Friday, October 14, 2005

Location: Napannee (Undercover)

Northern Indiana provides a wealth of opportunity for us in our discovery of new places and through a chaotic introduction, new friends. When the dust settled, we found ourselves without a home, transportation, or any idea of what to do in the near future. In a uniquely diplomatic gesture Tater befriended our one-time adversaries by reaching out and swiping one of their hats. Seeing Tater wearing a black wide brimmed Amish hat amused the group, providing relief to a near tragic event. While waiting for the tow truck, we pulled the buggy from the ditch and calmed their horse. Our new friends will remain nameless... It is for their protection as well as our own.

They invited us into their homes. For the next two weeks we where the beneficiaries of a unique culture steeped in tradition and good will. They recognized our dilemma and opened their hearts and their private lives to us until we were on our feet. It took a couple of days to salvage the camper. Most of our belongings were retrieved, inventoried, and thoroughly cleaned. The slide through the muddy ditch was bad enough and compounded by Tater's digestive snafu. A lead provided by the tow truck operator located our new means of transportation. A derelict plumbers van seemed rough at first, but showed some potential. Our friends cannot drive but were not opposed to modifying the truck to serve as our new home. Their expert craftsmanship outfitted the unit with appropriate cabinetry and other home comforts that will make the longest trip pleasurable.

It would be only two days before we would leave. As the men smoked their evening pipes on the porch and reflected upon the day's work, "Johan" motioned me to a more private conversation. At his request, I would meet them at midnight and transport their group to parts unknown. . . The designated time arrived when I entered the barn to find a lantern light surrounded by eight phantoms. Wide brimmed hats and black shrouded faces hid their identities. Black woolen coats carried tools of the farm, except one. This specter stood a head taller, dressed in a sleeveless linen shirt and black vest. He carried a sledgehammer in each hand. On one mammoth bicep, I could see it. The skeleton driving a wagon and team of horses from the fires of hell, above which an angel observed. Underneath was scribed "Born to Buggy ". They joined hands and whispered "Bot boys, vat vill you do as we come for you." I said a silent prayer for my trusted monkey and myself for we found ourselves in the middle of the Amish who Shun Worldly Attitudes & Technologies.

Tater, "Johan" and I climbed into the cab of the van while the remaining crew found places in back for our trip. A few minutes down the back roads we happened upon a barn. From it we could hear fiddle music. We rushed the door and found inside the most unique artistic dance club I had ever seen. It was absolutely plain. No brass, no laser lights, no smoke machines, nothing but extraordinarily fine, handcrafted woodwork. A dancer shrieked and ran to the back room. She had no dollar bills, just apron pockets stuffed full of small jars of jam and sugar candies. Through the open door I saw it, a light, an electric light. A crewman exclaimed, " Here is the beast "! The vigils stood the offenders against the wall at which time their leader shook the Good Book overhead and began a sermon. He spoke for some time and yelled for even more. When the sermon finished, a nod to the giant and like John Henry, he attacked. Blow upon blow showered sparks as metal rang sending the Jeff Gordon vending machine straight to the belly of hell. With the deed done, all were told to go home, work hard, and pray for forgiveness.

Back on the highway, Leelee was mad. She had been bored out of her skull making quilts. In that snippy way she asked "Where were you and that monkey last night? Why does Tater thump that Good Book when you pass on the double yellow? If you think you are going to get away with this, guess again." . . Uh, Tater and I raided an artistic dance club with an Amish SWAT team. We lined up the perpetrators, gave them a scolding, send them home and destroyed their pop machine. . . "Yeah, Right! Your a lying son of a . . "


At 10:51 PM, Blogger josh williams said...

In this case you do not read between the lines, you read all of the lines and marvel.Best damn Amish Strip club story I ever did read.

At 5:28 PM, Blogger madman said...

I laughed all the way through this!

At 12:03 AM, Blogger PPPMoney said...

Go figure!!!
I have that exact same tattoo!


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