Going twice

Going twice

by David Schmitz

You’ve seen the baskets. You’ve slowed to pass the black buggies. You’ve smiled and calmly nodded to maintain a polite, well, distance. From them. Something separates, and it’s not just the outfits. They call you “English,” you call them “Amish.” What is a contemporary American— secular or otherwise—to do to bridge this cultural chasm? What thread of commonality could tow you across such a gulf? For starters, just like “us,” they live here.

The Old Order Amish began moving to the Driftless region in the late sixties, a date coinciding with the arrival of the first back-to-the-landers and with the devaluation of rural farmland. The community has grown steadily since then, centered around Cashton and Ontario, reaching a stasis recently, as families now seem to come and go at about the same rate.

Heading out from Cashton on County D, I begin to see the hallmarks of Amish country. Hand scrawled signs read: Home Made Candy, No Sunday Sales; Sold Out and Moved; or simply Greenhouse. There is something encouraging about these humble advertisements. While obviously directed at the English tourist or local carpenter, there is no attempt at seductive marketing or enticing verbiage. They’re just plain, a word that carries much weight for the Amish, for whom it means faithful and pious bearing in the eyes of the world, and of their God. Visiting their world, I look at the whitewashed houses, large cleared pastures, barefooted children, and long clotheslines strung towards the clouds, and plain becomes quite beautiful.

If there’s one place in these parts where an Englishman can cross paths with his long-bearded neighbor, it’s the Grower’s Produce Auction in rural Cashton. For the last seven years, Amish farmers have gathered to sell their wares to any and all comers. And come they do. Pulling up there after miles of rolling farmland, I’m amazed to see the parking lot packed—with a neat row of horse drawn buggies, yes. But also with lots of big shiny pickup trucks. The smell of burgers and brats sizzling on a big grill outside seem to waft a welcome into the large pole shed that houses the action.

Inside, on a high platform, sits Philip Wolf, an Old German Baptist auctioneer from Mauston. A headset microphone conveys the rapid rhythm that urges the bidders to pay just a hair more than the guy next to them. I stand for some time enthralled by the vigorous song emanating from the lips above the long beard. Wolf, whose denomination is distinct from the Amish, is hired for many area auctions. He takes his job pretty seriously; it carries with it a burden of integrity.

“An auctioneer has a chance to be pretty dishonest,” said Wolf, “and his word is final by law.” It is only recently that the democratically governed German Baptists have allowed their members to act in this role, and local Amish, governed by their community’s bishop, do not currently have any practicing auctioneers.

In the bustle of the auction, I seek the guidance of Vernel Nelson, manager of the event for the past three years. In that time, she and her husband, Brian, have seen the auction grow into a successful enterprise. There are 58 sales each year, from March until October. Both the inaugural and closing auctions see machinery sales, featuring tools, antiques, and other hard goods, but the norm is botanical. I witness an array of annual and perennial flowers, sold by the flat or group, as well as blueberry plants, buckets of rhubarb, and crates overflowing with strawberries. Things move in bulk here, and for cheap, too.

“My wife almost paid 80 bucks for one of these at the store,” remarked a man loading his truck with a giant hanging flower basket. “I should have bought two!”

The Nelsons have an important role here, acting as a bridge between the English buyers and the Amish growers. It’s obvious that Brian Nelson likes what he does; he tends to be right up front with the growers, proudly displaying the items up for bid.
“A day with a good sale, when we get good prices for the growers, is the most rewarding,” said Nelson. “They’re such honest people to work with. And they pay me!”

The auction plays a key role in the way local Amish farmers can make a living. Instead of relying on mass production of commodity crops like corn or milk, which require extensive acreage and heavy reliance on cash for feed, fertilizer, pesticides, and equipment, farmers who grow produce have a chance at making a living on a small scale. Growers highlighted the fact that such small scale production, dependent on hand labor, keeps their families centered on the farm, working together. Unlike corn, which can sit in a silo or a truck to be traded when prices are high, produce needs an immediate market. The goods available change each week, following the harvest. Spring sees more flowers, summer and fall more produce. I was curious about the growing conditions of the items up for bid.

“We do have some organic, mostly from the Hillsboro growers,” said Vernel, “but they call it ‘natural’.”
Either way, the auction isn’t staking its claim on this aspect of the produce. A Wilton area farmer discussed his experience of healthy soil, and growing on a small scale, being the key to alleviating insect pressure, and increasing the quality of the food. For him, much commercial organic agriculture operates the same way as its conventional counterpart, simply replacing the products used to manage the crops.

Farming on a small scale, with his family at hand, takes precedence over the organic distinction. It seems to harken back to a time before food was distributed according to its marketing category, and to prioritize direct contact with the farmer, particular farmers who pursue a challenging and intentional way of life.

I couldn’t help but notice how different this space was from either the local Maximart or the cooperative grocery. Here, attendees sit together, physically, for a particular span of time, and make their purchases in the eyes of their peers, facing the people who produce the goods. Those growers help each other move the items through, with their wives and children on hand. This is a communal format. It’s also local.

“We only take growers from a 100 mile radius,” said Nelson. “That keeps it local.
Keeping it local seems to be a popular theme around here these days. Many of the customers, however come from farther a field, according to Nelson, as far as Tomah or La Crosse. Most of the attendees, in my estimation, appeared to be retired farm couples. I didn’t see any long haired leftists or young families, and no one I recognized personally. We seem to localize culturally as well. The Amish keep to themselves, the long-standing locals and recent transplants tend to do the same. The Produce Auction provides a space for exchange between these various isolated communities. Not surprisingly, it centers around food. After all, we all need to eat. kfp

David Schmitz is a musician living in Mount Zion. His family is glad to see him putting his English degree to good use for once. The rest of his time is spent practicing historical alchemy and making other attempts at transcendence.