Christmas – Roadkill Crossing

Birds of Vacation

One of several large ponds at the Celery Fields, Sarasota, Florida. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I love birding. It’s one of my favorite hobbies, mostly because you can bird anywhere, anytime, including on family vacations.

My wife and I recently spent a week with our daughter’s family in Sarasota, Florida. That area is a birding paradise, with many parks, beaches, wetlands, and preserves that offer birding hotspots.

I knew I had to be considerate of what the others wanted to do. With three young adults, the beach would be a priority. So, I planned my bird-watching times accordingly so I could also spend time with family.

Since I preferred to bird in the morning, none of the others in our group of seven wanted to go with me, and I had no issue with going alone. I was sure to meet other birders on my outings.

While the others sunned on the beach, I had my binoculars at hand to try to identify the gulls and shorebirds I encountered. Of course, I listened for and watched a few birds near the house we rented for the week.

The designated preserves and parks provided the best birding opportunities. I headed to the area’s best birding spot, the Celery Fields in Sarasota. The county-owned marshland got its name because 100 years ago, celery was actually cultivated in the 400+ acre plots.

Today, the Celery Fields are a multi-purpose property for residents and visitors in the Sarasota area. The Celery Fields serve as Sarasota County’s primary flood mitigation zone. The county recognized the importance of preserving wildlife habitat, and today has an Audoban Visitors Center run by a score of dedicated volunteers.

The different habitat areas of the Celery Fields.

With areas of wetlands, mudflats, canals, ponds, a wide variety of marshland vegetation, and treelines, the Celery Fields attract several species of birds and wildlife. It’s a birding magnet for people like me.

I visited the Celery Fields three times, aiming to see my spark birds, the gorgeous Painted Buntings, the social Sandhill Cranes, and the attractive Roseate Spoonbills. I got to see those and much more.

I also checked out two preserves along the coast near Bradenton. The first was small, and the other massive. Both had the kind of small trees, tropical vegetation, and wetlands that attract several species of birds.

However, rainfall in Florida has been far below normal, and many areas of wetlands have dried up, forcing birds and other wildlife into small pools of water.

Still, I was able to see and photograph several bird species, and other animals, like an alligator and a snake. I’ll share those encounters in a separate post.

The Celery Field

The Celery Fields afforded the best opportunities to see a variety of wildlife up close via boardwalks, levees, and stone paths.

The place had changed significantly since my last visit years ago. An Audoban Visitors Center had been built to provide visitors with information and maps of the many walking and birding paths.

Bird feeders were strategically placed near the center, attracting several species of birds for a closer look. This included a handsome pair of Painted Buntings.

Volunteer naturalists were also available to answer questions and explain what was being seen. Ponds, canals, trees, bushes, and natural plants provided excellent habitat and cover for the birds and wildlife.

Beaches

Since it was the holidays and the weather was sunny and warm, the beaches were crowded. Consequently, I only captured a few photos.

Please click on the photos to enlarge them.

The Preserves

I discovered the Ungarelli and Robinson Preserves after dropping off my oldest grandson at a golf course. Again, due to the lack of rain, the water levels at both places were very low, and some of the mudflats had hardened.

Still, bird species were plentiful, and the people I met were friendly and inquisitive about birds they saw but couldn’t identify. The binoculars dangling around my neck over my birding vest gave me away. It was a pleasure to help them learn about Rosate Spoonbills and Red-shouldered Hawks.

Like the Celery Fields, the Robinson Preserve was a multi-use facility. Kayakers, bikers, joggers, and dog walkers far outnumbered birders like me. That didn’t deter my enjoyment of the time spent there.

The highlight was discovering a large flock of American White Pelicans. I met a couple from Germany who equally enjoyed these fantastic birds. We watched as several pelicans flew into the flock, where many of them preened in the afternoon sunshine.

Blue-gray Gnatcatcher
Wood Stork
Osprey
Osprey
Turkey Vulture
Red-shouldered Hawk
White Ibis
American White Pelicans
Little Blue Heron
American White Pelicans
American White Pelicans preening
Observation tower
Kayakers
American White Pelicans
American White Pelicans

2025 in 12 Photos

We live in a crazy world that seems to grow crazier by the day. But we must not let the chaos get to us. We need to carry on as best we can. For me, photography is one outlet that shuts out the din of the world’s madness against itself.

I enjoy photographing the wonder all around me, the serendipitous joy that springs upon me. By capturing those affectionate moments, I can share them with others, including you.

Staying in the present moment allows me to see things that others might just pass by. Consequently, I took thousands of photos this year. My photos feature people, insects, birds, trees, mountains, flowers, sunsets, sunrises, boats, planes, and a sundry of other subjects.

I have chosen to select one image for each month to review 2025. I hope each photo speaks to you the way they all did to me. Here then is 2025 in photos. Enjoy.

January

It’s only appropriate to begin this photo series with a snowy scene in January. This lone tree stood beneath the hovering clouds and was perfectly centered by the farm equipment tracks in the snow. The cerulean sky provided an excellent backdrop, like blue ice in a glacier.

February

Is there anything more stunning than a bright red male Northern Cardinal in the midst of winter? Against evergreens laden with a skiff of snow, the bird shows even more colorfully. It’s just one of the reasons I love watching, feeding, and photographing birds.

That’s especially true when they grace your backyard with such natural beauty.

Male Northern Cardinal, Harrisonburg, Virginia. February 8. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

March

I enjoy walking in our suburban neighborhood of nearly 500 homes any time of year. Besides the required exercise, I encounter many photographic moments. This neighbor had the foresight to plant daffodil bulbs around an old hand cultivator, once used to till garden soil, which helped control the weeds.

Emerging from winter, the buttery yellow of the blooms added a splash of color that complemented the old, rusting implement.

Daffodils as accents, March 21, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

April

Though not the state flower, Virginia Bluebells should be. They are native to the state and are its namesake. Besides that, the flowers are simply beautiful. Their pink buds turn to azure blue blossoms, and they are a welcome sight wherever they bloom in spring.

May

I captured this photo at a historic village in Mumford, New York. Since it was Mother’s Day, the Genese Country Village and Museum had people in period clothing doing demonstrations and providing information about their particular station.

While walking by a barn, I caught this man and his dog sitting in the morning sunshine. The darkness of the barn’s interior made them stand out all the more.

A man and his dog, Mumford, New York, May 11. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

June

I’m a sucker for sunsets. With its fluffy-cloud days, June is often a good time to watch for glowing evening skies. June 20th was one such day. It just happened to be the summer solstice, when the sun would be at its northwestern-most point in the evening sky.

I headed to my favorite photo spot, the western slope of a local landmark, Mole Hill. Mole Hill is a prominent mound in Shenandoah Valley’s Rockingham County. You can see miles south, west, and northwest from the extinct volcanic core.

On the way there, I saw a pony cart tied to the trunk of a walnut tree at the peak of Mole Hill Road. I didn’t think much of it until I heard the distinct sound of hoves hitting the pavement. I turned and saw an Old Order Mennonite young woman and two girls in an open cart behind a blond-maned pony heading my way.

Knowing they would not want their photo taken, I waited until the cart was well past my location before I snapped the shutter. The setting sun illuminated the pony’s mane and the seeded heads of the tall grass north of the roadway.

With the evening quickly cooling, a light fog began lifting out of the river valley below the Allegheny Mountains that mark the boundary between Virginia and West Virginia.

The combination of the golden sky, the glowing clouds, the darkened mountains, the mist, the farmsteads, and the rolling valley floor created a once-in-a-lifetime scene. It felt like a holy moment, and I was thrilled to capture it for others to see.

Heading into the sunset, June 20, Dayton, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

July

In the United States, July literally always starts out with a bang. July 4th is Independence Day, and it just so happened that the cruise ship my wife and I were on docked in Portland, Maine, on that hallowed day.

Fortunately, the ship’s starboard side, where our cabin was, faced the city’s harbor. We had a front-row seat to all the explosive colors reflected in the water. It was a fun way to close out our trip.

July 4th, Portland, Maine. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

August

Like many other locales in the nation, August was a hot, humid, and all too dry month. Still, people ventured out, keeping their routines and schedules despite the withering temperatures.

That was true for all kinds of outdoor sports. This photo shows the proud moment of the young man I mentor, far outpacing all the other high school runners in a cross-country meet. I wasn’t the only one who was pleased. Daniel’s classmates created a human gauntlet to welcome him as he approached the finish line.

Winning the race, August 29, Harrisonburg, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

September

This September in Virginia’s lovely Shenandoah Valley was fabulous. After a hot, humid summer, September ushered in cooler temperatures and revealed the magnificent colors of her topography and vegetation, both natural and cultivated.

This was the view I saw as I exited my vehicle at a country store near the quaint town of Dayton. How could I not take this shot?

From the area’s fertile soil, curving rows of field corn and rolling contours led the eye to the Allegheny Mountains to the northwest and the cruising cumulus clouds above. Come harvest, it was a bumper crop of corn.

Though I didn’t see it at the time, an American Crow is near dead center in the pastoral photo.

Early September in the valley, September 4, Dayton, Virginia. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

October

Our three-year-old grandson loves Halloween. He also loves bubbles, so his folks bought him a bubble machine. Teddy wanted to show off how the bubble maker worked when we visited him and his parents the week of Halloween.

When Teddy ran behind the bubbles, the sharply slanting sun highlighted the multi-colored, windblown bubbles. The various-sized bubbles and their proximity to my camera created a moment I can’t forget. It was one of my favorites of the year.

Teddy and his bubbles, Rochester, New York, October 26. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

November

When a Red-headed Woodpecker poses for you, you have to take the shot. Of course, I am always ready with the camera when the moment arrives.

December

My wife and I spent Christmas week in Sarasota, Florida, with our daughter and her family. We wanted to devote holiday family time together somewhere warm. I’m happy to say the weather was perfect. With two college-aged grandsons and a teenage granddaughter, we hit the beach a few times.

After basking in the warm sunshine during the day, we returned a couple of times for the sunset. When the clouds didn’t cooperate, we settled for golden sundowns.

In this photo, a Brown Pelican appears to be leading the way home for this family walking along North Lido Beach. Sometimes the photo paints the picture for you. Plus, it’s only appropriate that we let the sun set on 2025.

Leading the way, December 23, Sarasota, Florida. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

I hope you and yours have a joyous and safe New Year.

Merry Christmas!

May the Christmas Spirit of Love, Joy, Peace, and Hope fill you this sacred day.

Christmas Blessings to you and your family.

Nostalgic for Christmas Cards

Christmas morning. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Decades ago, when I was a youngster, I loved this time of year for many reasons. One was helping my dear mother prepare Christmas cards for mailing.

Doing so was one of the few times I didn’t have to compete with my two brothers and two sisters for the job. It was a different story at cookie-baking time, however.

If my recollection is correct, I had a monopoly on assisting Mom with the cards. She was a watercolor artist and took personal pride in selecting certain cards for specific individuals or families. Mom was very particular, even when picking out boxes of Christmas cards.

My juvenile brain interpreted selecting and sending the cards as an extra-special event. I sensed Mom felt that way, too.

Our mother had lovely handwriting, and she carefully penned people’s names and addresses on the envelopes. It was beyond my 10-year-old’s comprehension that the recipients would question the amateurish writing of a child’s attempt at addressing envelopes. Plus, Mom wanted to ensure the cards were delivered.

I assisted by sticking on the return address labels and, if you can believe it, licking and affixing the three-cent stamps to the upper right-hand corner of dozens of envelopes. Perhaps that’s the reason my siblings didn’t want to help. I can assure you the envelope glue wasn’t flavored.

The joyous satisfaction of assisting our mother in this annual seasonal endeavor overrode the yucky taste on my tongue. I may have sneaked a piece of peppermint candy halfway through the project, though. I popped in another piece after licking all the envelopes and ensuring they stayed closed.

Mom stuck a folded, handwritten letter into a few cards. Those went to relatives and friends who lived hundreds of miles away. It was the thing to do before email and Zoom.

As we slid the cards into the proper envelopes, I got a lump in my throat. I didn’t understand why, but I knew completing the project gave me great joy. I now know, of course, that feeling as contentment.

The final phase of this enterprise was to place the stack of addressed, stamped, and sealed envelopes into the mailbox on our front porch. That’s right. The mail carrier walked up our sidewalk to the porch to deliver the mail.

To make it easier for him, we sorted the Christmas cards by state and later by zip code. We also bound our prized season’s greetings with rubber bands.

Partnering with my mother gave me a sense of responsibility and achievement. She was always grateful for any help her five offspring provided.

Of course, the flip side of the joy of sending holiday cards was receiving them. My siblings and I enjoyed sorting through the cards that had arrived in our mailbox while we were at school.

Our parents gave the cards they received a special place for all to see, and to help decorate our modest brick bungalow for the holidays. They taped a sheet of festive red paper to the inside of the wooden front door, and the five of us took turns taping the cards to the door.

By Christmas, the door was either filled or nearly so with greetings from friends and relatives far and near. With the many colors, designs, and sequins on the cards, the once plain brown door now complemented our lavishly decorated Christmas tree as the centerpieces of our living room.

The cursive, printed, and typed notes to our family stood stacked in a pile on the antique table in the front window. I would have to ask my mother to read some of the scribbly handwriting.

I appreciate all the electronic and emailed Christmas wishes we receive during the holiday season now. But they can’t compare to the nostalgia of sending and receiving Christmas cards. That was a special kind of love.

Christmas decorations. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

An Encounter With a Homeless Man

The Park at CityCenter, Washington, D.C. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

The man sat on the little padded bench in the entrance to the cafe where my family and I had lunch. He was one of dozens of homeless people we had seen during our extended holiday weekend gathering in Washington, D.C.

He sat there silently, bent over from age, the biting cold, and the exhaustion of living on the streets. His hair, scraggly full beard, and disheveled clothes told that tale. I kept glancing at this poor fellow as we waited in line to order.

Our family has established a tradition of meeting in our nation’s capital for the holidays. Our son, his wife, and their toddler son fly in from Upstate New York while our daughter, her family, my wife, and I each drive the two hours to Washington, D.C.

It’s a joyous time together, especially since we see our youngest grandson infrequently. We gather at a hotel and plan out our long weekend together. We try to accommodate everyone in the places we visit and activities we do.

If weather permits, we like to walk to our destinations. If it’s too far or too cold, we ride the Metro.

As we walk, I enjoy observing the people we pass. Everyone always seems to be in a rush, hurriedly stepping along. Several are on their phones, perhaps chatting with spouses, friends, or coworkers.

Others use earbuds to tune out the sounds of the city, the sirens, and the traffic, listening to music, news, or podcasts. Their desire is escape, and they avoid any personal interaction with others.

Then there are the many homeless people, some squatting on cold sidewalks, begging for any amount of money. Some held hand-made signs that were hard to read, scratched onto any piece of cardboard they could find. I seldom saw passersby drop even coins into their containers.

I usually stroll right by them without any acknowledgment that they exist. I do, however, tend to look at them, and most of them notice, hoping I’ll stop with a dollar or two. I prejudicially rationalize that I don’t know what they’ll do with the money.

Still, I don’t feel good about not helping, but there are so many. I can’t help them all. My guilt fades as I walk farther away until I encounter the next one and the next.

Now, here was this lone man. He and I were in the same space. How could I help him? Was this my chance to make a fleeting, spontaneous, compassionate gesture?

My son nudged me back into the moment. I ordered a cup of soup for my wife and a bowl for myself, took my number to our table, and waited for the food. I poured two cups of water from the jug’s spigot near our table. While we waited, I told my wife about the man in the doorway.

The soups soon arrived with a bonus I didn’t expect. A delectable-looking roll accompanied our steaming soups. As soon as I saw that tantalizing butter-glaze, brown-crusted dinner roll, I thought of the man. My innate empathy kicked in.

I hoped he was still there. I grabbed the roll on its napkin and hurried to the entrance across the black-and-white checkered tile floor. I fixed my eyes on the door.

There he still sat, frozen in the same hunched position. Only this time, I indeed saw him for the human he was. His left pant leg hung loose and empty, and a metal crutch slung over what remained of his left thigh. That new insight had me wondering even more about this man. How did he lose the leg? Was he in Vietnam?

I bent down and eased the roll forward into his blank stare. He looked up, and we locked eyes.

“Do you want some food?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” he queried, his voice quivering. Surprised at this response, I merely nodded my head in affirmation.

The man reached out and took the offering with his right hand. He immediately extended his left hand with a $5 bill threaded through his grimy fingers. I surmised someone had recently given him the currency without considering that the money might be his. Plus, he could have purchased more than a roll for that amount.

Stunned, I waved off his humble offer, backed away, and retreated to my table without asking him if he needed anything else. I didn’t even ask his name.

Giving up the roll was not a great sacrifice. Since I am gluten-intolerant, I couldn’t eat it anyway, so it was a small act of kindness, nothing more. Empath that I am, I would have given him the roll even if I could eat gluten.

Still, I felt unsettled for not engaging with him more. I also wished I had offered the man something to drink, even a tiny glass of the cool, clear water.

Only then would our fleeting communion have been complete.

Merry Christmas & Happy Hanukkah!

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish friends.

Blessings all around as you celebrate with family.

There’s Great Joy in Decluttering

The cowboy hat. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

My wife and I have been cleaning the house item by item for longer than I can remember. And we’ve been married for 53 years.

She has always been ahead of me in the disposing game. I’m finally beginning to understand the joy of discarding items I have clung to for far too long.

Gone is the brown felt stetson cowboy hat my daughter’s family gave me as a gift years ago when they lived in Texas. It was a striking hat, but I seldom wore it. So, why should I keep it?

To be considerate, I asked my daughter if she cared if I gave the hat away. She just smiled and said, “It’s your hat. You can do whatever you want with it.”

Of course, I knew that, but I wanted to be sensitive to her since she had purchased the thing. I could have donated it to a thrift store, but I didn’t.

Guess where the stetson ended up? Back in my daughter’s household. Her second son, 17, jumped at the chance to own it. He hopes to have a hatter stretch it so it fits him.

Knowing that the hat has a familial home has instilled as much pleasure in me as having received it in the first place. Isn’t that the point of decluttering your life, especially when you’re 76?

Our two-year-old grandson loves to dress up as a firefighter, among other wholesome job roles. I kept my old helmet from my volunteer firefighting days. The black fiberglass headgear, long lacking necessary safety standards, still has my uniform number, 828, emblazoned on it.

When I offered it to his parents for their son, they declined. I wasn’t either surprised or disappointed. The thing has too many places for tender little fingers to get pinched or cut.

So, the same grandson who confiscated the cowboy hat will also own my helmet. I don’t know what he will do with it, but when I hand it over, I’m sure he’ll ask questions about emergencies to which I responded. I have a storehouse of tales to tell him.

My old fire helmet. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh

Our teenage granddaughter didn’t hesitate when I offered her a t-shirt from a favorite burger place on the island where we wintered in Florida. Our daughter’s family joined us for a few days a couple of times, and the grandkids loved that restaurant, too. Many snowbird memories passed to her in that faded shirt.

When our son and daughter were young, I brought out my old model train set at Christmas and continued that through the toddler years of the grandchildren. Now, our son has it to entertain his son. I don’t have to be there to know and sense the joy of a child and his father connecting one track segment to another until the oval is complete. Just mentally picturing that scene is enough.

A teen I mentor enjoys birding but needed a bird guide. Over the years, I have collected many books on birds, so it was no sacrifice to give this enthusiastic youngster a field guide I cherished so that he could, too.

I have an old black-and-white photo of four of the 28 fourth-grade students from my first year of teaching. I will send it to the one Amish boy in the picture, knowing he would revere it more than me. He will remember and tell his grandchildren when his fourth-grade class created a radio station.

I discover new items daily that equally resurface loving and sad memories. If I don’t need the apparel, souvenirs, or keepsakes, I gladly pass them on to the younger generations for posterity. I’ve already had mine.

Merry Christmas!

Ice skaters skate around the holiday light display of Enchant inside the Washington Nationals baseball stadium.

For the first time in seven years, our entire family gathered last week for the holidays in Washington, D.C. Our son, his wife, and toddler flew in from Rochester, New York, while our daughter’s family and my wife and I drove from Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley to our nation’s capital.

The chilly air didn’t stop us from enjoying the sights and participating in outdoor activities like the one pictured. We ate and laughed much and immensely enjoyed one another’s company. We had a glorious time.

As we celebrated, we didn’t forget the distress of too many global humans amid the blessedness of Christmastime. The African American pastor and theologian Howard Thurman expertly expressed the paradox of the season in the following poem:

I Will Light Candles this Christmas

Candles of joy despite all sadness,

Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,

Candles of courage for fears ever present,

Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,

Candles of graces to ease heavy burdens,

Candles of love to inspire all my living,

Candles that will burn all the year long.

From my family to yours, Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays!

How Amish Celebrate the Holidays

An Amish farm on Christmas Day in Holmes County, Ohio.

The Amish enjoy celebrating the holidays just as much as anyone else. However, they go about it a bit differently.

Defining how the Amish celebrate America’s most time-honored holidays deserves an introductory explanation. The Amish are divided into church groups, usually about 100 persons per church. And by “church,” they mean fellowship since they hold church in their homes, shops, or barns.

There are many different orders of Amish. The Swartzentruber Amish are considered the lowest order, with the New Order Amish the highest, since they hold Sunday school on alternate worship Sundays.

The terms “lowest” and “highest” are not intended to be derogatory or hierarchical. It simply is the way it is with the Amish. Those in between are the Old Order, the most numerous among the Amish population. The rules of the church leaders determine the orders.

Defining the Amish is a lot harder than their simple lifestyles might let on. Nevertheless, they all celebrate the holidays in one way or another.

The key to understanding how the Amish do so lies in this understanding. You can’t generalize about the Amish. Their holiday traditions and rituals vary from family to family, church to church, and sect to sect, not much different from any other culture or ethnic group.

Modesty is an essential principle in the values of the Amish. That fact can be seen in exactly how the Amish keep the holidays. In living out their faith beliefs, they do so joyously surrounded by food, family, and friends. Christmas decorations are insignificant.

Here is an overview of how any given Amish family might celebrate the holidays, save those in the Swartzentruber order.

Christmas

From the Amish perspective, anyone not Amish is considered “English.” The Amish recognize and respect Christmas’s universal demarcation on December 25. For them, Christmas is a sacred day in honor of the birth of God’s only son, Jesus Christ. Many, though not all, will fast before their family gathering.

Amish celebrate Christmas twice, once on the expected date of December 25 and again on January 6, commonly referred to as Old Christmas. In higher religions, that day is known as Epiphany.

The Amish appreciate natural holiday “decorations,” like this sundog, while a red-tailed hawk roosts on a distant tree.

Unlike the rest of society that celebrates Christmas, the Amish do not have Christmas trees or decorations. They will, however, burn Christmas candles in honor of the day.

After the usual Christmas meal of turkey or ham and all the trimmings, the Amish will spend the afternoon and evening playing table games, board games, and cards. None of the card games would involve using face cards, however.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Christmas without gifts, and the Amish also carry out this gift-giving tradition. The gifts will be wrapped, but usually nothing elaborate. Children will receive toys. There is, however, no mention of Santa.

Perhaps the closest to celebrating Christmas in contemporary fashion is done at the private or parochial Amish schools for grades 1 – 8. There are nearly 200 such schools in the Holmes County area. All are either one or two-room schools, where students walk to school. Before taking a couple of days off for Christmas, a program is held for parents, grandparents, and friends on the evening of the last day of school. The program usually consists of Christmas songs, poetic recitations, short plays, and possibly group singing.

Family and friends gather for a Christmas program at an Amish school near Mt. Hope, Ohio.

Old Christmas

Old Christmas harkens back to the change from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian calendar during the latter stages of the Reformation when Pope Gregory XIII switched Christmas to December 25. Out of tradition and reverence for their forefathers, the Amish have continued to honor Christ’s birth on January 6.

Unlike the more jovial December 25 celebrations, Old Christmas is more solemn. It begins with fasting, followed by another typical Christmas meal and more gift-giving. However, the emphasis is on reflecting and visiting as opposed to reveling.

No matter which holiday is celebrated, family is always essential in any get-together for the Amish. And that is true for any Amish order.