Judy Stavisky, who lived in Chestnut Hill in the 1980s, moved to Wyndmoor and then Wyncote. Currently writing a book about Amish women, Judy is seen here riding her bicycle on a road in Lancaster County.

by Judy Stavisky

Emma’s voice mail sounded ominous. “The roof on the barn sheltering the heifers collapsed this morning. I don’t know if I will be able to attend the Flower Show.”

I could picture Emma, a trim 42-year-old Amish mother of seven, tucked into her unheated phone shanty 200 feet down the lane from her home. While the Lancaster County Amish do own telephones, access to them is not easy. “Telephones disrupt the rhythms of family life,” Emma explained when we first met several years ago. “When you start phoning instead of visiting, you miss the joy of being with people.”

Still, even for the Amish, the telephone is sometimes a necessity. Coordinating a visit to the Philadelphia Flower Show was one of those times. On a frigid January dawn, eight weeks before the annual show, Emma sent dozens of voice mail messages to friends and neighbors across the Amish community. She was hoping that later that day or maybe the next day neighboring Amish families would retrieve her message, check the family’s commitments and return her call with a “yes.”

It was only a hope. Amish mothers rarely leave their family for the entire day. The typical Lancaster Amish couple has seven, even eight children. Not only is mom responsible for childcare, meals and sewing the family’s clothes, but she also grows and preserves the family’s food for the year. That doesn’t leave much time for an all-day Flower Show outing.

On the other hand, Amish women are unbridled gardening enthusiasts. Lush and colorful, their gardens evoke the bold geometric quilts hand-stitched by Amish women. In contrast to their stiff black bonnets and dark dresses, gardens tended by Amish women juxtapose lapis-colored irises next to orange zinnias and scarlet phlox alongside bright yellow tulips. Radishes, spinach, lettuce, beets, peas, tomatoes, cabbage, strawberries, corn and potatoes sprout from the garden’s center rows. “For about $30 in seeds, I am able to grow just about all the vegetables I need to feed my family for the entire year,” Emma remarked.

On the morning of the Flower Show, like most weekdays, Amish mothers rise between 4 and 5 a.m. to begin their chores. Keeping pace with mounds of laundry is an enduring task, often completed before breakfast. The women first sort piles of soiled clothing into the steel tub of a gasoline-powered wringer washer. Once washed, each item must be rinsed and threaded through the wringer and then hung on an outside clothesline, a slow and tedious process. Living without electricity is a choice the Amish willingly make. The contribution of hard work binds the Amish family and community together.

On this particular Flower Show day, all ended well. As Emma explained in a follow-up phone message, none of the heifers was seriously injured, and several Amish men had volunteered to help rebuild the barn roof. Indeed, horses and buggies were already harnessed and hitched, with husbands standing by to take Emma and her companions to meet the van that would make the 90-minute trip to Philadelphia.

Our group generated a number of stares from the other Flower Show visitors, but the Amish are accustomed to tourists, especially these women from Lancaster County. However, the Amish abstain from being photographed. Photographs in the eyes of the Amish are prideful and dishonor the Second Commandment prohibiting “graven images.” I spied a handful of visitors sneaking photos of our group with their iPhones, but the Amish women, distracted by the spectacular floral displays, did not notice.

The Amish do not understand why the English (the term the Amish use to describe those who are not Amish) are constantly snapping pictures of them. “We are just people,” said one of the younger women, “not so much different than you.”

One Flower Show attendee with a spray of teased hair joined us briefly to exclaim “I love the Amish! If everyone was Amish, the world would be a better place.” One of the older Amish mothers smiled politely without responding. She turned to me later and asked, “Do the English really think we are perfect? Where do they get that idea?” The other Amish women chuckled softly and moved along to the next exhibit.

We were drawn to a brilliant display showcasing bulbs from the Netherlands. Amidst a discussion on the differences between the various Holland tulips, the young vendor suddenly realized his customers were Amish. “Why do you live like that?” He was referring to the fact that the Amish do not drive cars, watch television or listen to recorded music. One of the older Amish women responded matter-of-factly, “We were born that way.” He seemed to be satisfied with her answer.

Judy Stavisky, MPH, M.Ed, lived in Chestnut Hill in the 1980s, moved to Wyndmoor and then Wyncote. She is currently writing a book about Amish women. The name and some identifying details in this article have been changed to protect the identity and privacy of the Amish.