Linda Shrock - Betrayed and Rejected: The Story Behind The Bergholz Amish Hair Cuttings

August 6, 2014

Federal Correctional Institution, Waseca Waseca, Minnesota

As I sit here on a hard metal chair in my lonely prison room, my thoughts go back to my childhood in Ohio, and I wonder how in the world I got myself into such a tragic mess.

I am Linda S. Mullet, daughter of Simon and Susie (Miller) Mullet. My birth certificate says my name is Malinda, but everyone calls me Linda. I was born and raised Amish in Middlefield, Geauga County, Ohio. I have nine brothers and eight sisters! Yes, you read that correctlywe had eighteen children in our family!

As I begin with my story, let me introduce you to my dad, Simon. I never heard him apologize for anything. He just made excuses or claimed he did it for a reason. Everything he did, he always said, God told me to do _________ or God told me to think __________. Then he would say, If you dont like it or agree with it, leave me. My story is about the damage done to others when a person never admits mistakes or wrongdoings.

I do not have any good memories of Dad and Mom together getting along and having fun. They were always fighting and arguing. My moms favorite songs were If Teardrops were Pennies (and heartaches were gold, Id have all the riches) and Your Cheatin Heart. She sang those songs often. She told us girls that one day we would understand why she sang them. If my parents did get a chance to sit down on their rockers at the same time, they just sat there saying nothing or Dad was reading the papers. They argued a lot, mostly about money and paying bills. Whenever I heard loud noises, I went outside or hid in my roomI felt alone so many times.

When I was young, I heard many of my dads conversations with family and friends. His conversations were about the devil, a lot. He read stories about the devil and told us stories about him. I was always scared. I just knew this devil was a bad man. I remember lots of times when my dad would visit his dad and mom. Their conversations were never good. I heard Grandpa Mullet say many times to my dad that he shouldnt talk like that.

As a child, I respected my dad because he was my father and the only person I knew besides my mom. As I grew older, I realized Dad was different from everyone else. It affected our school life, our young folk life, and later on, our marriages. The only thing I can think of for why he acted the way he did was he did not want his girls to be with other boys. It caused a lot of problems. Looking back, I think he was jealous of us or overly protective.

Our family visited English people a lot and we kids would play together. The only difference was our dress and speech. Otherwise, we were just kids. When we had lunch with Englishers, the head of the house always prayed out loud for food and fellowship. That stuck with me because Amish people bow their heads and say silent prayers.

Most churches in the Amish community are just churches. Each community has its own rules to go by. I will not judge any Amish or disrespect them, so if their church rules are what they want and agree with, good for them. Its not for me. Those man-made rules are too confusing.

Our family lived on a mini farm next to Grandfather and Grandmother Mullet and my aunts and uncles. I spent more time on Grandfathers farm than I did at home. My grandfather was farming from the time I was old enough to know and realize what was going on in this world. He owned milking cows and calves, horses, pigs, and chickens. The only animal my dad owned was a horse, and later, a pony. I helped take care of Grandfathers animals by putting straw down for bedding and hay down for food. I also helped get the animals ready for the next day. I milked my first cow when I was six years old. It was scary, but fun!

Even as young children, we could easily walk to Grandfathers farm across the field. We did not have to walk on the road. Although the road was a backcountry type of road with little traffic, Mom still told us to stay off the road. However, I have a very scary memory of the time my sister Maggie and I walked up to the back field from our pasture, not knowing that Grandfather Mullet had his herd of cows and his bull in the field. We were walking along when we noticed the cows with the bull. My dad who was cutting hay nearby yelled, Run, girls! Run for the fence! Too late! The bull had seen us. We ran as fast as we could. Just as I rolled under the fence, the bull was there, and bawl he did! We were two frightened little girls. Dad told us to go home and stay there, and we did.

On my days not on the farm, I played with my doll baby that I treasured dearly. I had lots of imagination and played by myself quite a bit. I would go to town or visit neighbors with a buggy and a make-believe horse. Our entryway was my house, and I stored my doll things in a clothes cupboard.

My mother managed and cared for our familys needs. She was entitled to sell Tupperware, so sometimes we walked several miles to our neighbors homes so she could make a sale. Mom also baked at times. I remember helping package cookies for the school sale at the beginning of each school term. (The earnings from the sale were a donation for the school.) I would place a dozen cookies on a piece of cardboard and wrap it with plastic wrap. Sometimes we helped Mommy in the garden. She always had a row of burning bush trees in her garden.

Part of Grandfather and Grandmother Mullets farm. I started milking cows in that barn.

Another memory from my childhood is of Dad mowing the hay down with a huge mower and letting it dry in the sun. After it dried for a couple of days, Dad would take a tedder machine and ride up and down the fields kicking the hay around to finish drying it out. When the hay was dry, Dad used a rake to make rows around the field. Next, we hitched the horses, two as a team, to a huge wagon with a hay loader dragging behind the wagon. Hay came up the loader and onto the wagon. Then someone on the wagon used forks to guide the hay level on the wagon.

Once the wagon was full, we unhitched the loader and drove to the barn where there was a huge fork hanging by a rope from the beams of the barn. We fastened the fork to the hay and hitched one horse to the other end of the rope. That horse pulled the fork all the way up to the roof of the barn. Then someone inside the barn pulled a little rope to release the loose hay into the hayloft. And there it was!

When we washed clothes, we had washing machines with gasoline motors. Wed put the clothes through the wringer to press the wash water out. Then we rinsed them and put them through the wringer again. Next, we hung the wash with clothespins out on the lines to dry which took two to three hours. After they were dry, we took them down, put the pins in a basket, and carried the clothes in the house to fold, sort, and put in piles. Each pile went in the drawers in the childrens room. Usually, we had one drawer for all socks and hankies. One day I went to get the wash off the line and a huge bee stung my belly. I lay on the couch the rest of the day.