An Amish Vacation in Pinecraft-Sarasota, Florida

Hey you,

I have a theory.

Anabaptists have officially become hyphenated. It happened when they started going to Pinecraft for their yearly vacations. Let me explain. I am happy that there are vacations in the lives of hardworking people. I admire the strong sense of community among Anabaptists. I still have one foot in that world, or at the least, 4-6 toes depending on the day. It’s beautiful to me that when they go on vacation they still want to be with their people. It’s pretty cool that they have community at a high enough value that they can actually vacation with their kind. I adore my kind too, and love vacationing with small groups of them, but I confess the idea of a vacation with my church is not my favorite.

Yet massive busloads and carloads of Amish and Mennonites travel to Sarasota Florida to vacation, and stay in Pinecraft together in their own mini resort. Pinecraft used to be its own thing until Sarasota grew around it. Despite that, Pinecraft keeps its distinctness — hence the hyphenation. Like modern maids who get married and keep their name and take on their husbands. New times. Amish have officially become people who take vacations too and have hyphenated worlds, as long as they don’t have to fly anywhere. My aunt is not Amish but Old Order Mennonite, both of whom are supposed to stay away from airplanes because of the devil being the prince of the air, but she jokes that it would be worth the confession in church afterward to see Europe.

I’m happy that now they can have a version of a tropical vacation. For a few weeks of the year people leave their ice-bound homes and travel to fresh fruit, sunshine, palm trees, and days spent lazing by the beach.

The past few years whenever I went to take a vacation something demoralizing would happen. One year it was a drama with friends which came to a head the day I left on vacation, the next year my uncle died days before I was supposed to leave. One time the vacation itself was miserable for reasons beyond me. One cannot help these things, but I was beginning to wonder if my vacations were hexed. When does one brazenly enjoy oneself anyway despite bad circumstances? However, there is no way to do that when things happen like a beloved uncle dying. I loved him. He was a wonderful, wonderful man. Grief must have its way.

At any rate, after the autumn of 2021 (I LOVE that I can say it was last year) I wondered if I dare take a vacation ever again since I can’t seem to go on them successfully. Perhaps I ought to just live out the rest of my days in ceaseless toil with no fun or breaks. When my manager suggested that I take the week between Christmas and New Years entirely (she’s a peach) I put aside any of my ex-Menno snobbishness and jumped at the idea of taking a vacation in Sarasota this year. At this point, if it’s terrible, it‘s not like life is that rosy right now anyway. Technically things can always get worse, but I am at the stage of current life where I give anxiety the middle finger more often than not. It’s a strange kind of freedom to be cozy with rock bottom.

So I looked forward to it. Some good friends had just moved there and many more good friends were travelling in for a volleyball tournament. Even my friend the Striped Pineapple, with her avowed disgust and numerous promises to break our friendship because I persist in playing volleyball, came for much of the week and attended the tournament. I only smile in an obnoxious smugness because not only did she buy Birkenstocks after disowning me and mine, she came to the Sarasota Volleyball Tournament after calling me a mumpsimus snollygoster of a Philistine.

She also made the week about 70% more awesome. We’re great friends, can’t you tell?

On Monday we donned our little dresses to walk into Pinecraft. The bet was already on between us three on whether I would meet someone I did not expect to see because that is what happens in Pinecraft. You see people you didn’t know you would see. Our first stop was the shuffleboard courts. I do not know how to explain this game to you, except that you gently shove little round disks about fifteen feet into a pyramidal structure and gain points thereby. Mostly men play it, though there is one lane reserved for ladies now. Times have changed, wot?

It was unsettling to be there. Not all places in Pinecraft are this way, but it felt like a lingering air of spiritual darkness. Both Rach and I felt it, and weren’t sure what to do with it. Rebuke it? Leave it? There are any number of nice people there who are not perverts, but when you come from this sort of background you cannot help but know all the things which hide in the closets of plain clothes. Call it a trigger, call it a spidey-sense, but I shivered a bit. Like here were hidden secrets which were kept quiet at all costs. Apparently the devil goes on vacation too.

I do want to be careful not to cast shade where it doesn’t belong. There’s much that’s so great about plain communities. There’s much that isn’t. It’s just weird to be back in such large concentrations of dyed-in-the-cape-dresses and “lots hussa.” It’s weird that what mostly the world views with a charmed eye is not returned by an equally charmed eye. Amish and Mennonites are separatists. They keep themselves apart from a world that mostly views them with such favor. It feels weird to feel like part of this world, and part of another world.

But not all was dark by a far shot. Just little tremors in a sunshiney place. We met up with a friend from years ago when Rach and I had gone to Florida in 2016. It was fun to recreate the photo we had taken then.

Pinecraft has its own ice cream shop, Big Olaf’s, which of course we had to try. Postal 98 is just across the street and equally as popular. Anabaptists know how to support their own and turn a good buck at the same time. It’s actually pretty fun to see the socializing that happens there. Everyone is so happy to be sitting in the sunshine drinking their coffees and eating ice cream and ordering bagel egg sandwiches. In this little square of streets the cars are of secondary priority. Bikes and pedestrians take over the street and have the right-of-way. I don’t mind. That way of living suits me, bob. I’m not a big fan of fast-paced life.

The volleyball tournament was an event unto itself. It’s held at the fairgrounds since it’s a large gathering — I think I heard about 118 teams this year. Teams register from throughout the U.S. and submit both clever and horrifying names. I sat there agog at names such as “pro-shaggers, I’d hit that, and We Love Grass” were announced at high decibels. Some awful team that I have wished insults upon named themselves “Psshhh.” Imagine that coming out of loudspeakers all day. Wretches. I hope they have grounds at the bottom of their coffee. I hope their windshield wipers leave one streak. I hope their candles burn a tunnel to the bottom. I hope they grow blackheads where they cannot reach on their backs.

I partly jest, but it was annoying. The names amused me even though I was also a little horrified. I’m inappropriate with my friends, but probably wouldn’t name my team “Sets on the Beach.”

By the end of the day several teams had won my admiration. There were the usual run of teams who are good players, ok players, and of course those who kept tripping over their egos and didn’t win. Then there were truly fabulous teams who played well, connected even better, and had managed their mental games and egos beautifully. There was stand-out skill. On one team was a man who, every time he served, I kind of expected people on the other side to die. His serves were powerhouses. No one died, because the other team was pretty darn good too.

I left with a sense of true respect toward the people who have dedicated many hours to becoming good at what they do, and love to do, which is to play volleyball. What is more, I got nice doses of humility over my own lack of dedication to skills. If my writing can reach such levels of discipline I will be happy with my performance.

Midway through the afternoon Rach and I found a charming spot on top of the double decker coffee bus there and drank our iced coffees while trying to find my husband. It’s been a running joke ever since she wrote my life story in which I married an architect, we moved to Paris, had a curly haired little girl, and then she promptly killed him off after we were only married a year. It was devastating to me, and I was salty that she couldn’t at least let us be married a little longer. In revenge to my ungratefulness over his untimely death she re-wrote my life story in which I marry a short, shiny little man who lives in a trailer park in Florida, plays volleyball, wears Aeropostale tees, and in which we have about a dozen children, all of them more snot-nosed than the last. Attractive life, right? But we were in Florida and had to watch for someone to fit the specifications. We had a jolly time up there in the shade. It was wonderful. Thanks Java Dawg.

The final game happened around midnight and was a fun match to watch. It was a bit sad to have the game end on a technicality, but it was still a win! Both teams worked hard for the game and they both won their place in the finals.

I admit. I see the charm of Florida, and Sarasota, Florida in particular. I’ve only ever been to Miami aside from this area of Florida, but it’s a wonderful place to vacation. Since Covid happened I take my vacations much closer to home and while I miss travel, am loving this getting to know areas closer to home.

It was a vacation in every sense of the word. There were only microscopic things to mar it, and were truly things which shouldn’t interrupt one’s peace. What a gift! Hosted by friends with whom I love to spend time, and surrounded by friends I love. We lazed around, had late brunches of crepes and coffees, sunned ourselves on the beach, and I spent time playing in the salty gulf. The water was just perfect for stretching out, floating, and getting rocked by the waves. It was beautiful. Siesta Key is reputedly the best beach in the U.S. and I see why. The sand is soft and white and so fine. It’s like a cloud. The water was a perfect aqua — just a little chilly to jump into but just right for long swims.

We walked the harbor one night when the mists came in and dreamed about the boats we would buy. We ate large portions of ice cream from Main Street Creamery, and went to a coffee shop I can’t name because B & Mia want to keep it as out of the Menno eye as possible. We watched movies and got sun-kissed and wore swimsuits and swung in hammocks in palm trees. We told inappropriate jokes, because we are #riskyatbest and ate such wonderful things like the World’s Best Caesar Salad and Boeuf Bourguignon. Brenden is a marvelous cook.

They took us to fun bakeries and bistros, and one day we stumbled into the most delightful little book shop in downtown called Bazaar Books.

On New Years Eve my friend Abby and I went to a worship event on the beach. The year went out in such a good way. We started at Siesta key for a misty and chilly day watching beach volleyball, reading, and for me, swimming. By the time I went back to B and Mia’s I was so cold I made a stop at Ross and plunked money on the first warm sweatshirt and pants I found. It was worth it because the mists were still there that evening and warm clothes felt wonderful.

B and Mia cooked bangers and mash which were lovely. We sat around laughing at the antics of the small nephew, and chatting with a friend of theirs who was telling stories about her work in EMT, and how her next step was to become a firewoman. Isn’t that amazing? I love to meet women like her. I think she is who I want to be in another life.

Abby and I embarked into the mists around 10 p.m to attend a worship service. We worshiped, we listened to a short talk, and then we grouped off to pray with strangers for our next year. It was good. One thing I have missed with Covid is getting myself out of my comfort zone socially and it was nice to be able to do that again. I will always love my people and my groups, heavy emphasis on this, but there’s something satisfying about learning to know more people in this world. We prayed for each other, and then grabbed a Capri Sun to toast to 2022 (underage people at this party). Some of the party, which had grown to be massive by this time, jumped into the ocean at midnight. I found myself giving dating advice at precisely 12 a.m. which is hilarious. I was glad to do it — because go for it, friend — but it’s also funny that for NYE 2022 I was standing on Siesta Key beach in Sarasota Florida, surrounded by hundreds of young strangers on a misty night, toasting to another year with Capri Suns, while dishing out sage thoughts. Sometimes it’s hard to be the next decade up with the younger crowd, and then sometimes you naturally become the older sister who manages to be mostly fun and relevant and stabilizing. Is this the new me?

Real life has got so much of what is hard to do, and getting to sit every now and then and do nothing but watch the wind whisper secrets with the palms is rejuvenating. Standing on a beach at midnight while lanterns bear hopes and dreams into the sky while feeling the press of young humanity. I felt, even though most of the people were a good ten years my junior and at least ten times as cool as me, that there’s something to be said about being with “my” people. I think that you can leave the Mennonites, but the Mennonites will never leave you. At the end of the day, I’m cool with that.

Maybe there’s a hyphen somewhere in there for me.

Friend-Schaft.

Cheers to Year 2022! Happy, Happy New Year.

L.Raine

P.S. I lost the bet on the second day when I saw someone I ought to have expected to see there and did not. Oh well, it’s Pinecraft. You always see someone you know.