Sunday Support Group: My County 'Tis of Thee

The county where I live, Yates County, New York, is more unusual and interesting than I gave it credit for at first. We are the third least-populous county in the State, but the largest wine-growing county in the United States outside of California, with more vineyards than any other New York county. Although landlocked, the county has a large amount of shoreline—no resource seems to be able to tell me how many miles exactly—on three lakes, Keuka, Canandaigua, and Seneca.

How many waterfalls do we have? You know I have one in my backyard. Like the islands of the Philippines, which are hard to count because some of them appear and disappear with the tides and the seasons*, many of our waterfalls come and go, materializing after heavy rains and disappearing in dry times. So the county has uncountable waterfalls.

Nationalists, I suppose, might say we have an immigrant language problem—but it's not Spanish, spoken in the home by 1.5% of the population, it's German (and Pennsylvania German and Dutch), spoken in the home by 5.5% of the population**. They're Wenger Old-Order Mennonites, and they've been in the U.S. for hundreds of years, although most in Yates County have been here no longer than 50 years, having come by way of Lancaster County in Pennsylvania starting in the 1970s.

I originally thought little Mennonite kids were shy, but it's more likely they didn't understand me—they don't begin to learn English until they're around five, I've been told. Tidy and thriving Mennonite farms dot the county, and their horse-drawn buggies and bicycles (in any sort of weather), are a common sight on the roads. There are two telltales of an Amish or Mennonite farmstead: washing out on the line to dry, or no cars to be seen.

I'd love to do a project on the Mennonites, but they don't like having their pictures taken. I'm more concerned with being respectful of people's wishes than I am about getting pictures. I'm sure if it were a certain photojournalist I know, I'd make a forthright appeal to the ruling body of elders, talk a good case, and in no time flat come away with blanket permission to photograph everybody in the congregation, and then in another month be friendly with 20 families around the county and before you know it have 30,000 exposures in the can. But he's him and I'm me, and you know what they say: Oh well. 

One of my first experiences as a wannabe photojournalist was photographing a Vietnamese refugee camp in France. The photographer I was with went around amiably snapping pictures everywhere, but multiple people requested we not take pictures. When we went ahead anyway, some responded with hostility or disapproval, and others would hide their faces, or their children's faces, if they saw the camera pointed at them. It was highly uncomfortable for me. I couldn't do it. After trying for a while in a decidedly half-hearted way, I put the camera away.

As with many things, you're kinda stuck with who you are. (I've always felt that most photographers gravitate to subject matter that's comfortable for them to shoot given their individual personality and psychology. Not everybody can shoot everything.)

I went to town early this morning and saw three Mennonite women all dressed up in their good go-to-meeting clothes, dark blue full-length dresses and bonnets, on bicycles. They were pedaling determinedly between one stoplight and another, side by side, with a car in front of them and a truck behind. From where I sat in my little sedan, going the other way, I was looking up at them as they approached, so my viewpoint made them look slightly imposing, in the way that a lower viewpoint when taking a portrait is meant to make the subject heroic.

It was quite a picturesque sight; but the picture got away.

Mike

*The number is somewhere between 7,107 and 7,641.

**Of course it's not actually a problem, and neither is Spanish. As with all non-English speaking immigrants throughout our history, older newcomers tend to keep speaking the language of their youth, whether it be Russian, Yiddish, German, Spanish, Polish, Mandarin or whatever, but their children born here speak English, whether they also speak their parents' and grandparents' language or not.

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(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:

Rob de Loe: "Thanks for an enjoyable Sunday read with no fewer than two good personal connections. First, I work in a part of southern Ontario (Waterloo region) where there's a strong Mennonite population with deep roots, so I know of what you speak. My 'tell' for the Mennonite farms is the absence of power lines. Another quirk is local shopping plazas that have sheds for horses; people from out of town have a hard time getting their heads around the concept, but hey, everyone needs groceries. For a second personal connection to your post, I've been working on a project about ephemeral and intermittent streams, and just finished a shot of a tiny intermittent waterfall. It only forms when we've had a major rainstorm that fires up the otherwise dry creek."

Chuck Holst: "Few people think of Lawrence Welk when they think of immigrants—and he wasn't one—but Welk grew up in a German-speaking community in western North Dakota and didn't learn to speak English until he was in school. My father's baptismal certificate is in German, though he never learned to speak it, but his grandfather's gravestone is entirely in German, and therein lies a tale: When my cousin Tim and I were looking for our great-grandfather's grave, all he knew was that it was in Zion Lutheran Cemetery in northeastern South Dakota. He found a Zion Lutheran Cemetery on the map, but we were unable to find any Holsts there. A young woman and her grandmother came by and asked if they could help. We explained what we were looking for, and the grandmother's reply was, 'Why are you looking for a German in a Norwegian Cemetery?' She gave us enough information, though, that we eventually found what we were looking for."

Dogman: "During the Mariel Boatlift of 1980, I was sent to do photos at an Arkansas camp where a large number of the Cuban refugees were being housed. I accompanied several reporters and we spent about four days at the camp. When we arrived there was a bus leaving to take media into the men's section of the camp almost immediately as we walked in. I jumped at the chance to get on the bus but all the reporters wanted to wait until after being briefed. That was probably the wise thing to do for the stories but by getting started with photographing early on I managed to get some pictures that I would not have been allowed to take if I had waited. Oddly enough I didn't have a chaperone to guide me around, I wandered around on my own—probably not the safest thing to do at the time since these folks had not been screened and there were a few guys with questionable histories present.

"I was surprised that most of the people were open to being photographed. There was a language barrier but with a gesture I could ask if it was okay to take pictures. A questioning look would usually get a nod in return. Sometimes someone would shake his head or walk away. That was okay...I had no intention of forcing myself on them. In large groups, I simply pointed the camera and started shooting but gave the subjects time to move away if they wanted to. I also smoked at the time and I handed out cigarettes until my pack was empty. That probably won me favor as much as anything. It was certainly an uncomfortable situation, not being able to communicate and trying to do the job while also trying to respect the subject's wishes. I think the men there recognized that I was trying to accommodate them and that's why it worked out well in the end. That and having cigarettes."

Ger Lawlor: "According to CalcMaps, I reckon (roughly) that you have around 65 miles of coastline! Regards."

Tom Burke: "I remember reading somewhere that at the turn of the 20th century, German-Americans (i.e. non-Mennonite/Amish) were as prominent In the country as Irish-, Italian- and Scandinavian-Americans—there had been significant immigration of ‘German’ people during the 19th century. Many of them were skilled, too (I gather)—they weren’t unskilled agricultural labourers. Amongst other aspects of this immigrant culture, there was an area of Manhattan known as Little Germany. I also read that in the early part of the First World War, the German-Americans supposedly pushed for US intervention on the side of Germany.

I suppose that two wars in which Germany was the enemy persuaded the German-Americans to lose that tag; I don’t think I’ve heard any present-day American referred to as German-American. Can anyone comment as to whether all the above is correct?

Mike replies: Absolutely, as far as I know. I believe Americans of mainly German descent are the largest U.S. ethnic group. The top four in 1776 were as follows: English, Irish, German, then Blacks of all nationalities; and now it's German, Irish, English, and Blacks of all nationalities.

Milwaukee in particular (where I grew up)—there's a great historian of the city named John Gurda. According to him, there were so many German immigrants in Milwaukee that German was the official first language of Milwaukee public schools until 1922, meaning all the way through WWI. The World Wars put a serious damper on Milwaukee's German identity and German pride, but there's a strong German element there still. Many of the kids I went to prep school with had German surnames.

I found this snippet of John Gurda talking about German Jews and other Germans in Milwaukee:

https://youtu.be/-8Cr7RpnITU?t=253

Here, they go on to dissect the Jewish communities of early Milwaukee. He's written a couple of dozen books and made many TV documentaries, and I'm sure he's discussed German immigration in more depth elsewhere.

Tom, I think you would particularly enjoy a great book called American Nations by Colin Woodard. (It was recommended to me by a TOP reader.) He generalizes a bit to make his points, and the reality is no doubt less clean than his theories, but it's fascinating stuff, and it sure answered some persistent questions I've always had about my own country. He's particularly good on the competing visions of what it means to be American and what "American values" are. Again, his explanations are generalized, but he goes a long way toward explaining in part why we have such trouble seeing eye to eye.

Comments

[hugh crawford]

Well, English used to be the immigrant language in America.

Oh look, it's only a half-hour drive from Italy to Dresden.

[Kye Wood]

Wow. You lucky duck. You know exactly where and what the perfect project for you is. It's right there. You're a portrait guy. And you know you'd love this gig, right?

Mike. People can sense someones intention. You've got a pure intention. They'd give you a green light. You just have to be brave enough to give yourself a little teeny weeny push. Just a gentle push. The powers that be will sense where your heart is, if you just have a go.

Our prime minister (who's a bit of a... well, he's on the Cretin Spectrum, let me put it that way) often says, "If you have a go, you'l get a go". And for the first time in history, here, for you, he's dead right. Have a go Mike.

[Timothy Auger]

Just looked at Yates County on Google Maps - and on satellite view. Not Many People! It looks idyllic. Personally I get agitated if I can't hear a passing taxi in the distance, either in Singapore or London. But there is a side of me that can appreciate the photo-opportunities that living among green leaves can bring. I guess the important thing is to get on well with your neighbours.

[Hey, our metropolis has taxis. I think at least one of them. Could be two.

Plus, the Mennonites hire drivers to take them places—there are guys who make their living ferrying Mennonites around in vans or to make deliveries. Personally I think it's kinda ironic that because Mennonites can't use cars, they end up getting chauffeured. --Mike]

[Gerard Geradts]

When we travelled in Canada, we often met people, just for a chat or to ask directions. Many times, the first reaction was: “Are you Dutch?”
People recognised our accent, their parents or grandparents seem to talk english the way we did.

That brings me to a short conversation, during same holiday, I had with a very old man. His age was 95, after he’d asked where we came from, he said that he and is brothers were in the army during operation Market Garden (Arnhem). He said his brother was killed then and there and was buried in the war cemetery of Oosterbeek. When I returned home, I went to visit that cemetery. To this day I have regrets for not asking the name and surname of his brother. That would have made a difference. These cemeteries are very serene places and are well kept by volunteers. All in all this was a moving experience for me, meeting some of those man in person to whom we owe so much. The short talk with him and the visit, both were.
Glad that I took a picture of Jimmy, after asking for permission of course.
The sad thing was, that after we parted, we met again some blocks further and maybe 15 minutes later. After my greeting him, the poor man didn’t recognise me. He looked very puzzled when I told him about his and his brothers story. I felt so sorry for him.

[Ned Bunnell]

Mike,

While not in your county, the map brought back fond memories of what a lovely area you live in. For three years (‘68-‘70) I attended the Formula One U.S. Grand Prix in Watkins Glen.

Awhile ago, I scanned quite a few of my slides from the races. Here’s one from ‘69. It reminded me just how simple racing was back then. No real barriers separating attendees from the track and unlimited access to the race pits.

https://flic.kr/p/2juFtYY

Watkins Glen is now a major automotive event center without its’ former charm. However, being a car guy, you could probably get some great photos there.

[Frank Petronio]

Mennonite teens often go Jack for a period of drinking and Hell-raising, unlike the Amish they use modern technology when it suits their purpose. Lots of crashed pick up trucks and rushed marriages are the net results.

One of the scariest things I've seen is a Mennonite women in an ankle-length dress using a weed wacker. Accident waiting to happen.

[Richard Parkin]

According to Wikipedia the Mennonites take their name from Menno Simens a native of West Frisia so he possibly spoke English as near as dammit, West Frisian being the nearest sister language to English and almost mutually intelligible :-) .

"Bread, butter and green cheese is good English and good Fries", which sounds not very different from "Brea, bûter en griene tsiis is goed Ingelsk en goed Frysk"
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_Frisian_language

[Tom Burke]

"Tom, I think you would particularly enjoy a great book called American Nations by Colin Woodard. (It was recommended to me by a TOP reader.) He generalizes a bit to make his points, and the reality is no doubt less clean than his theories, but it's fascinating stuff, and it sure answered some persistent questions I've always had about my own country."

Ordered.

I have read Joel Garreau's 'Nine Nations of North America', but that's now 30 years old. In any case, that's a different split - more on way of life/economic factors (e.g. life on the plains as against life in the rustbelt, both including Canadians as well as Americans). I shall be interested to read the Woodard.

[Woodard gives credit to Garreau as the antecedent of his book. --Mike]