A year ago today we drove west from the Philadelphia Main Line, through Lancaster and York, Pennsylvania, and then south to Baltimore. Strangely, I had never travelled through the Amish country before, and Greta and I were both taken by the beauty of the landscape, and the singular culture that is centered there.
With a normal adolescent sensibility, Greta was highly amused that we were passing through Intercourse,
and her more detailed study of the map caused us to make a slight detour south to Fertility, which she was gratified to see was only a short distance from Intercourse.
The landscape showed a lovely amalgam of different eras of vernacular building. Lancaster itself was a somewhat overwrought tourist destination, but once away from the bus parking lots, the lack of self-consciousness and tweeness was evident.
As was extreme laundry-hanging.
We thought we had come across a wormhole in the space-time continuum, and that maybe we could zip home for a quick visit,
But the real dislocations were in the cultural anachronism category, especially this example of Amish skitching on the way to school.