Hey folks, been an interestin’ week truckin’, as I made another trip down to Amish country in Pennsylvania. Although I didn’t deliver to an Amish farm, I did deliver to a feed mill that sells mostly to the Amish people.
Now this destination was almost over to York, Penn. When I finally got there, after a lot of small, twisting roads that really aren’t made for trucks, I met a young farmer who showed me where to back in to get unloaded. Me being me, I asked him, “How many acres do you farm?” “Four hundred,” he replied, “all feed corn for horses.” All going to the Amish.
I explained to him that we, up in my part of Maine, right along the coast, have had some Amish families move into the area, buying up some old farms and such. And that up north in Maine there is a large settlement of Amish folks.
Well, he says, “You know why?” “Nope,” I replied. I hadn’t given it much thought. “Well, it’s probably all about the price of land.” “Really?” I said. “Ya. Down here in Lancaster County, land is selling for $15,000-$20,000 an acre, and I bet up there it’s a lot less.” Probably right, I guess, as I thought about the old farms in the Whitefield or Somerville area that have sold recently.
“But I’ll tell you one thing,” he said. “You’ll never hear too much bad about them, as they are hardworking people, peaceful and friendly, although you do need to be on the lookout for the horse-and-buggies that they get around in!”
“Well,” I said, “if that’s the worst thing we have to look out for, I hope they find a lot of land to buy.”
After he finished unloading the pallets of shavings I had brought to him, we bid each other thanks and have a good day, and I headed to my next pickup.
I once again got to thinking about this immigration stink that is going on in this country. And, like I have said before, public radio is on the station most of the time, and like it was an omen or something, a man was going on about something President Reagan had told, of a story about a letter he had received late in his presidency.
It basically went like this: “You can go to France, and not be a Frenchman, or go to Turkey, and not be a Turk, or go to Japan, and not be Japanese, but all of them can come to America, and become Americans.”
Wow, I thought, that’s a pretty profound statement, and very true, as we all are from somewhere, with some heritage of some sort. And for the most part we all embrace that heritage, be it work ethic, or stubbornness, or maybe just your features.
My point here is that even in our own little world of Lincoln County, we too are seeing maybe a different sort of immigration, or people that have their own culture, but are hardworking and ambitious, and hopefully we too can embrace these folks. I wish them all the luck in the world.
And on a lighter note, so that you get it right from me, and no, it’s not “fake news,” I got busted! That’s right! Funny the one thing I growl about when I’m drivin’ is all the cellphone action goin’ on in cars. Well, as I was headed down 95 on the pike in Portland, I was busted for “distracted drivin’,” in other words, talkin’ on the phone without a hands-free device! And as luck would have it, it was a commercial State Police officer that got me.
So I look down and see the lights all a-flashin’ and I pull over, and up to the passenger side of the truck he comes. He asked for the usual: license, registration, and such, and says, “You know why I stopped you?” “Pretty good idea, officer,” I replied. “Got an e-log?” he asked. “Yup, right here, but god knows if it’s right,” I replied.
So he goes to his cruiser and soon he comes back with his fellow officer, who was much younger, and they want to look at this electronic log. “Yup, have at it, men,” I replied, “but this much I can tell you: in 25 years of truckin’, I’ve never had an accident or a log book violation, so whether that thing is right or wrong, I haven’t a clue.”
Well, as I thought there were several things that weren’t right about it, that’s the problem: if you punch the wrong info in, you can’t change it. So after a while of the younger guy checkin’ it out, because I was pretty sure the officer with the gray hair didn’t understand this thing any better than I do, they have a little powwow, and the older of the two looks at me and says, “Well, drivah, you need more training.”
“Really,” I replied. “Officer, I’m goin’ on 67 years old and just got married to a lovely lady. In fact, we’re gonna celebrate one year comin’ right up. So how much trainin’ ya think a man can handle at one time?” He looked at me, handed me my ticket and smiled, and said, “Have a good day, drivah!” So if you see me around town wearin’ an “In Trainin’” shirt, you’ll all know I’m at least tryin’ … ya right! Next time …
Yankee Pride Transport