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08-03-2005, 02:32 PM
Author’s note: This is part one of a two part story. In the town were we live the third grade students launch balloons on the last day of school. Attached to each balloon is a note card with the student’s name and address. It is an experiment that is used the following year in science when they study weather.
The Red Balloon
It must have been a windy day in May 1986. I don’t recall but I do remember the hot day in July when my daughter came bursting through the kitchen door carrying an envelope from Arthur, IL containing a battered and torn index card and a very deflated dirty red balloon.
“They found my balloon, somebody found my balloon!” she repeated over and over as she jumped up and down. Quickly she tore the envelope open to find a short note from a little girl named Rosanna. Her brothers, Wilbur and David found the balloon while helping their father in the fields they farmed. Being too young to understand the writing on the card they took it to their older sister to find out why the balloon had landed in their field.
After receiving the first correspondence, my daughter Andi decided to send a letter to Rosanna thanking her for returning the card and identifying how far the balloon had traveled from Brighton, IL. Well, with the girls being the same age one letter led to five years of correspondence. One day a letter came and Rosanna said her family was having a yard sale. She had a lot of caps and dresses that no longer fit. In another letter she mentioned the horses being frightened by the “highwaymen” who were working that day. And there was one where she apologized for not sending a picture of herself when Andi had sent her one.
Years went by and the girls kept a fairly constant relationship by mail. Finally the day came. “I want to visit Rosanna, can we go? A few weeks later a letter came accepting our visit.
Dear Andi:
I am happy you are coming to visit me. Have you ever visited an Amish house before? I am Amish. I live differently than you................................
The excitement of the visit was more than any of us could comprehend. We felt we had come to know this family through Andi and Rosanna letters, but feared doing or saying the wrong thing. We had been through a marriage, a death, both families building and moving into new homes, and all the everyday events in life. But….to meet them? This family who lived so differently than we do? These people who others travel miles to look at and marvel at their lifestyle?
It was a beautiful late summer day in September 1991. We arrived in Arthur in the early afternoon. There was lots of traffic passing the black horse drawn buggy traveling on the side of the road. The horse didn’t seem to mind the traffic and the elderly couple didn’t seem to mind our stares as we passed by. In fact, a friendly hand waved from inside the buggy, we all waved back and felt a little more at ease.
At the visitor’s center in Arthur, a huge map enclosed beneath a glass barrier identified each Amish farm by owner. Although we received a map from Rosanna we got lost anyway. After we got our bearings we took a short tour of the town. It was a touristy little town much like one we visited near the Ozarks in Missouri. Lots of crafts and restaurants lined the streets. Rows of horse stalls lined the parking lots of various businesses, equipped with drinking troughs for the horses and outdoor toilets for their masters. The presents of the Amish seemed to be exploited. The toilets were covered with graffiti in reference to them. Nevertheless, we continued on to the Omar Chupp Farm. The roads were laid out much like fields of grain when viewed from an airplane. Very simply mapped, every square mile from east to west, and north to south. The white houses with white curtains pulled to one side were very common through the country roads. Then…the one we were looking for…was anyone home? Did they forget we were coming? We couldn’t call ahead since they had no phone. A peek out the front porch window confirmed that we were recognized. We went to the side door of the house where Rosanna met us with a big welcome smile. “Hi, Andi? I’m Rosanna” “Hi, I’m Andi.
Both girls’ eyes swelled with gentle tears of relief and happiness. “Come on in.”
TO BE CONTINUE
By Coco, Editor ExpediterWorld
The Red Balloon
It must have been a windy day in May 1986. I don’t recall but I do remember the hot day in July when my daughter came bursting through the kitchen door carrying an envelope from Arthur, IL containing a battered and torn index card and a very deflated dirty red balloon.
“They found my balloon, somebody found my balloon!” she repeated over and over as she jumped up and down. Quickly she tore the envelope open to find a short note from a little girl named Rosanna. Her brothers, Wilbur and David found the balloon while helping their father in the fields they farmed. Being too young to understand the writing on the card they took it to their older sister to find out why the balloon had landed in their field.
After receiving the first correspondence, my daughter Andi decided to send a letter to Rosanna thanking her for returning the card and identifying how far the balloon had traveled from Brighton, IL. Well, with the girls being the same age one letter led to five years of correspondence. One day a letter came and Rosanna said her family was having a yard sale. She had a lot of caps and dresses that no longer fit. In another letter she mentioned the horses being frightened by the “highwaymen” who were working that day. And there was one where she apologized for not sending a picture of herself when Andi had sent her one.
Years went by and the girls kept a fairly constant relationship by mail. Finally the day came. “I want to visit Rosanna, can we go? A few weeks later a letter came accepting our visit.
Dear Andi:
I am happy you are coming to visit me. Have you ever visited an Amish house before? I am Amish. I live differently than you................................
The excitement of the visit was more than any of us could comprehend. We felt we had come to know this family through Andi and Rosanna letters, but feared doing or saying the wrong thing. We had been through a marriage, a death, both families building and moving into new homes, and all the everyday events in life. But….to meet them? This family who lived so differently than we do? These people who others travel miles to look at and marvel at their lifestyle?
It was a beautiful late summer day in September 1991. We arrived in Arthur in the early afternoon. There was lots of traffic passing the black horse drawn buggy traveling on the side of the road. The horse didn’t seem to mind the traffic and the elderly couple didn’t seem to mind our stares as we passed by. In fact, a friendly hand waved from inside the buggy, we all waved back and felt a little more at ease.
At the visitor’s center in Arthur, a huge map enclosed beneath a glass barrier identified each Amish farm by owner. Although we received a map from Rosanna we got lost anyway. After we got our bearings we took a short tour of the town. It was a touristy little town much like one we visited near the Ozarks in Missouri. Lots of crafts and restaurants lined the streets. Rows of horse stalls lined the parking lots of various businesses, equipped with drinking troughs for the horses and outdoor toilets for their masters. The presents of the Amish seemed to be exploited. The toilets were covered with graffiti in reference to them. Nevertheless, we continued on to the Omar Chupp Farm. The roads were laid out much like fields of grain when viewed from an airplane. Very simply mapped, every square mile from east to west, and north to south. The white houses with white curtains pulled to one side were very common through the country roads. Then…the one we were looking for…was anyone home? Did they forget we were coming? We couldn’t call ahead since they had no phone. A peek out the front porch window confirmed that we were recognized. We went to the side door of the house where Rosanna met us with a big welcome smile. “Hi, Andi? I’m Rosanna” “Hi, I’m Andi.
Both girls’ eyes swelled with gentle tears of relief and happiness. “Come on in.”
TO BE CONTINUE
By Coco, Editor ExpediterWorld