We work in a little town that’s renown in a number of ways. First, there’s its name, which we’ve become pretty immune to. Once you’ve attended lots of conventions with your badge identifying your location as “Intercourse, Pennsylvania,” and then survived untold numbers of snickers and snorts, you get sort of toughened up and weary of it all.
That is not true of the first-timers to our area. Many mornings as I drive into work, I spot yet another visitor standing next to the entrance sign to our village, while being photographed for the unbelieving folks back home.
That may be the first, most obvious thing about our town. But the number of Amish in this township quickly distinguishes it, too.