Straight white lines, a round bat meeting a round ball, with rules that have stood the test of decades.
But watching the schoolchildren of the Amish community near St. Ignatius play their daily game at recess, one has to wonder: Perhaps it is simplicity itself that is so beautiful.
On this day in early October, the air is bright and clean, as are their shy but smiling faces as they emerge in twos and threes to eat lunch.
The boys sit in a circle next to a tall, wooden swing set - thick brown and blond hair shining in the sun - heads bent over their food. Their shirts are pale green, others white or blue, with homemade denim pants and the familiar black suspenders.
In a nearby field, massive beautiful draft horses munch their lunch off an emerald turf.
After a few minutes, the school door opens and out come the girls in their long dresses and crisp, white head coverings.
It is the girls who are toting the bats and gloves. They carry them to the baseball field next to the school, a converted pasture complete with horse droppings in the outfield.
And it is the girls who are all business.
While the boys sit and contemplate their meals, one young lady grabs a bat and begins ripping hard grounders and line drives at her counterparts who have taken up positions around the diamond.
The fielding is nearly flawless, and the throws back to the batter are accurate and on a bounce.
Using her dress to stop the ball, 12-year-old Melanie picks it up and gets ready to smash another shot.
"Nice catch," she yells at the girl who just tossed it to her.
You start to get the feeling that there is more here than just children at play. There is a practiced smoothness, a silent competence.
But there is also joy.
As the boys break from their meal and climb the rail fence to join the game - in this bastion of reserved quietude - there is beautiful, noisy joy.
Loren Troyer and Tristan Moser shepherd the flock of children with a gentle hand - except when it is their turn to bat. Then the teachers take no prisoners with mighty swings that sometimes leave their charges chasing the ball deep in the outfield.Troyer, 24, and Moser, 21, are in their first year of teaching at the school. Both are originally from an Amish community in Michigan.
Troyer came to St. Ignatius through a family connection - his cousin, 13-year-old Caleb, is the oldest boy at the school. After spending a year teaching at another Amish community in Colorado, Troyer arrived in Montana. He recommended his childhood friend Moser to the school board, and both young men were hired.
"I think I learn more from (the students) than they do from me," Troyer says with a small smile.
"I've been known to make mistakes," Moser adds some time later, again with a grin. "And they let me know when I do."
Amish children attend school through the eighth grade. Afterward, they are expected to take on more responsibility in helping to support and care for their families, farms or businesses.
Privacy is clearly important, but both Troyer and Moser are warm and friendly - and both have great senses of humor. When told that the newspaper is interested in doing a story on the Amish playing baseball, Moser gives an understanding laugh.
Not that baseball is new to the Amish. It has been played in most communities around the country for years, Troyer says, especially by the young people.
And it is played with athleticism and skill. Pride goeth before a fall, however, and the teachers and students are loath to talk about themselves. In fact, when the game is under way, the banter is always helpful and encouraging - never self-serving.
There is plenty of lively on-field chatter, however. And if you watch long enough, you realize something else.
Somebody better be keeping score.
It might just be a one-hour lunch break, but this game of baseball is serious business.
Troyer and Moser take turns each day acting as player-manager on the diamond. While one is coaching, the other is monitoring the 10 smallest children in a yard next to the school. The little ones enjoy giggling games of tag or dodge ball with active participation by their teacher.
Meanwhile, the 14 students ages 9 and older are formed into teams. The teams generally last two or three days before new ones are chosen. And with seven players to a side, the hitting team is required to provide the pitcher and the catcher.
And the umpire. And the scorekeeper.
Whenever the time comes for the pitcher, catcher, scorekeeper or the umpire to bat, there is a hasty shifting of duties - with lots of reminders if someone forgets to step into a vacated role.
"Brian, you catch," Hannah, 13, tells her teammate as she grabs a bat. "Your glove is over there behind the bench."
"Who's keeping score?" Kaylene, a 12-year-old, suddenly asks. She seems slightly panicked when she notices that the green clipboard with the score sheet has been abandoned on the bench. Junior, 11, picks it up and starts tallying the runs.
At one point, after a pair of runners come charging home, 11-year-old Matthias looks to the sky from his position at shortstop.
"Now we're going to lose," he moans, covering his head with his glove.
But there is no arguing, no grumbling.
Not even when the umpire, who is clinging to the homemade wooden backstop like a blue jay with suspenders, calls out, "Strike three!"
Even after a hefty collision between a fielder and a runner, the injured party - a younger boy - walks off the field by himself. He is crying softly. He stands quietly for a moment, no one making a big deal of the incident, no threats of revenge
or fits of anger.
In a short while he's back in action, smiling and seemingly no worse for wear.
Deborah is 9 years old, and she is something to watch on a baseball field.She is one of the first to shed her shoes and socks on this crisp day. She stands at home plate, a determined look on her small face.
The pitch comes in and she whacks it toward the shortstop. And Deborah is running, her purple dress flapping around her ankles. Her teammates shout encouragement, but Deborah doesn't need it. She is fast. Very fast. She beats the throw and stands on the base - flushed but silent.
Micah is another character. The 10-year-old is easily one of the most loquacious, and his lilted voice carries across the field.
"That was a powerful good pitch," he shouts to no one in particular. "Powerful good."
Each child is, in their own way, powerful fun to watch.
Jeremy, 12, is a lefty with a great arm and an easy smile. Heidi, 13, is quiet and watchful. There is a second Caleb, 10; Emily, also 10; and little Myron, age 9. Melanie, who leads the fielding practice each day, is a natural athlete who on this day smashes a shot that rolls to the fence for a home run.
But like the golden larch on the nearby Missions, it is their happiness and humility in the midst of competition that stands out. Seemingly oblivious to the reporter and photographer who have stopped by for another visit, they play baseball.
A horse and small buggy with two Amish women rolls past the school. The clipping sound of hooves, the whir of the wheels on gravel.
And the game goes on. Simple and beautiful.
Reporter John Smithers can be reached at 523-5257 or at jsmithers@missoulian.com. Photography editor Kurt Wilson can be reached at 523-5244 or at kwilson@missoulian.com.
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Joe Citizen wrote on Oct 29, 2008 3:40 PM: