I have this thing about Amish people: they scare me. I think it all goes back to a newspaper article I read like 15 years ago. It was about an Amish man that butchered his entire family and hung them up in his wood shed as if they were slaughtered deer. This is no joke, but literally the stuff of nightmares. So every time I see an Amish person, I have this terrible habit of picturing them gutting me for my hide — all from this one isolated incident. I know, it’s not fair or rational, but neither is my fear of their beards, but what can I do?
However, Karin’s post about the Pennsylvania Dutch the other day reminded me of the one reason I love the Amish — the Lemonade Fast. Have you ever done it before? I’ve noticed that in talking around, about one in five people I know have done this strange, semi-torturous cleanse. In fact, it’s known to most as “The Master Cleanser” and there’s even a small, ghetto book/pamphlet you can purchase about it, but I can sum it up for you in eight words: Drink lemonade and shit your way to health. It’s that easy.
While I would never do this cleanse (or any fast) while pregnant, I am considering doing it after I pop this ‘lil turkey out. Of course, I couldn’t do it breastfeeding either, so I’ll have to close up shop on my udders (err, boobs) so it’ll probably be a few months after the baby is born before I could even consider it, but it’s a great way to ride yourself of toxins while also losing some weight.
I’ve done several versions of the Lemonade Fast. The most memorable, was the Amish kind, where all my college roommate, Kate, and I ate for like seven days (not counting the peanut butter I scarfed with my fingers out of the jar as if it was poi in a moment of weakness) was lemon juice mixed with maple syrup, water, and cayenne pepper. We also consumed some crazy herbal fiber blends and bentonite clay that we picked up from this Amish farm outside of State College in Pennsylvania. I’ll never forget tearing into the parking lot in Kate’s Saab convertible and skidding to a dusty halt not two inches away from busting through the Amish family’s barn. They cursed us “city folk” for our recklessness and couldn’t sell us our shitting tonic fast enough, but I was just happy to escape with my life!