About 10 years ago, the county “randomly” (we suspect our neighbors complained) decided that the trees on our property were in the right of way of the road, and were causing trouble for large trucks and farm equipment. These were trees that had been there for dozens of years, not causing trouble until the larger vehicles began using the road, and even then, the branches were only brushing them. So, one Thursday, the county sent out people who marked the trees to be torn down, and began removing the original fence around the property, which my own great-grandfather had installed. That same day, they started cutting down the trees, some being 100-year-old pines from our pine tree forest. My family tried to see what they could do to stop it, or who they could call to talk about it. They were upset to lose the trees, and especially upset because the removal of the trees would expose our swimming pond to the road. After being given a name of someone they could call, and the information of the man in charge, they learned that he would conveniently be out of town and out of the office until Monday. The workers clearing the trees continued tearing down the trees over the weekend, since there was not much we could do. They worked late into the evening and even on Sunday, so by Monday, when the man in charge was available, the job was already done, and the ancient trees were just lumber. This was a destruction of my environment not just by the county for roads, but also by the farming industry, who wanted the road to be clear for their tractors and sprayers. Today, while some of the plants have grown back, it is mostly weeds and small trees that block our pond from the road, and the place where the towering pines were is still noticeably empty.

When home, I work at an ice skating rink in the city of Fishers, which is a city over from where I live. Fishers has changed drastically throughout my life and recently has been changing even more rapidly. When I was younger Fishers was a small town. It had a few neighborhoods and a quaint main street downtown. There was no traffic or construction. It was a tightknit small town that was mainly reliant on agriculture. It is fair to say these corn and soybean fields were not natural either, but they felt so much more natural than what is now standing in their place.

Over time more the construction of more neighborhoods lead to more businesses. Eventually, this tiny town became a very large one. One grocery store now competes with three others. A second high school was built to accommodate the growing population. Dozens of roundabouts were also put in the place of traffic lights (roundabouts have become a staple of progress and wealth in Indiana due to the city of Carmel’s obsession with them.) After a vote, this little town took the leap to become a full-fledged city, with a major and everything.

The city of Fishers is now a booming place to be, as long as you do not mind a five-minute drive taking somewhere around twenty-five minutes. All of the news lately has been, “did you hear Fishers is getting an Ikea”, “did you hear Fishers is getting a Portillos” and so on. Now I cannot complain about having an Ikea or a Portillos in the least. I am glad I can now get cheap furniture without driving to Cincinnati and that I can finally get a decent hot dog and a piece of chocolate cake, to die over, without driving to Chicago. Both of these businesses brought jobs to the area, but what about the farmers whose livelihood was the fields where these businesses now stand? What about the small town that has been engulfed by commerce?

Farms may not be the most natural or always environmentally conscious places, but there is something to be said about working with your hands and working on a farm. This has been lost in Fishers. Not only are there no longer farms, backyards are not even big enough for gardens. A whole way of life has been lost in the need for “progress”.

Visiting David Kline’s farm reminded me strongly of visiting my cousin’s house in Gallipolis, Ohio as a kid. As a kid I adored the hour and a half long drive to South East Ohio, up and down steep, hilly roads and through eternities of corn fields and forests. Eventually, the car would come to the gravel driveway leading up a final hill to the old dark-wood house. Far out of the reach from cell towers and highway noise, the house was a reminder of a hard labor and natural joy, with forests and yards meant for both playing and working outdoors.

Visiting Kline’s farm, It felt like returning to a family home; I was used to cows and horses, free-range chickens running through the yard and friendly faces walking up to your car to welcome you. I was happy to see Kline humble about his hard labor that showed all around him, labor that let him and his family live upon the work of their hands. The generator kicking on didn’t startle me; I was already used to the loud rumble of pickup trucks that shook my heart in my chest as a kid.

This place felt like a second home, but with more emphasis on the farming lifestyle and community. Although it reminded me of my innocent days of childhood, I couldn’t help but to compare to my present self, with an iPhone in pocket, severely under-dressed for the cold and following behind a trail of classmates, instead of leading or running freely. In my present state of mind, I found it hard to imagine myself living this lifestyle, I felt too burdened by the call of technology and “the Grid” pulling me back to the college. I greatly enjoyed being on Kline’s farm, but I was saddened I couldn’t return to the days where hard work overshadowed the alienation of society at large.

When we arrived on David Kline’s farm, I was a bit surprised at first. It seemed at first that there was not much to the farm, but that thought quickly left my head the minute we stepped into the barn. I realized the organization and focus that goes into this barn and farm on a daily basis, which in fact seemed to flow very smooth throughout the day. Everyone I saw on the farm looked like they knew what they were doing, and did not look to David at all for any confirmation on their actions. The kids seemed carefree and fun, as they went about their day running around fooling with the cats.

What I didn’t expect to see, however, was the amount of machinery that looks to be used on a daily basis. As much as the big, green John Deere and Bobcat may be helpful to the daily life of a farmer, I thought I wouldn’t see any machines of their sort on the farm. As I’m sure the houses they live in conserve energy/are run on solar panels, I was a bit surprised to see how much electricity was used in their daily life. That being said, I had never been on an Amish farm before, and I was surprised to see some of these things. Just as there could be Amish who use more electricity, I’m sure there are some as well who use much less.

The way that I describe my hometown to friends and colleagues who come from the range of highly populated urban cities to barely even having a town rural areas, is that where I am from is a super suburb. I live in a house along a row of houses amidst rows upon rows of houses. We have a quaint downtown with restaurants and boutiques, while the drive to the big city is only 20 minutes and you could say the same to get to any rural area too. Near my house are several parks as well as the town’s sole middle school.

Yet there are aspects to my environment that have changed since I was young and growing up. On my mind are mainly two. The first is the park by me. Behind my house is another row of houses and in front of those houses is a street and across that street is a huge park. This park includes multiple play structures, tennis courts, dog park equipment, a miniature “forest” (really just a large span of field and trees), and a field in which there is a large dip as if a natural pool. When my brother was young this dip was used during the winter as a skating rink where the local fire department would fill it with water and let it freeze over for people to enjoy but those days were long gone by the time I could have enjoyed it. You are also no longer to use it as a dog park, but the stuff is still there. Anyway. Since it is so close to my house we used to be able to see it from the back room windows. Then the little house behind it was torn down, which gave us an even better view to my mom’s delight who loved being able to check up on us from the kitchen if we were there, but shortly after the destruction a newer, bigger house was built. So big, in fact, that our view was obscured completely. My mom was not happy about this change. I wasn’t either. The new house isn’t even beautiful or adding anything to the neighborhood. It is a modern development with a higher class family and a small yippy dog.

The second change to my environment is again related to modern homes being built. When I was growing up our elementary school was a few short blocks away that we could easily walk or scooter over. After completing fourth grade, however, they tore it down. I was forced to abandon my small scale homey school I’d known my entire life and transfer to an elementary school we had to drive to and be submerged with my class as well as a whole other class from another school being torn down. Not only this, but after tearing down my school all that has replaced it has been more ugly, modern looking houses that add nothing to the old beauty of the neighborhood. This school was like home to many, and not only did it provide that small school safety, but it was also home to two playgrounds and a large span of grassy field and trees galore. Now all of that has been run and paved over. All that stands in the space where my childhood lies now are houses, driveways, and loss.

I was most struck by how very deliberate and ordered David Kline’s life appears to be. I am far from accustomed to farm life, I kind of just figured it was messy and left it at that. I’d actually been slightly embarrassed to realize how little I knew of farming and raising livestock, let alone the Amish lifestyle, despite living in such close proximity. But I was pleased to see that David Kline’s explanations of how his farm works in person were very familiar for their similarity to the ones he used in his book. I’d been taken by how careful and specific the descriptions of farm life were, dotted with curious rules passed down like a kind of gospel born of experience. Do not tap trees below a specific measurement, trees may only ever have up to four taps. Cows milk for about nine or ten months of the year, and hens produce eggs about six months of being born. This seasonal living is so foreign to what I’m familiar with, but I can see that there’s satisfaction in such living by such rules. There’s calm in the order of it all.

I was also surprised by how specific everything was. Despite the tendency of urban portrayals to the contrary, life on a farm requires a massive amount of careful calculation and measurement. The amount of everything produced must be carefully considered and weighed against what is sold at what price, and what is kept. The woodwork in his home was very interesting and well done as well, and it was strange to think his family had taken the measurements and built it by themselves. I’ve done enough woodworking to know how much care it can take. Rural life requires a self-sufficiency unthought of in the city, and it’s strange, but I can see the appeal.

Additionally, I was very startled by the sudden offer of a kitten. They were everywhere and very charming; one the size of my palm stood on my boots and mewed plaintively for attention, purring with all the power in its tiny soft body. I wonder if David Kline would mind an encore visit so that I might secure a kitten for my own.