from the Holy Bible, New International Version, copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by the International Bible Society, and used by permission of the Zondervan Publishing House.
Music verse courtesy of Ian Tyson, Slick Fork Music.
Map by Brian Edward Balsley, GISP
A Journey through Holmes County’s Doughty Valley
Holmes County’s courthouse and red brick jail are parked in Millersburg at the intersection of Ohio 83 and US 62. In the village, these are Clay and Jackson Streets. If you take Route 83 south out of town, it will twist and turn, rise and fall, through a mixture of Amish and English countrysides, and after 8.5 miles, County Road 19 will take you east into the Doughty Valley, where Amish farms and businesses spread out across the landscape. This provides one of the most picturesque journeys in Holmes County, and the farms and one-room schoolhouses are worthy subjects for the finest of photographs. There are sharp turns and narrow passages on this convoluted journey, so drive slowly and pay attention to the road signs to make sure that you stay on County 19. Be sure to stop at the general store in Becks Mills, with its wonderful selection of Amish fabrics. This comes up 5.4 miles east of Ohio 83. If you find yourself trapped behind a slow-moving buggy, just be patient. Consider it an opportunity to slow down to an Amish pace and take in the scenery.
Then continue east on County 19 for a total of 1.3 miles from Becks Mills, making the little jog onto Township 156 to drop down into Charm, with its dense cluster of quaint shops and businesses. On a Saturday, there might be Amish people playing volleyball at the village school. Turn left here onto Ohio 557, and be sure to visit the very large Keim lumber and hardware store at the top of the opposite hill, where the collection of Amish power tools that don’t require electricity is intriguing. In fact, you’ll find the whole store to be an eye-opener, because it’s not like anything you’d expect in Amish country. If you then proceed north and west on Ohio 557, the Guggisberg Cheese factory, store, and chalet restaurant are excellent places to stop, 1.7 miles beyond Charm. If you continue northwest on 557, you’ll want to watch for the faded red sign that calls you back to Miller’s Bakery. Further along 557, be sure to stop at Hershberger’s farm, bakery, and produce market. You won’t miss it because it’s so large. At the end of 557, turn left on Sr 39/US 62 to head back into Millersburg, and if you play it as I have often done, take a seat on one of the chairs or benches around the courthouse. If you are lucky, a local resident might stop to strike up a conversation. If not, you’ll still see plenty of Amish families in their buggies, making the trip into the big city for business at the courthouse, or maybe just for a burger at McDonald’s.
Blood of the Prodigal
1
Friday, May 22
4:30 A.M.
LIKE all Amish children of ten, Jeremiah Miller had known his share of sunrises. Morning chores had long since taken care of that. Every day brought the same duties. His grandfather had made it clear. Children were for working. Life was supposed to be hard. Generally, for Jeremiah, it was.
But lately, Jeremiah had discovered something new and wonderful in his dawn chores. Something exhilarating. Also a bit frightening, because he suspected it was forbidden. It was so simple, he thought, who could object? If he arose before the others and slipped out quietly, he could be alone, drawn awake early by the allure of a solitary Ohio dawn.
It had begun last winter. None of the other children had understood. After all, who would choose to be alone? So he kept it to himself, now. Even Grossdaddy didn’t know. It was Jeremiah Miller’s little secret. At so young an age, he had already discovered that the dawn could give him a sense of identity separate from the others. And this was his first act of nonconformity. Among the Gemie, that was considered evidence of pridefulness. And pride was surely the worst of sins. He worried that it could eventually brand him a rebel. Like his father.
He’d dress quietly in the clothes his grandmother had made—clothes that were identical to those of other Amish children. Long underwear and denim trousers with a broadfall flap. Alight-blue, long-sleeved shirt with no collar. A heavy denim jacket. Suspenders. And a dark blue knit skull cap. If he escaped the house before the others awakened, Jeremiah Miller was free.
In the barns before sunrise, only the Coleman lantern kept him company, hissing softly as he drifted among the animals, in and out of the stalls. In winter, there was the enchanting, billowing steam his breath made in the crisp air. The delightful crunching of his boots in the snow. There was, especially, the peace and the solitude, and at only ten, Jeremiah Miller had come to reckon that dawn would always be his favorite part of the day.
Today, late in May, it was nearing the end of a season still often raw and bleak, the usual for a northern Ohio spring. Some days were almost entirely awash in gray. Yesterday, there had been only the barest hint of a sunrise, delicate shades of pink as he had worked alone at morning chores. Then an afternoon drizzle had developed into a steady, all-night rain as a storm front moved in off the great lake, a hundred miles to the north.
Jeremiah slipped out from under the quilts and sat, wrapped in his down comforter, on the edge of the bed. He listened there a while for sounds of his family stirring. Hearing nothing, he drew the ornate quilt around his waist, eased lightly across the plain wooden floor to the window, pulled back the long purple curtains, and peered out. Yesterday’s rain had slackened to a cold drizzle. He saw no hint of sunlight at his window, but as he was about to release the curtains, the headlights of a rare car flashed on the foggy lane in front of his house. He briefly thought it strange, and then, hitching up the comforter, he let the curtains go slack.
He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his shirt and denim trousers. He glided down the hall, the wooden floor cool beneath his stocking feet. He passed the other bedrooms carefully and crept down the stairs. He eased through the kitchen unerringly in the dark, lifted his jacket from its peg, pulled the heavy oak door open, and slipped through the storm door onto the back porch.
There would be no supervisions on the rounds of his morning chores. No instructions if he worked alone. No corrections. No reminders to conform. The hours before dawn were his alone. The one time of each day when he owned himself entirely. Jeremiah had discovered that solitude was personal. More personal than anything else he had ever known.
On the back porch, he stuffed his feet into his cold boots and laced them, hooked his suspenders to the buttons on his plain denim trousers, and closed the hooks on his short, denim waist jacket. Reaching down for the green Coleman lantern, he gave the pump several adept strokes and lit the silk mantle with a wooden match. Then he rolled his thin collar up and stepped off the porch into the rain.
School would close soon for summer, he thought. He set the lantern on the muddy ground outside the massive sliding doors to the red bank barn. School wasn’t so bad. And summers could be long. So why did Grossdaddy speak so bitterly of school?
He set his weight against the sliding door and forced it heavily sideways on its rollers. Grandfather would like the teachers, if only he’d come to visit the school. It was just down the gravel lane, less than a mile. Teacher stayed late every day, and they could talk. If only Grandfather would. The other men thought well of teachers, so why didn’t Grandfather? Jeremiah only knew that something had happened long ago. Something that would never be discussed. He suspected it had something to do with his father.
A nervous black kitten launched itself through the crack between the sliding doors at his feet, and he sidestepped it superstitiously.
“Kommen Sie,” he called gently after the cat, momentarily curious. He whistled for it softly, shrugged, picked up the lantern, and squeezed through the narrow opening between the doors.
The three-story bank barn was set into the side of a hill behind the big house. At the bottom of the hill, the sliding doors opened to the lowest level of the barn. The top of the hill gave access, on the other side of the barn, to the second level. There were