Stoney Acres Farm cooks without conveniences
A local Amish bakery employs primitive techniques to provide their community with homemade food
Serena Howe
Issue date: 3/18/10 Section: Down the Hill
During the summer, 4 a.m. on a Saturday is a bit late for Susan Bontrager to start baking. She has to have everything ready for the Orland farmer's market at 7 a.m., but this is March and business has been slow at Stoney Acres Bakery in Bronson, Mich. Despite the open sign, the place looked deserted as I pulled up in front of the little white building in the heart of Hillsdale County's Amish country.
She had not baked that day since, as Bontrager explained to me, what she doesn't sell, her family eats. Between winter and the economy not too many customers stop by these days.
Bontrager and her husband Jonas built the bakery on a bit of a whim when one of their daughters graduated and needed a job. Bontrager smiled as she explained to me that there's not much reason for teenagers to get out of bed if they don't have something to do.
Since the Bontragers are Amish, they don't use gas or electricity, instead, their kitchen is outfitted with an intriguing mishmash of old and new technology. The stainless steel commercial sink is piped with hot water heated by an old fashioned wood-stove, specially built by a man in New York. The hulking iron fridge-sized box of an oven doesn't have or need a thermostat. Its half dozen or so shelves stacked on top of one another gets hotter starting from the bottom going up. In the top, she bakes sugar cookies, while breads and other cookies cook in lower shelves.
It's a lot of work keeping the stove going, washing dishes and running a household by herself, Bontrager said. But everyone helps out in the kitchen: the little girls are in charge of keeping the woodbox full; the boys chop wood and occasionally she'll guilt them into mixing cookie dough for her. She joked that the boys make the best cookies because they're willing to mix longer.
Next to the stove, one of the most impressive features of this certified commercial kitchen is the Bontrager's means of refrigeration: a huge, walk-in ice box lined with two feet of styrofoam on every side. With a certain amount of pride, Jonas explained to me what an economical means of refrigeration it is. It works so well, he said, there's still ice from when they built it four years ago. Half a day of labour keeps their ice house cool for a year.
The ice has to be a certain thickness, they explained, but if they wait too long there's a chance they won't get ice at all.
Every January they gather a gang of neighbor boys to come out and cut the ice with band saws.
"We'll play hockey on one end and cut ice on the other," said Jones, smiling. "The boys just come out because it's winter and they have nothing else to do."
"That and they want dinner," Bontrager replied.
As I said my goodbyes with a bag of bread, homemade wild raspberry jam, and fudge in tow, the family invited me back to watch the ice-cutting festivities next year and perhaps even to help bake in the kitchen.
There's a certain peace there, away from the hum of electronics and the harried pace of college life. But it's easy to idealize; the simple life is a lot of work. Still, I left half wanting to stay with these people who live so differently among us; people who value community and family above convenience. I'll be back.
She had not baked that day since, as Bontrager explained to me, what she doesn't sell, her family eats. Between winter and the economy not too many customers stop by these days.
Bontrager and her husband Jonas built the bakery on a bit of a whim when one of their daughters graduated and needed a job. Bontrager smiled as she explained to me that there's not much reason for teenagers to get out of bed if they don't have something to do.
Since the Bontragers are Amish, they don't use gas or electricity, instead, their kitchen is outfitted with an intriguing mishmash of old and new technology. The stainless steel commercial sink is piped with hot water heated by an old fashioned wood-stove, specially built by a man in New York. The hulking iron fridge-sized box of an oven doesn't have or need a thermostat. Its half dozen or so shelves stacked on top of one another gets hotter starting from the bottom going up. In the top, she bakes sugar cookies, while breads and other cookies cook in lower shelves.
It's a lot of work keeping the stove going, washing dishes and running a household by herself, Bontrager said. But everyone helps out in the kitchen: the little girls are in charge of keeping the woodbox full; the boys chop wood and occasionally she'll guilt them into mixing cookie dough for her. She joked that the boys make the best cookies because they're willing to mix longer.
Next to the stove, one of the most impressive features of this certified commercial kitchen is the Bontrager's means of refrigeration: a huge, walk-in ice box lined with two feet of styrofoam on every side. With a certain amount of pride, Jonas explained to me what an economical means of refrigeration it is. It works so well, he said, there's still ice from when they built it four years ago. Half a day of labour keeps their ice house cool for a year.
The ice has to be a certain thickness, they explained, but if they wait too long there's a chance they won't get ice at all.
Every January they gather a gang of neighbor boys to come out and cut the ice with band saws.
"We'll play hockey on one end and cut ice on the other," said Jones, smiling. "The boys just come out because it's winter and they have nothing else to do."
"That and they want dinner," Bontrager replied.
As I said my goodbyes with a bag of bread, homemade wild raspberry jam, and fudge in tow, the family invited me back to watch the ice-cutting festivities next year and perhaps even to help bake in the kitchen.
There's a certain peace there, away from the hum of electronics and the harried pace of college life. But it's easy to idealize; the simple life is a lot of work. Still, I left half wanting to stay with these people who live so differently among us; people who value community and family above convenience. I'll be back.
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