The air can get pretty ripe on a warm spring day, especially in the rural regions west of the Lehigh Valley, where the aroma is enhanced by the fresh residue of horse-drawn buggies.
Livestock manure accumulates all winter and then is spread on fields along with other forms of fertilizer. It obviously helps grow nice crops, judging from the tasty food we sometimes buy at the roadside stands of Old-Order Mennonite farm families in eastern Berks County.
Over the years, I have not heard many complaints about the use of livestock manure, except when it and other fertilizers were not properly applied and seeped into streams. Nobody makes much of a fuss about the temporary smell of cow manure when it is helping strawberries or corn grow.
I've been around cows and other livestock enough to observe how fussy they are about sanitary matters, so I'm not sure I understand why the untreated proceeds of their digestive tracts are viewed by some as more desirable than that of, say, ours.
In February, however, The Morning Call had a story about panic in the Lehigh Valley, and especially in Lynn Township, over the use of "biosolids," made from the treated sludge of public sewer systems, as fertilizer.
"Use cow manure, not treated human waste," one activist opposing the practice was quoted as demanding, even though state officials insisted biosolids are safe.
This week, we learned an Amish congregation in Cambria County, north of Johnstown, has decided to abandon its settlement there and move to New York State.
One reason is that gas drilling has inflated the price of land here, but a bigger problem stems from the fact that some Amish denominations strictly adhere to biblical admonitions concerning "worldly" intertwinements, such as reliance on a network of public sewer systems.
"Be not conformed to this world," says Romans Chapter 12. So Cambria County's Amish residents obediently transfer the contents of their outhouses to their fields, the way farmers everywhere do with the contents of their barns, instead of conforming to the worldly demands of the state Department of Environmental Protection.
DEP has a reputation for being very accommodating to the gas drilling industry when it lets its toxic drilling gunk spew all over the countryside, but the agency got tough with the Amish.
Citations fell like rain, including a court order to padlock a nonconforming Amish school, and one Amish farmer was jailed for three months for refusing to pay fines. DEP also threatened to go after the Amish if they did not construct expensive filtering systems for their bath water.
This episode has all sorts of ironies for me, because I am familiar with the lovely section of Cambria County these people are being forced to abandon, and with other locations that play key roles in the story.
I grew up almost next door to the Seneca Nation on the Cattaraugus Indian Reservation, which is west of Centerville, N.Y., one of the destinations for the Cambria County Amish families. The Seneca and other Iroquois tribes in New York were impoverished, but they did enjoy one accommodation. They went by a different set of rules, which is to say they had no rules at all, at least none that could be imposed by any branch of non-aboriginal government.
Many of their cars had no license plates, they paid no taxes on anything, and their swarms of rambunctious dogs were not subject to the state's leash laws.
Today, Indian insulation from the rules imposed on others has resulted in a particular windfall, not just for Iroquois enclaves, but all over America. Since federal action to accommodate them in 1988, there are gambling casinos galore on reservations, in states where they generally are banned.
New York has five full-scale casinos, all owned and operated by the Seneca and other Iroquois on tribal property, where complex federal laws and rulings make it hard for states to stand in their way.
While Pennsylvania has no Indian reservations, we certainly do have accommodations for certain enclaves. State government falls all over itself to give special treatment to the gambling and gas drilling industries.
I admit the Amish and the Old-Order Mennonites are not as generous with so-called "campaign contributions" (millions and millions of dollars have flowed into politicians' coffers from the gambling and gas drilling interests). As far as I'm concerned, however, the plain folk contribute far more to this state and inflict far less harm. The world knows Pennsylvania as the home of these gentle and unique people.
If this state can provide special accommodations to other enclaves, which have only one common trait — greed — why can't we do the same for these gentle people?
I support some restrictions. Seeking to minimize ties to the outside world, the plain folk avoid the use of pneumatic tires on farm equipment. Steel treads, however, tear up roads paved at taxpayer expense, so some meddling is justified.
Otherwise, these are people who just want to be allowed to live their quaint lives according to their beliefs, and it's a shame that Pennsylvania, which is eager to coddle Texas gas well drillers and Las Vegas gambling wheeler-dealers, seems to have less and less room for the plain folk.
paul.carpenter@mcall.com 610-820-6176
Paul Carpenter's commentary appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
