by Jim Snyder

Created on: November 04, 2009   Last Updated: November 06, 2009

This is farmland Ohio, and not just any farmland, this is Swartzentruber Amish farmland, which is your most basic model of Amish. Do not confuse them with the Disney Amish striking it rich with the tourist amusement trade. We're surrounded by these farms with their many sights and sounds, including oinking, lowing, and the crowing of the proverbial morning rooster. There is also a hatchery just up the road, so we are not unaccustomed to foul aromas. But from the tail end of June comes a certain smell that hangs over the land and forces its way into every nostril that dares to breathe.

They call it 'manure,' just as they call cow meat 'beef' and pig meat 'pork.' To paraphrase the obvious: sh*t, by any other name, still smells like sh*t. You sort of mostly get used to it after a couple of days, and then it dissipates enough that it is no longer an issue. Either that or your brain can't stand the stimuli for one second longer and starts shutting down synaptic operations and laying off neurons in the olfactory.

They bring this "fertilizer" in these trucks with oversized tires that make it a bit of a challenge to pass them on the country roads out here. They don't look dissimilar to the trucks that go about the countryside collecting milk from various farms, but I'll leave the esophageal/sphincteral/circle of natural metaphors to the reader. Also, the drivers seem to have been trained to drive at inconsistent speeds, making it devilishly difficult to maintain a dignified distance from the bouncy rear end of the truck. This way you are always afforded a good look at the unmanageable waste clinging to the sides, back, top, and bottom of the truck. And, being matter, it does adhere to certain physical laws that insist that "not all of the crap sticks to the truck all of the time, particularly at certain speeds and inertias" (me 1).

It's one thing to negotiate the horseshit mines the buggy horses leave behind, but that generally lays there in piles and has a more solid composition. This pureed shit, however, comes at you like something from the back of a James Bond car, splattering the front end of your car, getting all up in your grille and onto your windshield. Trust me, even the most durable wipers and fluid are not designed for this type of grunt work.

I was recovering from open heart surgery, and had been home only a couple of days before the shit trucks hit the fields. We were returning from the grocery and got behind one of these monstrosities. Having just shopped for food had made me hungrier than I had been since before the surgery, but now the sun-baked shit stink rather killed that. Even offal wouldn't have been as awful. (And yes the puns in here stink, but isn't that the material point?)

That first evening after the sh*t went down, was a beautiful looking one. Just before sunset, we looked out of our pleasant smelling air conditioned house and saw a wondrous sight. Seemingly thousands of lightning bugs or fireflies were flitting and hovering above the fields as far as we could see, flashing their luminescent green beacons d'amour. I'd never seen anything like it. I don't know if it had anything to do with the freshly fertilized fields, but honestly, I can't recall a more enchanting experience.

We went out on the back porch to get a better view, and as I pondered the sheer magnificence of these thousands of fairy like creatures blinking about the land in hopes of finding that certain someone among all these seemingly endless translucent flashes, one thing occurred to me. And I thought to myself, "My God it stinks out here."

Learn more about this author, Jim Snyder.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.