SMELL THE NIGHT SOIL

For a handful of years, my family called Amish Country home.

For those not acquainted with the "AC", it's a small part of Northern Ohio that plays host to a large population of Amish folk. And for the first part of my Middle School years, we called it home.

Our particular town was a tiny place called Dalton, Ohio. Home of the orange and black-clad Bulldogs, the only place that ever got to see me put on a football jersey.

But, none of that is actually what I wanted to talk about. See, I want to talk about the smell. Yep. You read that right. The smell.

Because every year in Amish Country, when winter bows down to spring, the air is filled with the most peculiar odor.

Night soil. Muck. Guano. Spoor.

We're talking about shit, people.

Well, the proper term would actually be manure or fertilizer. But now we are all caught up.

Driving home on the yellow school bus what did we smell? Yup. The stinky stuff.

Open up the windows at home to let in the fresh air. What did we smell?

And we complained as if our mounting complaints would actually do something to change the smells of the seasons in Amish Country. As if our petulant whining would alter the course of a people steeped in tradition and agriculture.

Fast forward a handful of months and the fields are lush. From the front porch of our house, we could see rolling hills covered by patchwork fields. And on those days, no one complained. Instead, we took in the sights, mom and dad would talk about how beautiful the view was, all while the kids ran amok free from the cruel attacks of fecal spores in the air.

Did you get what may be the most important part in that last paragraph? No one complained. No one! And no one talked about the smell that plagued our olfactory systems just a mere months prior.

Life is filled with stuff that stinks. And we can complain about the smell. Let's face it, most do. Or we can trust that all the fecal-tinged crap we have to wade through in life is leading to something. That it isn't just a noxious odor, but that sometimes life's worst moments are simply The Maker's fertilizer for your future best moments.

It's a four-letter word I've become obsessed with in recent days: HOPE.

So, next time things stink… like really stink… Stop and smell the night soil. Because what’s ahead of you is better than whatever is filling your nostrils now.