This morning was cold. So cold. I pulled the covers up to my chin and dreaded getting out of bed. It was cold, but I knew that if I didn’t get up, it would just become colder. Heating our house solely with wood meant that someone needed to be prepared and be willing to get out of bed before they were ready. I dropped my feet to the floor and threw on a jacket. It was still dark and the fire was already out. It must have become cold. Too cold. I glanced at the pile of wood usually near the fire, and it was gone. I stepped into my boots and walked into the laundry room. The wood was not there. The kids were supposed to unload the truck last night and bring wood into the laundry room and into the house. They didn’t and I didn’t follow up on their chore. Ugh. I let it slip and I was going to pay.

I opened the door and ran to the truck. My breath freezing on my face as I looked at the starlit sky. I found an armful of wood in the back of the pick-up , piled it into my arms, and dashed indoors. I sat next to the wood stove and slowly stirred up the coals; red embers coming to life under my careful disturbance. I placed wood onto the embers — stacking them neatly to allow air to circulate through the logs. I sat and waited. While I waited I looked at the time; 1:27 am. Too early to be doing this. I ran outside to grab another pile of wood. If I did not do this now, I would have to do this again in only a few hours. I zipped up my jacket and felt the bite of cold air on my cheeks and lips. Ugh. Too early and too cold for this type of work.

I came back inside and sat in front of the fire, which was roaring now. The heat quickly thawed the icicles from my fingers. Part of me wanted to sleep right there, but I knew that the little boys had crawled into bed with me at some point during the night. They had been curling up to me for warmth. I needed to return and provide them with additional body heat. I yawned, took off my boots and coat and crawled into bed, cuddling up to them for warmth. The morning would come too quickly, and the cold would return with it. I pulled the covers around my body and drifted back to sleep.

“Mom!!!!!!” I cringed as I heard the horrified voice of my teenaged daughter. She was in the bathroom and I knew what would be coming. I walked into the bathroom and watched with slight amusement as she tried to coax any drop of water from the empty faucet. “You mean there is NOOOOOO water? What about hot water?”

I gently explained to her that there was in fact running water — in the spring house and that she was welcome to run and get it.  I would be more than happy to warm it on the wood stove so that we would have hot water. Of course, I understood that she was dismayed that we did not have immediate water coming out of our faucets (there is such immediate gratification in a little thing such as running water).  Like many teenage girls, she prided herself upon her appearance and this decision to live without so much took away the pleasure she found in grooming herself. Fortunately, we have a good relationship and she let my joking slide off her shoulders.

When we bought the house, we understood that there would be little things that we would have to learn to do or do without; running water among them. The Amish had a system jerry-rigged to provide running water with the use of a pressure tank and a diesel engine. We did not like the safety issues that this system provided us. So, we decided to forego running water: hot and cold.

The lack of running water meant that we needed to go to the spring and carry jugs of water, we would heat our water on our kitchen stove as well as our living room “heater.” The lack of running water meant bathing in “bucket baths” (sitting in a bathtub with a bucket of water and bathing oneself), or using a 5-gallon solar shower which we filled with heated water. We would do dishes by heating water on the stove and then filling dishpans of water. The rinse water would be saved and used for the flushing of the toilet, which was sparingly flushed.

Adjusting to a life where we had to work for our water was not easy — often we recalled late at night that we needed some water for brushing teeth or flushing the toilet. This would mean trudging through knee high snow by the glow of moonlight to the spring house. Over time we learned. We adjusted our routines and became adept at managing our water.

The other day, my teenaged daughter turned to me and commented that going without water wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be. I gently smiled as a recalled those first horrid days without water. I felt confident in our new skills — we learned and adapted, and could adapt again.

We stood huddled against the cold in the old barn on the Amish farm. We looked in awe at the beauty and craftsmanship of the hand hewn timbers.  I glanced at my husband’s thinly veiled excitement and slowly realized that we would be buying the farm. This farm.  My fingers traced the date, carved into the weathered wood — 1902.  This farm. My husband looked at me and exclaimed in a whispered voice, “this is what we have been looking for.”

Our search for a farm started a few years before this cool October day. We looked at maps and searched our souls for the area of the country that we wanted to call our own. We looked at various listings online and called a number of real estate agents. Then one day we decided it was time to move to the area. We sold our house. The house which was filled with modern amenities, such as a refrigerator and running water. We sold the house from which we could walk to work or the grocery store. We sold everything that was easy and modern in our lives in search for one thing: a simpler life. We packed up the children and our belongings and moved to  our country home, aka “La Farm.”

Our original move to the area brought us to a different farm. The farm was a beautiful and simple “country home.” Little did we know it at the time, but our days in the home were limited. It was not what we wanted. We enjoyed living “away from it all,” but it still wasn’t as simple as we wanted to live — it felt similar to our previous home, the only real difference was the setting. We wanted less and more. We wanted less dependence upon the things that were not necessary in life and we wanted more living and freedom. The home may not have been everything that we were seeking, but it brought us closer to where we wanted to be. Due to the country home, we met some Amish families who lived in the area. We became friends, shared recipes, shared produce, and hunting areas. It was during this time that one Amish friend mentioned the house of a sibling, who was interested in moving to another area. We decided to look at the house as were eager to learn how they did without the modern conveniences. We did not have our hearts set upon purchasing this land. We wanted to learn.

When we pulled up to the house we walked into the side door. The door brought us through an “add-on” which served as the summer kitchen and the laundry area. This type of house addition seemed to be common in houses of Amish friends.  A summer kitchen could reduce the summer heat in the house caused by a wood cookstove. It provided a place to do mass quantities of canned produce. Water could be boiled in a water heater, and the water used for canning, laundry, and other household uses.

The inside of the house was very typical of Amish houses; a large eat-in kitchen, living room, and bedroom on the main floor. Other bedrooms were located upstairs. The root cellar was original to the house, was built in 1902, and was created with stone and mortar. There were shelves built into the basement and were stacked high with home canned produce. Another room consisted of shelves with garden produce: potatoes, beets, and carrots.

We toured the out buildings, including the chicken coop, spring houses, grainery, and machine shops. The barns, one built in the 1950s (cool spring water rushing into the milk house to be used for the cooling of milk), and the other original to the homestead. When I looked at my husband and saw the excitement under his usually cool demeanor, I knew that this would soon be our home. We discussed prices and asked our new Amish friend his asking price. He told us and we agreed, shook hands, and walked away with an agreement. We would be buying the farm. We would be buying a farm without running water or electricity. We would be further leaving behind the “modern lifestyle” that was all too familiar and comfortable. We would have to simplify, as there would be no choice. We would now be “going Amish.”