Page 14 THE VILLADOM TIMES II • September 18, 2013 Meeting relatives you wish you remembered Once in awhile, my wife and I leave Bergen County for a day trip. Last weekend, we took a voyage through the awful present to the wonderful past. Looking around for a trip that would be compatible with the need to pay our property taxes, my wife discovered a Green Mountain tour of the Amish Country of Lancaster County. The price was right, so we plunked down for it. The horror began when, after a hectic day running errands for everybody, I pulled into the driveway and the little red “check gauge” light on the car’s dashboard popped on. I was sure that no convenient service station would still be open, so I resigned myself to a very bad night of sleep. I awoke at 3:30 a.m. to the pungent odor of a skunk that somebody had offended. After a perfunctory breakfast, I got on the phone and called the police in Glen Rock and got answered by the police in Ridgewood. The Ridgewood dispatcher understandably did not know what service sta- tions in Glen Rock would open at 6 a.m., which would leave me a window to tank up before I drove to Paramus to wait for the bus. I then took the extreme measure of calling the Ridgewood police. The same dispatcher came though and said the service stations on Route 17 were all open all night. I hopped into the car and took it to the first service station on Route 17, where I bought half a tank for cash and gave the attendant a tip. Since the escape route took me past the service station where a certain young man is the assistant manager and car rental executive, I rolled past and it was wide open at 5:30 a.m. In fact, the service station had been wide open all night. Not knowing this cost me two hours of sleep. Incredibly enough I managed not to do anything else that was ridiculous. We got to the meeting spot and parked. The bus and the tour leader, Stephanie, were already there. It was not Stephanie’s fault that “everybody” included some people who thought they were on a bus to Maryland instead of Pennsylvania. She got them on the right bus in the nick of time and we pulled out on schedule. The first part of the trip features no particular view except for modern institutional buildings. Things get much better at the Lancaster County Visitors Center. The center is beautifully clean and has the needed facilities and a ton of free brochures that contain useful facts and ample adver- tising. As the bus headed off again, we began to experience vistas of farms and fields, cows and horses, and the buggies Amish people use instead of cars and trucks. Our guide, Fran Sattazahn, was German, but not Amish. She said that if anybody knew some German they would know the last part of her name, z ahn , meant “tooth,” but she had never been told what the first part meant. “It means satisfied ,” I said. “Satisfied teeth, that’s me all right,” she joked. She was instantly likable, and I was a marked man for the rest of the trip. The first stop was a country store called The Country Store where we received a complimentary soft pretzel, which my wife said was the best pretzel she ever tasted, and a cup of lemonade, which my wife said was the best lemon- ade she ever tasted. She passed on the root beer because she did not wish to become intoxicated, except by the peaceful scenery. “I would buy some of these pretzels for my son but he would eat them all at once,” she said. There, I told you.... Emboldened by my adventure with translation, I decided to speak German to one of the Amish girls working at the counter. I asked if she understood the language I was speak- ing. She was mildly surprised, but replied in clear German with an Allemanic inflection. “What part of Germany do you folks come from?” I asked. “Pfalz,” said a bearded Amish man behind me. We had a brief, tripartite conversation and everybody was smiling. The road trip took us past some farms being worked by horses and mules and a green herbaceous field where four or five camels were having lunch. Fran explained that a farmer’s son had an allergy to cow’s milk and goat’s milk, but the farmer tried camel’s milk and it worked. She noted that camel’s milk is also under study for beneficial effects on diabetes and arthritis. The Amish, she said, were often on the cutting edge of any technology they were allowed to use. The lunch stop was at Liz’s Amish Kitchen. Fran explained that Amish people are not allowed to use elec- tricity in their homes and they hold church meetings in enlarged basements illuminated by sunlight, rather than in churches. We entered the cellar, sort of a non-alcoholic rathskeller and took our seats while a whole family -- father, mother, four teenaged daughters and two boys -- cooked and served a multi-course meal. They were like an instant family, making sure everybody had enough to eat and that everything got back to the kitchen with the most efficient use of their considerable energy. The food was wholesome and excellent and the four kinds of delicious dessert more than made up for the absence of Rhine wine. I spoke German to the young lady who was covering our part of the table and she replied with the same clear vocabu- lary and Allemanic accent. She and one of her sisters were fascinated when I explained that the German they spoke in the Amish country came from the vintage years of Ger- manic culture, before the words all got stuck together and all those positional adjectives turned modern German into legalese. I promised to mail them a few printed bilingual samples, and did so the next day. The honesty in the Amish country must be infectious. I also deleted any stuff about the glory of getting killed for the Fatherland. The Amish and the Mennonites wisely left Germany to get away from that sort of thing, though they bravely face death by overwork based on how fast they moved around the kitchen. Instead, I sent them the text of a wedding song, and a family argument about the side of the family from which the new baby had inherited his nose. The lunch ended with the whole family singing in English and in harmony. It was a touching and beautiful moment. The next stop was Henry’s miniature horse farm where Henry and his family, who are farmers and woodwork- ers, also breed and keep miniature horses about the size of a Great Dane, and offer buckboard rides with miniature teams. The tiny horses were adorable and Henry had a dry sense of humor. He spotted the fact that my wife spoke good English and asked where the people like her, whom had had seen before, actually came from. She tried to explain where Japan was. “He never heard about World War II,” she said in quiet astonishment. We bought a framed picture of cows because we could not get a miniature horse onto the bus. Henry had two concessions to vanity: a customized Amish buggy he said was his son’s with upholstery and a simulated instrument panel, and a full-sized horse, obvi- ously a very spirited animal, that he said was a retired race- track trotter. Amish teens are not supposed to race their buggies, but reportedly do exactly that when their fathers are not looking. After another stop at a country store with facilities and food, we left. We were sad to do so. These people are like the long-lost relatives you wish you remembered. I met my wife in college and the Amish usually leave school at 14, so that would have been a loss. I could have passed on most of that other stuff. The news stories at home when I left were a kid from the high school being arrested for the second or third time for selling heroin, and photo- graphs of cars broken to the firewalls smacking into the telephone poles, or one another. Who really needs cyber- bullying? Who really needs plastic grass? Who really needs to know which about the lives of the rock stars? The ride back was more of the same, except for the instant nostalgia. I had a feeling I would win the prize on the bus, and I did. It was a $5 increment for the next trip. We will be back. If they need translators -- I know German and French and some Spanish -- we may not leave again. Letters to the Editor Objects to parking policy Dear Editor: I am disappointed, but not surprised, that Ridgewood Public Schools Superintendent Dr. Daniel Fishbein ordered the erection of “Faculty Only Parking” placards along Heer- mance Place without mention of this new policy during any open public meeting of the Ridgewood Board of Education. (See “Heermance parking limited to staff, teachers,” The Villadom Times, Sept. 11, page 3.) Seemingly, Dr. Fishbein also kept some, if not all, board of education members in the dark as well; two BOE members I communicated with shortly after I observed the posted signs had no knowledge of the new policy. Clearly, Dr. Fishbein was well aware that there would be little, if any, public support for “faculty only parking” on Heermance. When the plan to restrict parking on that street was discussed during at least two village council meetings, several members of the public voiced their objec- tions. There were also many posts on local blogs/news ser- vices chastising the plan. Village council support for Dr. Fishbein’s request was not unanimous either. So, with the knowledge in hand that his plan lacked public support, Dr. Fishbein took the “low road;” he imple- mented the plan without any opportunity for formal public comment. Again, I am disappointed, but not surprised, by his “Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead” actions regard- ing this matter. Boyd A. Loving Ridgewood