When I first planned this trip, I had planned to move clock-wise through the state and arrive in the northeast corner of it at the end. However, I learned that the Shipshewana Flea Market was on Monday-Wednesday, so I re-routed my trip to take advantage of it. I started my Wednesday eager to shop wood furniture and quilts, deftly navigating the buggies on the road shoulder as I drove to the market. It was a hot morning, and since the flea market was outside, I brought Tamu from the car to visit the market. The animal auction had started in the auction house when we arrived, and we headed to the stalls behind it. The first thing we encountered was produce, which was easy to pass because we are living out of the car. Eager for Amish craft, we arrived at the non-perishable stalls in the market only to discover there was virtually nothing Amish about it. Stall after stall of food and goods I could find anywhere lay before me. Tamu and I walked through the crowded market with the sun beating down, him searching for water and me searching for crafts. There were Amish buyers at the market, and some vendors selling jams and jellies, but no quilts and no furniture. I nearly bought a dress that seemed to originate on the Indian sub-continent before we gave up on the market and headed into the town. Our walk back to the car brought us in closest contact with Amish life.
We headed into town, beginning with the Galarina Folk Arts, in the hope of finding Amish goods. The woman behind the registration desk told me I had come to the less crowded end of the town and recommended that I keep to this end for quiet. I asked about the missing Amish, and she admitted that most of the largest enterprises in town are owned by ex-Amish, and that the flea market has developed a life of its own largely unrelated to the town. So Tamu and I wandered the streets, which became increasingly crowded. Storefronts showed a mix of Americana for sale, items of frivolous decoration that I would imagine no Amish would have in their home. Perhaps this photo says it all about Shipshewana:
Find some shallow Amish heritage and get some investment advice while you are here. I made one stop at a shop in the town advertising quilts, talked myself out of buying ice cream (seemed like a waste in Amish country), and headed up the road. I was, after all, moving through Amish country, so there might be craft ahead. I made two more stops at large-scale establishments before heading to Goshen for a winery, which turned out to be closed. Clearly, this was turning into a bad traveling day. They happen.
On the up side, Goshen is charming and vibrant. After the more economically depressed small towns I had seen on previous days, Goshen was a nice surprise. It seemed to be thriving.
Tamu and I walked around before I bought myself a gelato pop, took one more longing look at the winery, and headed west. I had hoped to pick up some of the Heritage Trail Quilt Gardens, but none of the brochures or guides explained exactly where to pick up the trail. The afternoon was growing short, and I wanted to get to Orville Redenbacher’s establishment in Valparaiso before it closed. Heading down the road, I encountered my first confusion over Eastern and Central time. In my youth, Indiana was famous for how it straddled its location between the two time zones. Decisions about conforming to one or the other were left at the county level, so one could move between the zones with no warning. Sometime into my young adulthood, they made an effort to standardize. I never heard how they resolved it, but along the road west, as my navigational device stopped making sense in its arrival time, I realized that Valpo was in Central time, and that it was further away than I thought. On the up side, it gave me an extra hour of time for visiting Redenbacher’s home.
But the bigger surprise came when I arrived. Apparently, I had been misinformed about the Redenbachers having a campus and tours. It came from a reliable source (currently vacationing in Madrid), and I found an address for it on the web. But this turned out to be the Valparaiso events office. The woman there knew nothing about a Redenbacher home museum, but was thrilled to tell me about the Popcorn Festival happening this coming weekend, the very weekend I would have passed through the area if I had not decided to re-route the trip for the flea market. This was turning into a memorably bad travel day. She helpfully suggested I check with the Valpo Historical Museum (nobody knew of a Redenbacher site), and directed me to his statue on the main street.
Tamu and I wandered another thriving Indiana small town. Even more vibrant than Goshen, Valparaiso is quite lovely even on a hot day, with no free popcorn.
A winery was in order to lighten my bad travel day. I found my way to Andersons Vineyard and Winery, where the pourers offered samples of what they had left (they were out of the popular Rhubarb Strawberry of course) and popcorn between tastings to cleanse the palette.
Tamu and I headed for the beach. I had not realized Indiana had any kind of Great Lakes beachfront. But there is! So for a second day in a row, Tamu and I spent the day’s end at the beach, chilling out and playing in the sand. Don’t tell anyone because it is not allowed, but we even went off leash.
We pressed on to Lafayette, which was back in Eastern time. It is Indiana after all.