By Joann M. Ringelstetter
One of the goals of our trip to Ohio this year was to spend a day in Amish country, so on the eighth day of the trip, we did just that. We had arrived in the area the evening before and drove around a bit before checking into our motel. Just outside of the town where we were going to stay, we saw a sign for an Amish bakery, so we made a mental note to stop there for breakfast.
The next morning, we headed out at dawn, stopping in a small town nearby to photograph an old mill building, and then out into the country where we photographed a country church and cemetery, some Amish and Mennonite farms, and some llamas at an area llama farm. At the llama farm, which was located at a crossroads, a car pulled up and the woman driving asked for directions. Ruth looked at the Ohio gazetteer and we pointed her in the right direction and then discussed that she must have been a Mennonite because she was driving a car rather than a horse and buggy.
Just down the road from the llama farm, we saw a beautiful farm and stopped along the gravel road to take a few pictures. As I set up my tripod, an old Amish gentleman in a buckboard wagon pulled up beside us. We talked for a few minutes and then I told him that I needed him to educate me. He said that he would try. So I asked him how to tell the difference between the Amish and the Mennonites.
He agreed that the woman driving the car was likely a Mennonite. And he explained that you could tell a Mennonite farm from an Amish farm by whether or not there was electricity running to the farm. I told him that I had assumed the farm in front of us was Mennonite and he confirmed that it was. It wasn’t easy to see, but there was a utility pole and there wasn’t a windmill for power like you see on Amish farms.
Then I asked if you could tell by the way people dressed and he said that it was more difficult to distinguish between the two. He told me that both the Amish and the Mennonites wear plain colors rather than patterns, but that the Mennonites wear more pastel colors than the Amish, who typically wear darker colors. But he also cautioned me that some of the Amish were beginning to wear lighter colors, so it might be hard to tell.
By this time, it was around 8:30 a.m., and we had been photographing since 5:30 a.m., so we were getting rather hungry. I asked him if he could direct us to the Amish bakery. His eyes lit up and he told me that they had huge cream sticks and they were the best in the area. I told him to have a wonderful day and he and his horse headed up the road.
As is typical for us, we stopped to photograph more Amish farms and buggies on our way to the bakery.
It was 10:00 a.m. before we finally arrived at the bakery. Everything looked and smelled so good. We considered the cream sticks and the fry pies, but settled on a doughnut and a cinnamon roll. They were both delicious. As we were leaving the bakery, we photographed what we thought was an outhouse. Later we discovered that it is actually an Amish telephone booth.
We had worked so hard the first seven days of the trip that this day in the slower paced Amish country was a welcome change and very relaxing. Speaking of a change of pace, we have decided to change the pace of our blog posts going forward. We have been writing these detailed blogs every week for three years, which has required an extreme amount of time, dedication, and discipline.
We have some other goals for our photography business to which we haven’t been able to devote any time. Therefore, these detailed blog posts that often require extensive research will be featured every other week. On the opposite weeks, we may or may not post. If we do, they will be shorter posts about photos that don’t require as much time and effort. We value our readers, so we hope you’ll understand and that you’ll keep reading our stories.
Stay tuned and Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label phone booths. Show all posts
Showing posts with label phone booths. Show all posts
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Into a Nearby Phone Booth
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Today, with the rapid advancement of phone technology and a cell phone in almost everyone’s pocket or purse, the need for public telephones has diminished to the point of no return. Soon, public telephone booths will be only a distant memory for those of us who grew up with them.
When Ruth and I travel to the small towns of rural America, we are occasionally delighted to stumble upon an old phone booth. I think our fascination with these iconic symbols of a simpler time started when we discovered an old phone booth in a small town in western Wisconsin. As we came through this small town and were heading out the other side, we noticed the old phone booth, which was sitting up against the side of a very small local phone company building. It was old and rusty, but it still had a working phone and a phone book inside.
I set up my tripod to take some shots and, as I did so, a couple in a vintage convertible motored past slowly and then stopped. The man backed the car up next to our car and said, “Oh, my gosh, I’ve been through here a number of times and I’ve never noticed that old phone booth before.” We chatted for a while and, after they left, Ruth and I discussed how great it was that a vintage car from several decades ago pulled up next to this vintage phone booth, which was also from several decades ago. We passed through this area a couple years later and the phone booth was still there, but there was no longer a phone in it. And, to our great disappointment, the last time we came through, the only sign of this wonderful old phone booth was a mossy outline in the shape of a phone booth on the side of the building where it used to stand.
In the fall of 2009 while visiting a restored filling station in Minnesota, the owner, Ernie, showed me a 1930s wooden phone booth that he had lovingly restored. This phone booth used to be located inside the local post office, but was now proudly displayed inside the restored gas station. And inside the wooden phone booth was an old-fashioned hand-crank telephone.
“Do you want to see our phone book?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, wondering what he was up to as he pulled a piece of paper off the wall.
“Here it is,” he said, handing it to me.
I looked at it and was puzzled by what I saw. It was a list of names, all right, but there were no phone numbers. Instead, each name was followed by a set of dashes.
“I don’t get it,” I responded. Ernie pointed to the dashes, some of which were longer than others.
“These are long cranks and short cranks,” he said. “That’s what people used before phone numbers came into existence.”
Amazingly, he told me that the phone was hooked up to the local phone system and he could actually use it to call anyone in town.
A few years ago, in the midst of a day of birding for one of the Christmas Bird Counts in central Wisconsin, Ruth and I discovered an old phone booth in a tiny town that was in the center of our assigned block. Since it was cold and snowing and we needed to concentrate on the bird count, we decided we would come back in better weather to capture this old phone booth. About ten months passed before we managed to return to complete this mission, but when we did finally get there, the phone booth was still there with a crumpled, dog-eared phone book and a very old phone that still worked.
In 2009 on an autumn visit to northeastern Wisconsin, we visited a restored filling station that had an old phone booth sitting against the station on the outside. There were many things to look at and photograph, so I was deep in thought as I approached the old phone booth. The first thought I had was to check if there was still a phone inside. So I walked up to the booth, cupped my hands around my eyes to block the light, and began to peer through the glass of the doors.
Well, to my surprise, or rather startlement, someone was sitting on the little bench seat in the old phone booth. I must have jumped a foot because I was hoping to find an old phone, not a person looking back at me. As I regained my composure, I realized that it was a mannequin and all I could do was catch my breath and laugh right out loud.
Next time you’re passing through a small rural town, keep your eyes open and you might just catch a nostalgic glimpse of an old phone booth.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Today, with the rapid advancement of phone technology and a cell phone in almost everyone’s pocket or purse, the need for public telephones has diminished to the point of no return. Soon, public telephone booths will be only a distant memory for those of us who grew up with them.
When Ruth and I travel to the small towns of rural America, we are occasionally delighted to stumble upon an old phone booth. I think our fascination with these iconic symbols of a simpler time started when we discovered an old phone booth in a small town in western Wisconsin. As we came through this small town and were heading out the other side, we noticed the old phone booth, which was sitting up against the side of a very small local phone company building. It was old and rusty, but it still had a working phone and a phone book inside.
I set up my tripod to take some shots and, as I did so, a couple in a vintage convertible motored past slowly and then stopped. The man backed the car up next to our car and said, “Oh, my gosh, I’ve been through here a number of times and I’ve never noticed that old phone booth before.” We chatted for a while and, after they left, Ruth and I discussed how great it was that a vintage car from several decades ago pulled up next to this vintage phone booth, which was also from several decades ago. We passed through this area a couple years later and the phone booth was still there, but there was no longer a phone in it. And, to our great disappointment, the last time we came through, the only sign of this wonderful old phone booth was a mossy outline in the shape of a phone booth on the side of the building where it used to stand.
In the fall of 2009 while visiting a restored filling station in Minnesota, the owner, Ernie, showed me a 1930s wooden phone booth that he had lovingly restored. This phone booth used to be located inside the local post office, but was now proudly displayed inside the restored gas station. And inside the wooden phone booth was an old-fashioned hand-crank telephone.
“Do you want to see our phone book?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, wondering what he was up to as he pulled a piece of paper off the wall.
“Here it is,” he said, handing it to me.
I looked at it and was puzzled by what I saw. It was a list of names, all right, but there were no phone numbers. Instead, each name was followed by a set of dashes.
“I don’t get it,” I responded. Ernie pointed to the dashes, some of which were longer than others.
“These are long cranks and short cranks,” he said. “That’s what people used before phone numbers came into existence.”
Amazingly, he told me that the phone was hooked up to the local phone system and he could actually use it to call anyone in town.
A few years ago, in the midst of a day of birding for one of the Christmas Bird Counts in central Wisconsin, Ruth and I discovered an old phone booth in a tiny town that was in the center of our assigned block. Since it was cold and snowing and we needed to concentrate on the bird count, we decided we would come back in better weather to capture this old phone booth. About ten months passed before we managed to return to complete this mission, but when we did finally get there, the phone booth was still there with a crumpled, dog-eared phone book and a very old phone that still worked.
In 2009 on an autumn visit to northeastern Wisconsin, we visited a restored filling station that had an old phone booth sitting against the station on the outside. There were many things to look at and photograph, so I was deep in thought as I approached the old phone booth. The first thought I had was to check if there was still a phone inside. So I walked up to the booth, cupped my hands around my eyes to block the light, and began to peer through the glass of the doors.
Well, to my surprise, or rather startlement, someone was sitting on the little bench seat in the old phone booth. I must have jumped a foot because I was hoping to find an old phone, not a person looking back at me. As I regained my composure, I realized that it was a mannequin and all I could do was catch my breath and laugh right out loud.
Next time you’re passing through a small rural town, keep your eyes open and you might just catch a nostalgic glimpse of an old phone booth.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)