Spring came to Bird-in-Hand with a plethora of flowers, birds, and tourists. It was Harmon’s favorite time of year, when the shackles of winter are put off and new life is born. The cows were calving right and left and our Hero was a busy young man. Now that he was 19 and much more ambitious than Pete, Harmon was pretty much running the Stoltzfus farm. Harmon II puttered around doing this and that, but it was Harmon who decided to switch to a new kind of feed to improve the milk output. It was Harmon and Pharon who devised an improved method of planting corn. It was Harmon who switched to a different seed supplier when the old one became incompetent.

  Pete, upon seeing all the good things Harmon was doing on the farm, decided he wanted to get more involved, but he was pretty useless so Mrs. Stoltfus put him in charge of the chicken house. His job was to feed the family’s 59 laying hens, gather the eggs, and take the left over ones to the Bird-in-Hand Farmer’s Market. This, of course, was almost more than the 300 pounder could handle. One day, while walking to the market with the wagon full of eggs, he stopped at an ice cream stand to fulfill his cravings and some mean little tourist kids started throwing the eggs against the side of a building. But he was trying. Pete was in love with Millie and figured once he’d established himself as a successful egg farmer, he could start dating Millie.

  One particular April day found Harmon and Pharon in the barn hauling manure. They looked out the open barn door to see their older brother waddling out the driveway with his eggs in tow. They both chuckled and looked at each other, throwing manure onto the spreader.

  “Isn’t it disgusting,” said Pharon, “That we do all the work around here and yet he gets more money from Dad than we do.”

  “Yeah it is,” said Harmon, “and Dad always brags on him when he’s talking to people about his sons.” Just the other day when that dude from the tractor place was here, Dad kept talking about how a wonderful job Pete is doing with the eggs.”

  “Face it,” Pharon said chuckling, “He’s the firstborn and that means he’s gonna get the farm.”

  “He can just have this stinking farm.” I’d like to go do something else.” I’d like to go see the world.” But I can’t cuz I’m stuck here in this old town.” Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

  “Ha ha, Harmon, you can just go and then I’ll take the farm,” Pharon said.

  “You’re way too young for that.” You’re just a kid.”

  “No I’m not,” Pharon said adamantly, “I’m 16 now and that means I can go with the youth.”

  “You’re gonna wish you never would’ve joined the youth group in a couple years cuz…” Harmon’s voice trailed off. “Anyway, since you’re 16 I guess you can go along to the work night tonight.” Yay, what fun that will be, cleaning up.”

  “Yeah, I can’t wait,” Pharon said, “It’s gonna be fuuuuunnnnn.” His freckled face was filled with excitement.

  It’ll be fun, thought Harmon, to have my brother in the youth group.

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  The youth gathered at the widow Rachel’s house in Paradise that night to clean the place up. The youth often gathered at old folks’ or widows’ homes to help them clean up or do household chores. Rachel was both old and a widow so there was plenty to do. 

  Harmon and Pharon and Gloria drove down 340 and up Leacock road till they got to Paradise. No one knew why it was called Paradise. Harmon assumed that at one point in someone’s mind the place had seemed like a paradise. But it really wasn’t anymore. The town lay along Route 30, an old road filled with trucks and tourists. It was a 2 lane road with a turning lane in the middle and a 35 mph speed limit. Rumor had it that Route 30 went all the way to San Francisco. No one knew if this was true because no one in Lancaster County had ever driven to San Francisco and returned to tell the story. Route 30 in Paradise was lined with tourist shops and Restaurants. It wasn’t clear where Paradise began and where it ended. The town blended with Kinzers on one side and the strip malls and outlets of Lancaster on the other.

  The widow Rachel lived on a street with old houses and old trees. Harmon wheeled his Escort in beside a few other cars and he and Gloria and Pharon jumped out. Pete was at home nursing a sore back and a sore heart because Millie wouldn’t be there tonight. A few youth were standing around looking simple when the Stoltzfuses walked up. They were trying to figure out what to do. The widow Rachel was trying to explain to Sylvester what she wanted done. 

  Finally Sylvester turned to the youth and said, “She wants this old fence ripped out, this tree cut down, the yard mowed here...”

  Harmon didn’t wait around. When he heard the words, “tree to cut down,” our Hero went looking for the closest chainsaw. Harmon had an obsession with cutting down trees. He loved it more than any other kind of work. He almost loved cutting down trees more than he loved playing volleyball.

  Harmon found a chainsaw on the back of Sylvester’s pickup. He quickly checked to see if it had fuel. It did so away he went toward the tree in anticipation of felling it. He pulled on the rope a few times and the chainsaw started right up. Harmon eyed the tree and estimated where it should fall. He told the other youth to watch out and moved the chain toward the tree. His plan was to cut a notch in the trunk on the side away from the house. It wasn’t a huge tree, maybe about 2 feet across and 30 feet tall. The Old oak was growing right in front of the widow Rachel’s sowing room window and she wanted it removed so the sun could shine in.

  When the roaring chain was inches from the soft, moist wood, Harmon felt a tap on his shoulder. Shocked, he turned quickly to see Karl standing there with a stern look on his face.

  Harmon quit revving his saw. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Uh, do you know what you’re doing?” Karl asked.

  “Of course,” Harmon said.

  “Stop the saw once,” Karl said, “reaching down and turning off the saw.” He continued. “Don’t you think we should tie some ropes to that side of the tree to make sure it falls right?” What if it falls that way?” He pointed. “Now wait, maybe we should tie the ropes over there.” He pointed another way. “Well maybe if I stand there and cut from one side and you cut from the other side…”  Karl rambled on.

  Harmon thought about telling Karl to go stand where the tree would fall. “OK, great ideas you got there but I already got this figured out,” he said and started the chainsaw up again.

  Karl looked simpley at him and stepped back. Harmon quickly cut a notch into the tree and then cut the whole way through and the tree fell down right where he wanted it. Karl and everyone else stood there in amazement as Harmon chopped the branches into firewood in about 23 minutes.

  When Harmon was done he stood back and admired his handy work. “Now would someone stack this wood,” Karl said.

  Harmon looked around. While he had chopped up the tree, everyone else must’ve been standing there watching because not much was done. A few girls were mowing and raking the yard and a few boys were tinkering around by the old fence with little hammers. Some of the other boys stood around talking about things. Harmon overheard a few words and phrases.

  “I think we should be voluntarily poor,” Karl was saying, “Jesus was a poor man and so we should be poor too.”

  “But one time he told his disciples to go out and fish”, another boy said.

  “Yeah but I don’t see any point in saving up money.” We should give all our extra money to the poor,” Karl replied.

  In those days it was popular among the Amish Mennonite boys to talk about high minded theological things. Harmon didn’t really get all that. He was more concerned with stacking the wood and tearing down the old fence.

  “Pharon,” he shouted, “come help me stack this wood.” It doesn’t look like anyone else wants to help.”

  As Pharon and Harmon and a few other boys stacked the wood our hero was getting angrier and angrier. Karl and Sylvester and a couple other boys were still standing there talking. They didn’t seem to realize they were at a work night. Finally Harmon could take it no more. He yelled, “Hey, why don’t you guys come help stack this wood.”

  Sylvester and Karl and the other high minded guys looked at him. No one had ever yelled at them with such a voice. It was a voice reminiscent of a Harmon II wake up yell. They weren’t used to being told what to do. One was the chorus director, one was youth president, one was the vice-president and another was a shew-in to be the next president.

  “We are discussing things which are important that you probably wouldn’t understand,” Sylvester finally replied.

  Harmon was annoyed. “Why don’t you discuss those things while you work,” he said.

  The boys looked kind of ashamed and moved toward the cut up tree. They began to help. While they slowly stacked wood they continued discussing service to others, poorness, mission work, and the act of being totally selfless.

  When Harmon saw the wood was being stacked by the high minded guys, he turned his attention to the old fence. The other boys were still standing there with little hammers and pulling out nails one at a time.

  Harmon grabbed a sledge hammer and began beating on the fence. In two minutes he had slammed it to the ground while the other boys stood there in amazement. Yes, our Hero might not have been skilled in the art of high rhetoric or picking up girls, but he could perform manual labor quite well.

  While Harmon was chopping down trees and slamming down fences Arvilla was mowing the yard. Occasionally she let her eyes drift toward the boys. She noticed that Harmon was doing all the work while Karl was just standing there talking. Why is he just standing there?  She thought. He’s always talking about how hard he works and all the things he does with inner city youth, but it seems like the guy he always makes fun of is working 20 times harder than him.

  When the youth were done working, they all gathered on the widow Rachel’s back porch for a refreshment. She must’ve been an especially old and poor widow because all she provided was water, crackers, and peanut butter. The youth looked at the snack spread before them, Sylvester blessed it with an eloquent prayer, and then they dug in.

  Harmon got his crackers and water and went to sit down at on the edge of the porch. He was tired. After a long day on the farm and a long night of work, he was tired. His face and hands were dirty and he smelled kind of bad. He wasn’t thinking about girls at all. Millie wasn’t there. Arvilla was pretty much a lost cause. He was thinking about all the work the youth had done and wondering if they should still move the wood inside the shed when he heard a voice beside him.

  “Can I sit here”? It was the sweetest voice in all of Paradise, Bird-in-Hand, and the surrounding area.

  Harmon turned to see Arvilla standing there. He looked past her for Karl. He was sitting at another table with Sylvester and the other high minded guys. They were having an intense conversation. Harmon couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice, “Of course you can sit here.” Why do you even ask?”

  Arvilla sat down. Harmon munched on a cracker. She was so beautiful in her blue dress and white sneakers. A slight breeze blew a few wisps of hair around her face. Harmon sat there. His heart was racing. Calm down, our hero told himself, just be yourself and everything will be fine.

  Arvilla and Harmon sat there in silence for awhile. They both were thinking of some of the awkward moments between them in the past winter. But that was long ago. After 7 minutes Arvilla ventured, “These are some good crackers.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty good and this peanut butter is extra crunchy,” Harmon said, “but they do little more than whet the appetite.” I think I might have to stop at Wawa on the way home and get a hoagie cuz I am hungry.” He emphasized the word “hungry” and Arvilla giggled.

  “Do you like Wawa?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Harmon said, “I love their ciabatta bread things and their wieners.”

  “Oh, you do,” Arvilla said excitedly, “I like the milkshakes they have that you can make yourself.” I like the strawberry ones best.” I also like their commercials on the radio especially the one where the Wawa water is like talking…” She stopped herself.

  Harmon was shocked. Could it be true that this girl he had thought was a perfect Beachy girl actually listened to the radio? He looked at her slowly and said. “You mean you listen to the radio?”

  Arvilla looked at her plate of dry crackers then she looked up at Harmon with a mischievous grin on her pretty face. Harmon felt like smooching her right then and there. Her smile was just mind boggling. “Well,” she said sweetly, “They play the radio at Kling House where I work sometimes and that’s where I heard it.” She grinned. They both knew that wasn’t true but Harmon pretended to accept it as fact.

  Arvilla quickly changed the subject. She didn’t want Harmon to think she was bad, especially since she was dating Karl and it wouldn’t be good if news of her wayward ear found its way into the local gossip channels. “Harmon,” she said, “It looked like you were really working hard tonight.” I saw you chop that tree to pieces.”

  “Oh you did,” Harmon said sheepishly, “cutting trees is kind of like my favorite thing.” She was watching me, he thought, I can’t believe it.

  “It’s good some people still know how to work,” Arvilla went on, “I get kinda annoyed at some people when it seems all they do is talk and not so much action.” I mean talk is good, but things have to get done.”

  Karl’s loud voice drifted across the porch to Harmon and Arvilla. “But I don’t see how anybody could say that you shouldn’t be non-resistant,” he said, “You’d have to be an idiot to think that.”

  Arvilla looked at Karl and didn’t smile. “It was nice talking to you again,” she said, “it sounds like I have to quiet my boyfriend down a little bit.”

  “Ok, Ok,” Harmon stammered. He wanted her to stay so badly. “Have a good one.”

  Just keeping my options open, Arvilla thought as she walked away. They say you can never have too many options.

   Harmon sat there in by himself for a few minutes.  Maybe I should abandon my plan, he thought. I might not even need it. (by ilw 4/14/09 to be continued).

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Read Our Hero Harmon next week for a story about some drifters, Plus more on the white bearded man.