee neighbors who have witnessed the arrival of the Amish to the Conneaut settlement share stories of Amish living in corn cribs and other crude structures until a home could be readied. Many of the structures they live in have been neglected for decades and appear to be literally "falling down around them." To their great credit, they are turning the tide on their properties and fortunes, against incredible odds. The burden is particularly heavy upon young people, who did not have a farm in New York or Wayne County to sell and thereby provide seed cash for relocation.
Dan Miller, 26, and his wife Clara have four children, 13 head of dairy cattle, 67.99 acres on Middle Road and a mortgage. Dan is trying to make a living as a farmer, something he longed for while working in a Wayne County sawmill. His left hand is bruised and his arms bear the cuts and scabs of farming, receipts for payment received on a dream.
"It's not Holmes County," Dan says as he loads bags of fertilizer onto a farm wagon. "There's too much clay here. I say people (in Holmes County) don't have to work for a living."
Although eking out a living from the tired soil can be difficult, the Amish farmers say finding the credit to buy the farms has not been a problem. Dan Miller found his financing with Farm Credit; many others have found a willing lender at Andover Bank. Don Eyring, senior vice president of mortgage lending for Andover Bank, said Amish applicants for mortgage credit are evaluated against the same criteria used with any other loan applicant. The only exception is their approach to property insurance, which is covered by an Amish Aid certificate -- essentially a guarantee from the community that they will help the borrower rebuild in the event of loss.
"The Amish have the same opportunities as the Yankees or English to establish credit," Eyring says. "We look at the same criteria as other applicants: can they afford to do what they are doing, do they have a good track record?"
Young Amish families who want to devote their entire energies to farming are under the greatest economic stress, especially for those involved in dairy farming. Eli Miller tried to buy his own farm from Eugene Brockett, but quickly discovered that he couldn't meet the mortgage payments and raise a family on "can" milk prices. Old Order Amish do not believe in refrigeration, therefore cannot sell grade "A" milk, which brings the highest payment. Their unrefrigerated, "can" milk, can be sold only for cheese. But the nearest can milk cooperative is in Geauga County, the Middlefield Original Cheese Cooperative.
Jeff Clements of Dorset is a self-employed milk hauler who serves the can milk producers of Ashtabula and Geauga counties. He said can milk prices have been bad for the past three or four years, with prices dipping as low as $9 per 100 pounds. That has forced many Amish -- and Yankee -- farmers out of the dairy business. Clements said only one of the 39 farmers on his route is not Amish. He said nine Amish farmers in Ashtabula County are sending milk to the cooperative, and they average only 40 cans a day.
"One year ago I was picking up 75 cans a day more than I am now," Clements said. "It's not a business that is expanding. It's doing its best just to hold its own."
Dairy farmers like Henry Miller of Monroe Township, who has 12 children to feed, say it's nearly impossible to raise a family with milk prices where they are.
"Milk prices aren't what they used to be," he says. "It's hard to make a living."
Although milk prices are down, the Amish always find a way to meet their obligations.
"One of the things you'll find in the Amish community is resourcefulness," Eyring says. "Most of them are able to find a job working as a carpenter, construction worker or woodsman. I've not had anybody fail because of (the milk prices). Somehow, they are always able to manage. They tend to have other sources of income along with their dairy, even in the better times, so they 're not suddenly caught off guard."
Many of the farmers find a better use for their land by raising heifers, then selling them to large Yankee dairy farmers who can get a higher price for their milk. Dan Shelter raises heifers on his Hildom Road farm, as does Menno Yoder. Menno had 27 dairy cows in New York, but at his Route 167 farm he has only enough to provide milk for the family. His wife Amanda explains that Amish farmers can raise heifers less expensively than Yankee farmers because equipment overhead is lower. "The big guys have a $50,000 or $100,000 tractor," she says. "We have a team of horses."
The lack of a livestock market in Ashtabula County hampers this type of farming, however. Eli Miller says a market centrally located in the settlement would save the Amish travel time and expense while encouraging livestock farming. They must to travel to Bloomfield in Trumbull County or across the state line to Crawford County to attend livestock sales. They also have to pay cartage on animals they sell -- Eli says that shaves $15 off their profit. "It's not that much, but how many of us people are going to take off a whole day and go to Meadville?" he says.
But Jefferson Realtor Jim Case says that issue was studied in the southern part of the county a decade ago, and it was determined that the market is too small for such a facility. Case doubts that it would be feasible today, even with the additional Amish trade factored into the formula. "Our farming, agriculture has dwindled away," he says. "I don't think the Amish is going to produce a large agricultural base."
Another need, says Eli, is for a centralized produce market where the Amish could sell their vegetables and fruit. Carol Orosz, a program assistant with the OSU Cooperative Extension Office in Geauga County, said many Amish farms in that settlement have turned to horticulture as a more profitable alternative to dairy. The Middlefield Produce Auction provides an outlet for their products.
One local indicator of the potential for this approach is a produce stand that Andy Shetler, Joe Shetler's brother, operates on Hildom Road in Pierpont. "His business has picked up," Joe says. "He seems to do better every year. People drive out to the stand to purchase from him. That's where you get the feeling you're starting to get established."
Creative thinking and liaisons may be another solution to sagging milk prices. Eli Miller, with help from his Yankee landlord Eugene Brockett, found a way to enjoy the best of both worlds. Miller essentially works for Brockett, allowing him to farm the land in the Amish tradition but utilize Brockett's refrigerated bulk milk handling system. The extra money he earns by selling grade "A" milk, $3 or more per 100 pounds, can go toward the eventual purchase of a farm. "It will be give me a better start," he says.
Such alliances, whether they be with a cheese cooperative or a Yankee who owns a bulk handling facility, are becoming increasingly necessary for Amish survival. Some Old Order members are concerned they are alliances that may weaken the stance of separation from the world. Younger ones, like Eli, see some change as inevitable if the settlement is to survive in Ashtabula County -- or any where else, for that matter.
"The old ways are good," he says. "But the times are coming to where some things will have to be done differently or you won't be able to make it. We could never buy this place if we had to send can milk."
In a perfect world, every Amish man would make his living from farming, contact with the rest of the world would be nonexistent and tourists would never threaten privacy with cameras and fumes-spewing tour buses.
Alas, Conneaut, like the string of mother settlements that preceded it, is not the perfect world. Arriving with the hope of making a living from the land alone, the Amish migrants have discovered that working away from the farms and establishing cottage industries are as much a part of their survival as separation from the world.
Andy Miller's sons came to Pierpont Township from Wayne County to farm, but within months of their fall 1994 arrival, they were working for Yankees. "The first year, it was really hard for some of the people to find a job," says Andy, who farms 68 acres on Schrambling Road.
One of the Miller boys was hired to do finish carpentry for Allen Taylor, who was building a log home. When the job was done, he asked Taylor if there might be a place for him in his Pierpont pallet shop. Taylor hired both him and his brother. He has no regrets -- four of his seven workers are now Amish.
"They're excellent workers, they're very good," Taylor says of his Amish employees. "I finally found somebody who comes to work to work. You don't have to stand over them like a father, like a mean boss."
Employment options for Amish young people are limited, especially those of the Old Order, says Andy Miller. They are restricted to working in sawmills, slaughter houses, pallet shops and other businesses with strong connections to the land. While more liberal Amish and Mennonites can work in plastics factories, the elder Amish community members say that is a direction they do not want to see their young people take.
But with milk prices barely above a break-even point and mortgage and tax payments to make, the Amish are increasingly "working out" away from the farms. Many of them, like Joe Shetler and Henry Miller, turn to carpentry work to supplement their income. Joe said it has been slow getting work _ the Amish rely heavily upon word-of-mouth advertising from satisfied customers. But after three years of struggling on his Lewis Road farm, Joe says things are finally looking up this summer.
"I'm getting more carpentry work now," he says. "I keep getting more and more calls. It looks like a busy summer for me."
The trade-off for those who work away from the farm is that their primary interest suffers. Eli Miller, Andy's son, believes that every hour he works off the farm is an hour the farm isn't making money for him. That's why he has decided to avoid working out as much as possible and invest that time in building up good soil.
"You can make more money if you work away from the farm," he says. "But if you farm, you need to farm full time."
Others strike a compromise by using their land and buildings for businesses that can co-exist with farming and their beliefs. In the process, they have created a micro-business community that now numbers more than two dozen shops and services within the Conneaut settlement.
Woodworking is a common activity in many of these shops. A corner of Henry Miller's Middle Road dairy barn has been converted to a wood shop, where Henry turns out desk organizers, cedar chests and other hardwood household. He sells his items from the barn and also "works out" as a carpenter. Henry hopes his enterprises will prosper so he can make needed improvements to his barn and house.
"It's a slow process," he says. "With milk prices so low, it's hard to make money."
Menno and Amanda Yoder had a shop in New York, Hillside Crafts, and they have duplicated that effort at their Pierpont farm. Menno remodeled a old granary building on the Route 167 farm and Amanda stocked it with quilts, placemats, rugs, throws and quilts. Menno makes wood crafts and has a custom sawing and log skidding business. They have six boys at home _ the older ones help their father with his business, work out as carpenters and do milking for other farmers. The younger boys raise and sell rabbits. Their oldest son, Benjamin, has left home, built a new house and has a good horseshoeing and carpentry business.
"We try to keep all these things going so we can make a living," Amanda says.
Despite the diversity of their operations, Menno says he would prefer the family be involved in farming only. "It's a nice way to keep a family together," he says. "If they go out and work, the kids might go out and get in trouble easier. Years ago, the Amish way of life was just farming."
Some of the Amish who came to Ashtabula County were not farmers in Wayne County or New York and have no aspirations of becoming one here. "I'm not a farmer," admits William Miller, a leather worker. "I wouldn't mind having 30 acres and doing a little bit. But right now, I've got plenty of things to pay for first."
William and his wife Ella came from New York three years ago. They had a custom leather craft business there for two years, and transplanted the business to the basement of their Route 84, Monroe Township, home. Last year, he built a separate shop.
Business has been good, says William, who makes everything from belts to English and Western tack. His business is largely wholesale, but he plans to open a retail shop this year. William sees businesses such as his as the Amish community's direction for the next century. "It's getting to where I wouldn't want to try to start farming with the prices of milk where they are," he says.
Sales also have been good for Elmer Shetler, who for the past 30 years has built galvanized ovens for Amish families. The ovens sit atop a kerosene heater and concentrate the heat for baking. Elmer explains that this saves the Amish cook the distress of firing up the cook stove to bake a single pie or few loaves of bread. Campers and outdoorsmen also purchase the item.
Elmer moved the business to the Conneaut settlement from New York three years ago. He was attracted by the size of the community and built a new house and shop on Root Road. Although most of his work is mail order, his tin shop provides another specialty service to the area.
Jonas M. Kauffman transferred his custom furniture business from New York to Sweet Road in Monroe Township. He built a shop for his business and new house for his wife and eight children. A barn is next, for those days he gets the urge to be a farmer and work his team.
"I like it here," he says as he looks around his furniture shop. "But in the spring, it's nice to get out when the sun is shining and plow."
Jonas said his business has been good, largely due to his reputation in New York. Buyers still come from as far away as Buffalo to purchase custom-made bedroom suites, coffee tables and hutches from his Jonas.
For other Amish businessmen, the settlements' growth has opened opportunities previously unavailable. Levi and Lizzie Miller decided to follow the lead of several area Yankee businessmen by opening their own bulk food and fabric store in Cherry Valley last winter. Levi had been a painter for 14 years in Wayne County before a disability put him out of business. He wanted a business his wife and five children could be a part of and continue if something happens to him.
"We wanted to put a store where we can help people out," he says as his youngsters pick their afternoon snacks from a box of polished apples. "We wanted to do something where we can help. We're having new customers every day. We're picking up and its getting better."
The Millers' Hayes Road store is housed in a former dairy barn, perhaps an omen of things to come for the industry. It is stocked with bulk foods and bolts of material in subdued, solid colors. There's glassware, trinkets and books, as well. Lizzie says their intention is to provide the needs of both Amish and Yankee shoppers.
"We're probably getting more English customers than Amish," Lizzie says.
The proliferation of these shops could mean additional benefits for both Yankee and Amish businesses if the county gains a reputation as "Amish Country" among tourists. Isaac Miller said the quilt shop he and his wife Mary had in New York enjoyed a brisk business during the summer. Their Stanhope-Kelloggsville Road shop in Richmond Township has not fared as well. Mary put together a map of all Amish businesses in the settlement and hopes that its distribution will attract more tourists and casual shoppers to the area.
Joel Hartman, associate professor of rural sociology at the University of Missouri-Columbia, said there is no denying that the public has a fascination with the Amish and their unique lifestyle.
"They represent a lifestyle that our grandparents used to idealize about," he said. "They live simply, they have large families, farm and live close to the land ... they sort of represent an idealized paradise."
James Roethler, executive director of the Ashtabula County Convention and Visitors Bureau, says that fascination could be good for tourism, but there needs to be a respect for their privacy, as well. He said the bureau would like to work with the Amish settlement to strike a balance and promote their shops.
"We get so many requests from people wanting to visit the Amish Country," Roethler saysd. "There's a very high interest everywhere when it comes to the Amish ... the potential for this is unbelievable. When we go to (tourism trade) shows, one of the first things tour operators ask is `Do you have any Amish?'"
Many Amish community members acknowledge that tourism could benefit them. But they don't want their settlements to become like Holmes County or southeastern Pennsylvania, where tourists run rampant and invade their settlements with tour buses, tacky souvenirs and cameras.
"I don't want it to get that big," William Miller says. "I like just the small community. But we couldn't make it on our own, we have to have (the Yankees) to help us make it."
Eli Miller says the community will continue to grow, although not at the fast clip it has seen in the past four years.
"I tell you, since we moved to here, it's changed a lot," he says. "If the Amish stay here and things go good, I think eventually it will be almost like that (Holmes County)."
One indicator of the settlement's growth and Yankee acceptance was the recent benefit auction held for Amish hospital aid. The day-long event attracted hundreds of Amish and Yankee buyers who downed more than 500 pounds of barbecued chicken plus hundreds of donuts, baked goods and sandwiches from the Amish restaurant.
Joe Shetler said the auction cleared more than $16,000 for the fund, which is used to pay hospital bills of settlement members. He praised the Yankee community for their cooperation, donations and assistance. Shetler said Giant Eagle in Conneaut opened early that day so they could get their supplies for the restaurant and gave them a significant price break.
"I'm real happy with the auction," Joe said. "We had good support in the community."
That kind of support and reception, coupled with increased employment opportunities, a turn around in milk prices or "Amish Country" designation could gel a sizeable settlement for decades to come. Joe Shetler said as far as he is concerned, Conneaut is already a permanent settlement. Many others agree.
"I expect it to be permanent," Andy Miller says. "There's always going to be people moving back and forth. There's a lot of nice people out here. Yankees are nice people. We can't complain about them at all."
Dan Shetler, who started the Conneaut settlement with his brother Henry, says the Amish want to be good neighbors and bring pride back to the farmland of Ashtabula County. If his picture-perfect farm is an indicator of what's to come, the Conneaut settlement will indeed be a fine asset to Ashtabula County.
"I don't want to live like the welfare people do," Dan says as he rests from his morning chores. "Work is healthy for you."
