Travelling Amish butter


I was heading off to Phoenix to visit my mom last week and she had one request from Montana: bring Amish butter. I was all packed up the morning of my departure when I remembered I had yet to make a special trip to the market. I grabbed a single large lop-sided cube wrapped in white paper then asked my wife to search the TSA website for restrictions. I worried large unidentifiable food might be confiscated, but to our surprise, butter popped up right after 2 pounds was typed in. My cube was exactly two pounds, so I carefully wrapped it in a t-shirt at the center of my bag to insulate it from becoming a melted wad of goo. An hour later, I found myself at the security station in sock feet waiting for my bag to emerge when the screen monitor called over a large, frowning inspector. They huddled at the screen, then my bag was unceremoniously plopped in front of me.

“There’s something in here the x-ray machine doesn’t like.” She rolled the bag searching for a zipper with gloved hands and cold determination.

I worried I might lose my precious cargo and smiled. “It’s butter.”

Her hands froze, then she looked up. “Amish butter?”

“Only the finest.” My shoes and backpack crowded the back of the line as I struggled to load up. A curious guard who overheard the conversation took a few steps closer.

“How did you know it was Amish butter Deb?” His face reflecting curiosity as he nervously rattled keys in his pocket.

Her face brightened, “because it’s AWESOME!”

For the first time in my life, I had a conversation beyond hello and have a nice day at a security station. We discussed where the Amish lived, the process for making butter, and why the subtle flavor was superior as a growing crowd of confused sock-footed tourists stared, unknowing.

Amish butter; the means to unify all humanity for the greater good.


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