Some More (incoherent) thoughts on Amish Auctions

1. Auctions make shopping a community ordeal: everyone knows what you bought, and how much you paid. If regular malls were this way would the avg. american citizen be in so much debt?

2. Auctions pressed heavily against some scarcity mentality A. seems to work under. She wasn't even trying to buy anything much. But what if she had wanted that goat, or that flat of tomatoes, or that fishing pole? And she hadn't played her cards right, and someone else had gotten it. It's not like a mall where she could just buy the one in blue, or the next one on the shelf. Some kind of trust would eventually have to be established, she would need to believe she would get what she needed or else a panic attack may ensue every Friday.

Destination: Dinky's Auction House or The Amish Mall

A. was hyped up with anticipation and motown music as she and a group of international students, 1 other white girl, 1 white old man and 1 african american woman piled into 5 cars and caravanned to Amish Country. No one but the old man knew what to expect. About an hour later they started seeing signs like this:


Then they actually started to see them, license-plated buggies with Amish families aboard. The cars sped around them. Heading for Dinky's. We arrived parked and walked about. There were to large structures, warehouses, where after not too long the auctions started. A. was astounded by what she heard and saw. She could not understand a word of the auctioner. It sounded like singing, or "country rapping" as someone else noted. She took some footage.



(Heard hear: a goat being auctioned off, if you look carefully, you will see subtle movements in the crowd which means, "I bid at the price you just said."

Amish people do not care for graven images or photographs, so she tried to be discreet. Note: not all the people at this auction were amish, there were also rural people, and then us busload of Asian International students. Many Amish stared as they had not seen Asians before. How could they with not much traveling and no tv?

All the Amish women wore solid color dresses. The men solid colored shirts, and suspenders, no belts. We tried to figure out what the bonnets and facial hair meant. Rumors that black bonnet meant single and white meant married, and bearded meant married didn't seem reasonable as VERY young boys and girls were sporting this style. It shall remain a mystery.

A. was overwhelmed by the noise of the auction and hungry so she went to buy food. Fried chicken fingers and french fries, followed by blackberry pie and icecream. which came to a total of $7. Healthy food didn't seem high on the priority list, she thought to herself, as she enjoyed the freshes fried chicken she had ever eaten. It was delicious and she ate it all quickly. She thought, they must not eat this every night, maybe this is just thier friday night, fun at the auction-house fair, she wondered, but had no way to find out.

Upon returning home around 11pm she tried to wikipedia Amish, but found the article to be rather mean-spirited. She found a few other websites about Amish in Pennislyvania, and wondered if Amish in So. Indiana also speak Penn Dutch, but doubts it.


Strawberries secured during an auction. A cultural immerision.

Goodreads

The Antelope's Strategy: Living in Rwanda After the Genocide by Jean Hatzfeld

My review

The author, who is often self-aware of his role as white, journalist, relies primarily on interviews with Survivors and killers of the genocide in Rwanda. It is interesting to read this after my non-fiction class, and noticing how the author positions, or does not position himself in each chapter. Includes horrifying details of the genocide at certain points, but always directly from the POV of the survivor or killer and explains why its necessary to tell. There are also points where details are purposefully left out and explains why. In this way this book does not seem to be completely exploitative of the Rwandans as many stories about horrific events tend to do.


View all my reviews.

New Blog

I've decided to revamp my blog. I am still not satisfied with margins and colours, but I like the new name.

Next American Destination: Amish country!

Ouch

In 4th grade, during something science-y we were learning about the human body. We learned you could still digest your food if you were doing a headstand because you digestive track was so strong, it could work against gravity. We learned that the human brain was so strong, that you could trick yourself into being sick. You could make yourself sick. I could make myself sick.

Since then I have harbored a deep and abiding fear that I am making it all up in my head. Oh, I'm not really sick. Am I wanting to be sick to get attention? Just snap out of it. My sister got sick a lot when we were kids and I remember being jealous because she would get special attention, special lip balm, special other things. Alas, I was not a sickly kid. I somehow also learned not to trust how I am feeling. I need proof. If I am sick, where is fever? where is the vomit?

Yesterday, I got into a bike accident. Though, I was not very hurt, it was very scary. My bike chain fell out of loop, and my bike stopped, I kept going. I flew-ish over the handle bars, banged my chin on the asphalt, looked up behind me, saw a truck coming and scrambled out of the road. I praise God for many things: I was not seriously hurt, it happened in front of friend's house, it wasn't any worse than it was. I also thank God I had a witness. A neighbor lady came running over, clearly shaken. I had big sunglasses on, and no on could see me starting to cry.



"Oh my God are you okay? I was so scared for you. I heard the pop of the chain and I looked over and I saw you dive. I was so scared for you. This is such a busy street. I think your chin is bleeding."

I am thankful for a witness, so I know that I am not just being a baby for being scared, and tearing up. I also note know something that seems absurd: when she said, I think you chin is bleeding, and I saw the blood on my hands, I thought silently, "oh good, proof." I have a cut, proof that I was hurt. This I think is not a normal reaction. Why do I not just trust myself? Why do I also feel like people are not going to believe me, if I have nothing to show for it? Why do I care if they don't understand how scary it was. I went into my friend's house to wash the cuts (not really a friend, more of someone I had just met).

"You're a tough girl, you'll be okay." He said.

I want to be a tough girl and I will be okay. But I think its also okay to not be a tough girl. I had been offered a back ride home minutes before the accident and I thought to myself, no, I want to be tough, (I was tired, only on 4 hours sleep, it was hot and it was about 7 mile ride, not too far, but not too close). I will ride. It was a very beautiful day. I could only accept help when I was bleeding.

There is some lesson in this. I am trying to figure it out. Something about trusting myself, believing myself, and not caring about if people think I am tough or weaksauce. I am probably a little bit of both. But I do want to be a girl who does push herself to do things she thinks are impossible. To reach and grow and stretch. How do I do this, and be nice, and let myself take the easier way home some of the times?

"Come to me all you who are burdened
and I will give you rest"
Here I am, Lord.
I come to seek your presence.
I long for your healing power.

"Leave me here freely all alone,
In cell where never sunlight shone,
should no one ever speak to me,
This golden silence makes me free."
(part of a poem written by Blessed Titus Brandsma who died as a prisoner at Dachau concentration camp)

Lord, grant me the grace to be free from the excesses of this life.
Let me not get caught up with the desire for wealth.
Keep my heart and mind free to love and serve you.

Who is that girl

???