Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Yesterday we ran away to Shipshewana for one last look at trees in fall bloom and fields where horses roam. It isn’t even two hours away by road, but it is a lifetime away in culture.

Shipshewana, Indiana, is the third largest Amish community in the United States, and it has become a tourist destination for people like us who are curious about this particular way of life. It’s probably a mixed blessing. The thousands of people who visit the area every year are eager to purchase handmade Amish crafts, enjoy homestyle cooking, and possibly learn a little about the religion’s history. Hopefully, this makes for greater cross-cultural understanding.

You can tell Amish farms because there are no electricity poles and wires leading to their homes or barns. They have no curtains on the windows. And the women we saw, who were hanging their clothes on lines, all wore the same white cap. The men wore beards.

The Amish prefer to live like many rural people of the 1800s. Theirs is an agriculturally-based way of life; but, in addition, they deliberately choose to remain isolated from the modern world. They drive buggies, not cars. They dress plainly, not trendily. They do not have cellphones and satellite dishes. They are sensitive about being photographed and stared at.

We had a wonderful day, the details of which would make several other mini-essays. But as we headed home, I wondered if the Amish themselves like what’s happening in Shipshewana. The loss of privacy is a large price to pay for greater understanding by the world at large.