They flocked into the huge auction barn like two gaggles of geese, light blue and dark blue in dress and bonnets, the Amish ladies on a Saturday night out in Middleton, Ohio. I understood the light blue dress denoted the maidens in the group, and the dark blue the matrons. The chatter was non-stop, the laughter as well, mostly from the light blue sect, as they grouped by color code in row upon row of folding chairs.

In the distance, lightning set the tone for that far locale, and colored the air about the auction with a sense of excitement and expectation.

I ruminated on the little that I knew about them: that the ladies were excellent house help and the men were carpenters and barn builders extraordinaire, and that they lived according to a strict code. About them was an admirable uniformity, a close likeness of selves, a communion of sorts.

The auctioneer, wearing dark-rimmed glasses, a red bow tie showing a bit of age in the gathered knot, a voice that came from a low diaphragm, egged the crowd into a quick fun festival. If he sat in the midst of the audience, he’d be easily picked as the auctioneer. The magnetism was alive on him.

The first piece of the auction came and went, as did a dozen pieces, each one seeming to stretch the value range. Competition, at the auctioneer’s subtle spurring, grew and grasped a good portion of the crowd. And excitement grew with a few pricey competitions.

The giggles and frivolity of a Saturday night out also grew apace. I was marveling at the honest gayety of the Amish ladies.

That’s when I saw a light blue maiden, one row in front of me, and one seat over to the left, reach into her deep dress pocket and take out a small jar with a perforated cover on top. She nudged her near companions on both sides, elicited giggles and laughter from each one, and unscrewed the cover on the jar. I saw the motion of soft whiteness emerge from the jar as she placed it down on the floor beside the hem of her flowing dress.

It was a live, white mouse that slipped out of the jar, gained some position knowledge and went on survey.

It took no more than 3-4 minutes for pandemonium to break loose in the major part of the audience, as well as a prim and proper laughter that built to a small thunder of appreciation within the Amish ranks. If they clapped hands, it could not have been louder, or more joyous.

Dress codes often loose character traits that surpass the ordinary.