I was invited to a barn raising near Wooster, Ohio. A tornado had leveled 4 barns and acres of prime Amish timber. In just three weeks the downed trees were sawn into girders, posts and beams and the 4 barns rebuilt and filled with livestock donated by neighbors to replace those killed in the storm. I watched the raising of the last barn in open-mouthed awe. Some 400 Amish men and boys, acting and reacting like a hive of bees in absolute harmony of cooperation, started at sunrise with only a foundation and floor and by noon, BY NOON, had the huge edifice far enough along that you could put hay in it -- a vast work, born of the spirit.
We sat in silence for some time. It is a very, very difficult thing to do -- to sit in silence. Our world is filled with sounds, and we've come to feel that we must fill any void we encounter with our voices, or the radio, or the TV; almost anything will do, as long as we're not burdened by deafening silence. But there is a special beauty, I was coming to see, a special peace in quiet that is beyond words or the trappings of this world. But, oh, it is so difficult not to speak!