As I headed back down into the land of the Amish, my thoughts wandered to Yost.
When I picked up our new spring lambs, ten days prior, I had noticed one of the older Amish boys appeared to be limping.
His father, Levi, had commented in his letter about his son having to go back to Ann Arbor. I put 2 & 2 together and came up with Yost.
Yost is a young Amish boy on the cusp of his teenage years. He lost his mother to cancer, only to have it rear its ugly head and attack him with equal vigor. That was years ago, as a younger boy. Now, it has returned to make him show his strength again, in another battle, at age 13.
Cancer wasn’t ready to let go of Yost just yet.
I had a chance to talk to Yost the week before while in the barn, and then loading up the lambs. I told him not to be frightened, that the doctors and nurses would take good care of him at the hospital in Ann Arbor. As I turned away from his kind stare, I hoped he didn’t notice the look in my eyes or the tears that were welling up. Just to cover, I made a comment about how allergies had been somewhat bothersome this summer, especially around the fresh hay.
I also wondered about the medical bills. The Amish do not have health insurance or accept Medicaid or Medicare, although they pay into the latter should they work in a cheese factory or some other “worldly” place of business. The Amish take care of their own. 1 Timothy 5:8.
Yost ended up having surgery in Ann Arbor two days after I picked up the lambs. And now, when I pulled up ten days later, along with my friend Amy, we noticed Yost sitting on the porch.
I froze. Why wasn’t he out in the field like the other boys?
He was sitting in the corner of a wrap-around porch, in the shade. I immediately looked at his legs for evidence of the surgery outcome. His one leg was perched on a step stool of sorts. He looked over and smiled a shy teenage boy smile.
Upon walking up to Yost, my mind flashed to today’s youth. If a boy were sitting on a porch, he would most likely have an Ipod cord dangling from an ear or two and his fingers would be texting or playing a computerized game.
Yost? He sat, in his dark blue broadcloth pants and light blue shirt, drenched with the day’s sweat, as he systematically removed the tops off beautiful, full, bright red strawberries from a big metal bowl situated on his lap.
Normally you would find him in the field, putting up hay. Now, recovering, he is doing house work with the women.
His eyes lit up as he recognized me from my previous visit the week before to get our lambs. He inquired about them.
We talked about the lambs. I told him we were getting them used to the “wolf’s howl each evening”, which in truth are our sled dogs. But the sheep don’t know that…
Yost wanted to hear all about the sled dogs. He knew about their ability to pull, and lit up when talking about taking a team out on a snowy day.
Amy and I visited with Mary, Yost’s step-mother (who previously went by aunt, until his mother died and his father remarried). Mary explained that Yost fought cancer before, and chemotherapy made him very ill. He wasn’t looking forward to the new treatments he must face, but the cancer has returned.
As we pulled out of the driveway, laden with homemade Amish goodies, warm pizza bread right from the oven, blueberry jams, applesauce, pickles and such, we waved goodbye to Yost, who was still on the porch, now joined by his younger brothers and sisters.
I had brought goodies to Yost that day, knowing he was recuperating from his surgery. I thought he might like some grape licorice and sugary orange peanuts (Circus Peanuts) ~ the kind you find at the checkout at Jay’s Sporting Goods. I had told him to share with his brothers and sisters. Obviously, his mother had made sure of that by informing the other children about his new stash. The Amish, young and old alike, love their sugar.
Amy and I both looked at each other as we began our trek home, down the dirt road. We made a pledge to come back this winter, with 4 of our Siberians loaded in her back seat, dog sled firmly secured on the roof, and give Yost a treat.
A ride down their isolated road on the back of a dog sled.
A simple pleasure even the Amish would appreciate.
Until tomorrow ~ pondering Yost’s fate ~ God willing and God knowing,
Woodswoman
