About a decade ago, I was driving across the Midwest to get to a family gathering. I had my first son, Jonah, with me. He was five at the time and “a precocious little scamp.” His mom had to work and miss the reunion, and she really wouldn’t have gone even if she didn’t have a work conflict.

I have two cousins who really get on her nerves because one won’t shut up about religion (his is the right one, naturally), and the other won’t shut up about politics (his political views being 100% correct, of course). Me, I just find opinionated people amusing.

We were in the middle of Indiana around late afternoon when it was time to stop for gas, take a piss, and stock up on overpriced junk food. Jonah was a good traveler so long as he got to pick where we stopped for meals and so long as he got his treats at the truck stop.

If you cross the Midwest, you’ll run into Amish and Mennonites from time to time. Given the large distances, a lot of them have pickup trucks instead of horses and buggies. Some sects entirely shun technology, but most make odd accommodations with it.

There was a well-worn pickup at the grocery store next to the truck stop. As I exited the truck stop with Jonah in tow, I saw a woman leave the grocery store with a cart full of groceries and two daughters by her side. They kept their faces downcast and they wore all-concealing dresses, but they really stood out because of their bonnets. They looked like something off of a margarine label, I suppose.

Anyhow, as they headed towards their truck, a red sports car zipped across the parking lot and carelessly sideswiped the cart, tossing its contents onto the hot asphalt. The woman and her girls looked startled and stunned at almost having been run over. The car whipped into a parking place, and a pair of idiot teenagers jumped out, laughing to themselves for no good reason.

I picked up Jonah and hurried over to the overturned cart and began helping the three gather up their food. I said nothing, trying not to share my especially unkind thoughts about the assholes who’d just gone into the store. Jonah liked to be helpful, so he began gathering cans and handing them with great pride to the girls. His big smile changed their mood, and we quietly got everything into the pickup.

Once everything was secure, I took Jonah by the hand and turned to go back to my car and continue on my way. I had quite a few hours of driving ahead of me. Softly, a voice said, “Thank you.”

I looked over my shoulder and said, “You’re welcome. I’m sorry that there are so many jerks in the world.”

She spoke up. “No, most people are good.” She paused. “You are good.”

“Nah,” I replied, “I just want to set an example for Jonah.”

She smiled, and I finally looked at her face. She had a strong Teutonic face and a gentle smile. “Jonah is a good name. I am Anna, and these,” she gestured to her girls, “are Rachel and Rebecca.”

“Eric Waters,” I said with (oddly enough) a little bow.

“Mister Waters, I would like to offer dinner to you and little Jonah.”

“No, thank you very much, but we have a long drive ahead of us. It’s very kind of you to offer, though.”

“Surely you will need to eat supper. We aren’t that far away. Please, I insist.”

Jonah was flirting with the girls. They looked to be in their early teens, and if I’d caught their names correctly, Rachel was a year or so older than Rebecca.

I sighed dramatically. “You’ve twisted my arm. We’ll follow you.”

Anna smiled at me like something out of a 19th-century painting and climbed up into her truck. Jonah and I went back to our car and followed her about ten miles to a dirt road, and another two miles down the dusty route. Her farmhouse was plain but solid, and I could see horses in a paddock.

Jonah and I got out, and he immediately ran over to the horses. They were large working horses, Belgians, I think, and they were impressive. Rebecca followed us, while Rachel and Anna took food into the house.

Rebecca introduced us to the horses, though their names escape me today. She held up Jonah and let him rub the horses’ noses. He was in heaven, being a city boy. I said to Rebecca, “Your parents have a lovely farm.”

In even tones, she replied, “My father is dead. This is my mother’s farm.”

I wasn’t sure how to correct my faux pas, so I said nothing. After about half an hour, Rebecca led us to the house. Even before we entered, I could smell a wonderful farm dinner being prepared. I took off my shoes and had Jonah do the same, since we’d discovered some animal poop the hard way.

Anna had put on an apron and taken off her hat, and I could now size her up. She seemed to have an average build, though it was hard to tell with her heavy black dress. Her hair was very long and tied up behind her head in a utilitarian manner to keep it out of the way while she was cooking.

Her face was strong and lovely. Her teeth were a bit crooked, and her nose was a tad large, but she had a natural beauty that women often spend a fortune to mimic. Her girls were like two younger, idealized versions of her. Their straight blonde hair framed perfect faces.

I’ve never cooked on a wood-fire stove, but I can’t imagine that I could fix dinner on one in less than a week. Anna, though, had an amazing meal ready in an hour. The biscuits defied basic laws of physics, the chicken was beyond description, and the vegetables were so fresh that they must have been completely shocked to be eaten. I was asked to say a blessing before we ate, and I respectfully improvised something based on my childhood recollections.