I Kept Thinking of Nellie Olsen

 The other day I stopped at an Amish farm I’d driven by many times. It had nothing to do with their roadside stand. It was because an Amish woman at another roadside stand told me that one of the three Amish men on their local school board lived there. She told me this after I voiced my curiosity about Amish schools.

I explained I liked to write stories. Some for children. Some for adults. I told her I had an idea for a new storyline which included an Amish community. A particular character was the Amish teacher. I asked her if it would be possible for me to visit an Amish school. That’s when she told me about that Amish farm where that Amish man on the school board lived.

I never did tell her I had been wanting to visit an Amish school for years. New storyline or not.

So, the other day when I finally stopped at that Amish farm, the Amish man on the school board was home. He was more than kind.

A half hour later I was parking my car off the road, in front of the Amish school I had permission to visit.

The children were outside playing a version of baseball. They quit playing the second I opened my door. They all stood together, staring at me. So did the horses until an older boy ran to what I would learn was the woodshed.

Seconds later, their teacher stepped out and began walking toward me. She had a beautiful smile. I felt welcomed even before we exchanged a word. After explaining I’d been given permission to visit the school by that Amish man on the school board and told her my reason for the visit, she introduced herself. We headed to the school, talking all the way. Then up the steps we went.

The magic began as we entered the cloak room. Names such as Mary-Ruth-Martha-Samuel-John-Moses were above coat hooks. Above the hooks was a shelf where lunch pails sat. They too had names written on them.

“How many students do you have?” I asked.

After answering my question, she explained the children were called scholars, not students as we entered the classroom where the scholars’ wooden desks were lined up in rows in front of chalkboards. The alphabet written in cursive was above the chalkboards. The teacher’s desk sat in front of the scholars’ desks.

In one corner, there was a box full of puzzles. The walls were not decorated. A wood stove was in the back. I learned it had been testing week, starting off on Monday with spelling. I learned how she dealt with so many grades in one room. The young teacher told me later that afternoon she and the scholars would be sweeping the floor and cleaning the school.

“We do it together once a week,” she explained, adding that after a week of testing, the school was a mess.

The more we talked the more I thought Nellie Olsen would be coming in at any minute. Maybe Laura herself. It was the setting. The moment. The horses shaking their manes. The simplicity of that classroom. The fields surrounding it. No cellphones. No tablets.

Noticing a box of books, children’s books, I asked if I could add my books to the pile. She invited me back next week, with my books to add to the pile.

When the teacher stood in the doorway and rang the bell and the scholars lined up one by one, I again thought of Nellie Olsen. I could see her running ahead of Laura in an effort to be the first through the doorway. I am certain that teacher would have stopped her. The boys and girls coming through the doorway into the cloak room were quiet. Smiling. Curious of me. No one tried to get ahead of anyone else.

Nellie Olsen would not have been happy.

I did not overdue my welcome.

On my way back home, I realized those thirty minutes or so were like a step back in time. It felt good. Very needed as the world seems to be on fire. https://www.barbarabriggsward.com