There’s something both charming and slightly disorienting about pulling into Berlin, Ohio — a place where time seems to have stopped somewhere around 1885, and nobody’s in a rush to catch up. This is the heart of Amish Country, where the speed limit is determined by how fast a horse feels like trotting and the primary export is “country charm.” The town is a patchwork quilt of quilts — literally — and every storefront promises something “Amish-built,” “hand-stitched,” or “crafted with love.” We dutifully visited the oldest house in Berlin, mainly because it felt like the tourist thing to do. Turns out, it’s mostly a shrine to gingham and dried-flower wreaths. Still, we can now say, with great historical authority, “We were there.”
Sols, the local megastore of knick-knacks and curiosities, was next on the list. That’s where I ran into a cowboy who looked about as thrilled as I was to be there — which is to say, he was questioning some of his life choices. His wife, Annie OAKley, was in full pioneer-shopping mode, possibly hunting for a carving board she didn’t need or other wooden essentials, hopefully not carved from a relative. Service Dog Charlie was in heaven with all the new smells, though I was less enthusiastic about the room full of dolls staring into my soul. Nothing says “relax and browse” like a thousand unblinking eyes watching your every move.
Our spirits lifted again at Sheiyah Market, a sprawling complex of rustic home goods, boutique clothing, and photo ops galore. Naturally, we posed in front of a horse and buggy because that’s the law when you’re in Amish country. Charlie, ever the social butterfly, made friends with a family of bears, apparently deep in meditation. He couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t play fetch, but he gave them a good sniff and moved on. The day’s grand finale was Heini’s Cheese Chalet, where we loaded up on baby Swiss and pretended we were culinary adventurers. Just when we thought the day couldn’t get more perfect, we learned the owner’s uncle had a winery just up the road. Baby Swiss and wine? Check and check.
But as any seasoned traveler knows, no good day goes unpunished. We returned to our campsite riding high on dairy and grape juice dreams, only to discover someone had “autographed” our back bumper with their vehicle. It wasn’t the ending we had planned, but it was the one we got — a literal mark of a memorable day. In the end, Berlin offered us exactly what Amish Country promises: a slower pace, a step back in time, and more country collectibles than we’ll ever need. Charlie got new friends, we got cheese and wine, and our bumper got a new dent. That’s what we call a complete experience. And like any good road trip, it left us with a story to tell — and a repair bill to ignore for just a little while longer.
