Close Encounters

Are you acquainted with Hutterites?  They’re a peaceable, industrious, German speaking, folk who live in communes, are partial to polka dots, put an interesting spin on bangs and disprove the black is so slimming theory once and for all.  They are the largest land owners in the prairie provinces.  Periodically their designated “Egg Man” will go on to the big colony in the sky and wheelbarrows full of non-taxed money will be found under his mattress.  (Or possibly that’s a rural legend.)

When I was a child we had Hutterites working on our farm.  I fondly remember three brothers - Pete, Mike and Gabby.  Although maybe Gabby was Mike’s nickname.  It’s kind of hazy now.  But I do recall  some specific Hutterite encounters vividly.

1) Young Entrepeneur:  This was my first foray into the world of commerce.  No lemonade stand for me.  I lived on a farm, remember?  Adorable, dimpled me would plant a peck on their cheek and they would give me a nickel.  And I would put it in the beautiful handtooled leather purse emblazoned with my name, that they made for me.  This would have made a dramatic backstory for my best selling memoir if I had grown up to be a hooker, (“it all began in a bunkhouse, selling kisses to Hutterites when I was five”) but alas I did not.  That, and the loss of that lovely little purse are equally regrettable.

2) Nightmarish Nuptials:  My sister and I attended a wedding at a Hutterite colony with my grandparents when we were very young – like five and three.  It was horrid.  We were terrorized by some mean girls. Girls in the Hutte.   First they kept lifting up our dresses, presumably to confirm the underwear situation.  (Not the only time I would encounter this Hutterite undergarment preoccupation as it turned out.)   And the truly terrifying part - they chased us with repulsive quasi-adolescent ducks.  You know that uber creepy stage when they have morphed from yellow balls of fluff to frightening mottled mutants sporting random feathers?  It was a hellish afternoon.  Perfect setting for Stephen King.  (I heart Stevie btw)

3) Bucking Bronc:  One evening when Pete came up to the house to watch Hockey Night in Canada with my grandfather, I put on a pre game show.  It consisted of me lying on the floor while very energetically bouncing my sister Lisa on my stomach – sort of like a maniacal horsey ride, bucking her higher and harder, proving what a tough kid I was, when it came to a very bad end and Flicka farted.  Above the aftershock I could hear Grandpa and Pete laughing.   It was beyond mortifying.   And I am not sure I sold any more kisses after that, now that I think about it.

4) Prank a phones:  Years later, as pre-teens, Lisa and I would phone the colony and ask for Rachel.  There were lots of Rachels there and it caused a satisfactory amount of confusion.  Our other ploy was if a male answered, to say in a weird nasal drawl “Hel-lo you lus-cious bug-ger.”  Don’t ask.  I have no clue.  Some people’s kids.

4) Farm Fresh:  One bright summer day not so long ago, I mistook the confirmation from my husband, that my white cotton dress was not see through, as truth, and sashayed off to the Farmer’s Market.  Sure I received some strange looks, particulary from those walking towards me as I headed, backlit from the sun, towards them.  But I really didn’t think much of it.  And what little I did think involved probable admiration for my sporty little Miata, even though I wasn’t actually driving at the time.  Obviously they saw me pull up. (hey you have your delusions, I have plenty for all.)  Then as I walked past one booth, a pie peddling Hutterite actually said to me, “I like your figure.”  Either he imagined there surely had to be a considerable number of pies involved in the making of those rippled thighs, or else in the colony, my child birthin’ sized hips would make me a hottie. 

If I visit a colony I’ll report back.

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