A day with the Amish in SE Ohio
This is part of a series we’re calling “Going Home” in which journalists from the USA TODAY Ohio network return to the communities where they grew up to share firsthand how the contentious 2020 election is playing out in various corners of this battleground state.
GALLIPOLIS – I thought I knew everything about where I grew up. Then I met a group of people who’ve taken over my family’s legacy – and the country road I grew up on here in the rolling hills of southeast Ohio.
My childhood home no longer has electricity, but people live there. A thick Bible sits atop a wooden table in the family room, where my dad’s mammoth HDTV used to set. A horse named “Champ” grazes and poops next to where our pool used to be.
My parents’ defunct Directv satellite is still in the backyard, the lone sign that technology did exist in the house at one time.
What’s up with all the Amish in Gallia County?
I happened to ask former county Sheriff Dave Martin that question while hanging on the top deck of his majestic sternwheeler at the Gallipolis Boat Club on a September evening. As two young Amish men built new boat docks below, I was unprepared for Martin’s response.
“I wish they’d vote,” he said. “They love Trump.” I knew exactly where to start to learn about Amish culture and their affinity for President Trump – my old house.
An Amish family bought my parents’ 100-acre farm in February. It had been in the Williams family since 1963, when my grandfather moved his wife and six kids from West Virginia to start a dairy farm. This was my first visit back to the farm since my parents moved to South Carolina.
I don’t remember any Amish families living in Gallia County when I left home in 1993 for the University of Cincinnati. The Amish started moving down from Holmes and Wayne counties in the early 2000s, buying up a lot of land for cheap.
Now neighbors estimate there are about 90 Amish families who live in this county of 30,000 residents along the West Virginia border. They’ve particularly congregated on Cora Mill Road and nearby side roads. A dozen Amish families live within a few miles of our old farm.
Those roads where my buddies and I used to illegally ride our Honda four-wheelers are dotted with poop stains from all the horse-drawn buggies. After spending a day going up and down those roads talking to Amish families, I get why they like Trump.
Many of them are small business owners who believe they’ve reaped the benefits of Trump’s economic policies. If you’re only seeing Trump through that prism, it’s easy to understand the support.
These are Old Order Amish in Gallia County, the most conservative group in the faith. They don’t drive cars. They shun technology. Therefore, they don’t experience all the vitriol, angst and anger on the networks and social media about Trump and this election. They couldn’t care less what Trump is tweeting about.
And perhaps the Amish are better for it as the rest of us have a hard time escaping the Facebook squabbles and screaming pundits this election cycle.
“The best thing the Amish don’t have is a TV,” said Roy Miller, an Amish furniture maker.
The Amish aren’t fully oblivious to the election noise. They talk to “the English” at the produce market and Walmart. Some of them read the local daily newspaper. But what matters most, they say, is how their businesses are doing.
Paul Byler has run a produce stand and fertilizer shop since 2002. Allen Hostetler grows produce on my
family’s old farm and sells it each week at a local market. Eli Yoder builds custom deck chairs. Miller makes outdoor furniture. Others up the road make tarps for covering boats.
“We’ve had the best year we’ve ever had,” said Alma Byler, 20, who runs her father’s produce stand. “We don’t vote, but (Trump) does so much for his country.”
Miller said he’s having the best two-month run of business since he started the furniture business out of his barn 11 years ago.
“Ninety-nine-and-a-half percent of (Amish) I talk to like Trump,” said Paul Byler, a father of 10. “I know one guy who doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Byler, 47, added about Trump: “He’s original. American dream. Gets things done. We see Trump as more of a Godly man who’s for traditional American values.”
President Trump really wants the Amish vote. In an effort to cultivate a new voting group, Trump in December invited Amish business owners from Pennsylvania to the White House. It was reportedly the first time the Amish had ever met with a sitting president.
“Obama never did that,” said John Hostetler, standing on my old front porch. “We have to be concerned a little bit with what’s going on (in Washington). We are exempt from paying into Social Security if you work for yourself. They’ve kept their word. We try to keep ours.”
Some 350,000 Amish live in North America, and most of them are in Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana.
Trump is likely to win Ohio and Indiana. But Pennsylvania is ground zero for Trump’s uphill bid reelection, and Republicans are imploring the Amish there to go vote.
No one I talked to was aware of last month’s proTrump Amish buggie parade in Wayne County, three hours north. Parades aren’t their style here. Gallia County Amish aren’t firebrand, flag-waving Trump fans. They don’t have flags, yard signs and photographs, following the Bible’s guidance on avoiding false idols.
They don’t much care for meeting Trump, either. As for the Amish who visited the White House, Byler said, “they were more the liberal type. They’re New Order. When they get to drive cars, that’s liberal.”
The reason the Amish don’t vote is as simple as their lifestyle: They don’t expect anything from the government. It’s been that way for generations. The Amish pay income and property taxes. Everyone I talked to said they returned their coronavirus stimulus check.
Hostetler, 72, has voted one time in his life. It was on a local ballot initiative.
“If we don’t take any subsidies, then why should we vote?” Byler said. “We still pray for the president. Every day.”
Contact Enquirer political columnist Jason Williams by email at jwilliams@enquirer.com and on Twitter @jwilliamscincy.