Among the many mysteries about long COVID, one of the most vexing has been why women seem to experience the condition more often and more severely than men. Now, scientists are starting to think hormones — and the different ways they affect women and men — could be part of the puzzle.

A new study by a prominent team of researchers from the Yale School of Medicine and the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai has found that women with long COVID had significantly lower levels of testosterone compared to those who had recovered from their infection. That difference seems to be driving certain symptoms female patients experience more often and more severely than male patients, such as headaches, hair loss, muscle pain and memory issues. Low testosterone in women was also associated with elevated levels of distinct immune cells, as well as signs that dormant viruses had been reactivated. While the researchers found that men with long COVID had lower levels of estradiol (indicative of low testosterone), their symptoms were less burdensome and different immune cells were activated.

The findings make clear that hormones deserve much more attention as scientists search for answers to why and how this often-debilitating condition manifests.

The work has yet to undergo peer review, the typical process by which scientific studies are vetted, but I’m highlighting it now given the enormity of need in long COVID — recent data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention showed some 8.8 million people in the U.S. were living with the condition in 2022 — and this team’s track record in conducting high quality research.

What’s most exciting about this finding is that it could directly translate into treatment options. People already take hormone replacement therapies for other conditions, making it easy to test whether testosterone could help long COVID patients. Even if hormones can’t fix the underlying cause of the disease, significantly alleviating symptoms would be a huge advance. Best of all, this research could have broader implications about how hormones affect other chronic conditions.

This group of researchers has been methodically studying the differences between people with long COVID and those who easily recover from their infection. Last year, they identified a collection of biomarkers, or indicators of disease that can be measured in, say, blood or saliva, that are distinct in people with the condition. All of those signals pointed to an immune system constantly operating in overdrive, a finding supported by other recent developments in long COVID.

Testosterone is believed to act as a brake on an overactive immune system, so it shouldn’t be a complete surprise that levels of the hormone would be depleted in people with long COVID. But because men make so much more testosterone than women, the difference in the hormonal makeup of long COVID sufferers is easily buried in population-level data. Indeed, the team previously identified low levels of a different hormone, cortisol, as one of the most prominent characteristics of the condition. But, after separating out the sexes, testosterone emerged as an even better predictor, says Akiko Iwasaki, the Yale immunobiologist who co-led the work.

One caveat: the researchers don’t have data on people’s hormone levels before they contracted COVID. But while they can’t say for sure that the long COVID patients didn’t start out with low levels of testosterone, their strong suspicion is that those would already have been picked up by a doctor since they would cause other health problems.

The team is now trying to get more granular detail about how testosterone and cortisol levels fluctuate throughout the day. When we’re healthy, these hormones rise and fall on a carefully timed schedule. If they turn out to be permanently lowered in people with long COVID, it could mean something has going wrong with the organs that make them; if they’ve simply lost their rhythm, maybe all that’s needed is to restore the correct cadence. Hopefully, we’ll have an answer soon. The team is now busy analyzing the hormone levels in saliva samples collected multiple times a day from both healthy people and long COVID patients.

Once that’s sorted, the next step — one that, given the urgency of long COVID, must happen as soon as possible — would be to test whether hormone replacement therapy could alleviate symptoms.

Such a trial should be designed with care. If done right, it could not only lead to a treatment for long COVID, but also teach us more about the complex interplay between hormones and our immune system. Teasing apart those interactions could help explain why treatment is (or isn’t) helping these patients, while potentially offering insights on other chronic conditions.

We can’t let the opportunity go to waste. For too long, sex hormone differences have been seen as an inconvenient liability in clinical trials rather than a variable worth considering. Until recently, many drugs were only studied in male mice (lest the results be muddied by fluctuating female hormones), and even human tests skewed toward men.

Meanwhile, chronic conditions like ME/CFS (commonly known as chronic fatigue syndrome), Lyme disease, and now long COVID, tend to be more common or more severe in women. Time and again, those women’s symptoms are dismissed as psychological rather than physical.

This latest study illuminates our limited knowledge about the role of hormones in chronic disease and should be a clarion call for more work in long COVID and beyond. That can help “start to right the wrongs of this sort of sexism and ableism in women’s health,” says David Putrino, director of rehabilitation innovation for the Mount Sinai Health System, who helped lead the study.

Iwasaki says the team’s decision to study sex hormone differences was inspired by a story she heard from the mother of a trans child whose long COVID profoundly improved after he started taking testosterone as gender-affirming therapy. That single anecdote added to other stories trickling in from people whose symptoms improved when they took hormones for other reasons. “If you hear enough of them,”Iwasaki says, “you start to think, ‘Okay, there’s a clue in here.’”

Thankfully, she’s listening. That could mean help for the millions of long COVID sufferers looking for something — anything — to help them return to their normal life.

Lisa Jarvis is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering biotech, health care and the pharmaceutical industry. Previously, she was executive editor of Chemical & Engineering News.

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Marlise Kast-Myers | Tribune News Service

Before marrying my husband Benjamin, I had a habit of setting New Year’s resolutions of lofty goals-turned-faded letdowns. From publishing books to running marathons, those big dreams led to late nights, missed deadlines and self-inflicted exhaustion. A realist at heart, Benjamin taught me to crumple date-induced ambitions and simply find motivation in myself rather than a flip of the calendar.

That is until recently.

Tiptoeing toward us was 2024 holding a mirror of tired reflections. Coffee was my fuel and bedtime was my bestie, as we juggled four jobs between the two of us. Oddly enough, we’re wired that way, taking on more than we should because we’re driven by ourselves.

And so, we ironed out that crumpled sheet of blankness and wrote in bold letters: “Relax. Rest. Recover. Reconnect. Rejuvenate. Restore.”

That was our goal, to get away for four days and come back new and improved.

Enter Arizona. The proximity to San Diego made the spontaneous getaway uncomplicated, not to mention, we heard of two properties that had the power to push the reset button on life.

Tucked into the untamed Sonoran Desert, CIVANA Wellness Resort & Spa would start our path to wholeness, followed by Castle Hot Springs which would continue our journey to healing in the foothills of the Bradshaw Mountains. Two nights at each resort are what we dedicated to unplug from the world and reconnect to ourselves.

The 22,000 sq-ft spa is the heartbeat of CIVANA. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

Simplicity was our priority, not budget. And so, we flew via JSX hop-on jet service. As first timers, we learned that the public charter traveled to 40-plus destinations including Scottsdale. Gone were the security lines, the crowded terminals and the hidden fees, meaning we could park and arrive just 20 minutes before takeoff. Included in the $279 ticket price were cocktails, Wi-Fi, business-class legroom, and oversized baggage. Trust me, we were carrying some serious baggage (figuratively, of course).

The past year wrung us out, and now Arizona was hanging us out to dry with a bad start.

Somehow the rental car agency had “sold out” of vehicles. For over two hours, we stood in line hoping for a set of wheels that would take us to utopia.

Mentally, I was at a dangerous place and on the verge of getting ugly, the type where my husband walks away and pretends I’m a stranger. Stepping out of line, I went directly to the parking garage and showed an attendant our reservation. To my surprise, he handed us a set of keys and we were off — that is until we were stopped five minutes later for potential car theft.

Back to the airport we went, waiting another 45 minutes for a vehicle we hadn’t reserved, costing double the original price. And of course, things got ugly. That’s when a text message arrived from our house sitter, informing me that my pet turkey had gone missing.

Teetering between anger and sadness, I had nothing to say. Traffic was at a standstill, we hadn’t eaten all day, and my pre-booked meditation class was starting in five minutes.

And so, I bit down on my knuckles and screamed.

“Well, this is certainly off to a good start,” Benjamin said.

Everything I had aimed to quell was boiling at the surface, and now all I wanted to do was wash away the day.

A $40 million renovation turned this 1960s hotel into a wellness retreat. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

Somehow, CIVANA sensed that, greeting me with a pool where I swam laps alone at sunset.

Within minutes, I could feel the stress dripping off my body. The setting certainly helped, a 1960’s mid-century modern hotel in a town appropriately named Carefree.

Originally designed by Frank Lloyd Wright’s understudy, Joe Wong, the property resurrected in 2018 as CIVANA Wellness Resort. The $40 million dollar facelift was tight, with 144 neutral-toned rooms in stone, wood, and glass reflective of the desert.

Never did I expect cactuses to be so esthetically soothing, saluting the marbled sky and fading into the starry night. Webbing out from the 20-acre resort were pebble-framed trails that led to the café, restaurant, fitness studios and 22,000-sqare-foot spa.

Boldly launching during the pandemic, CIVANA is clearly the cool kid on the block, luring wellness-focused millennials with its price point and mindset that self-love is okay.

Apparently, women got the memo. Bachelorette parties, girls getaways and sister retreats left my husband saying, “I feel very alone.”

In my opinion, that was actually the point, for us to be (or at least feel) alone in our united solidarity. CIVANA went out of its way to do that through their pillars of discovery and nourishment. Starting with the latter, we dined at Terras with mouths-wide-open during dinner of eggplant hummus, seared scallops and Faroe Island salmon.

A seasonal menu delivers farm-to-fork cuisine at Castle Hot Springs. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

“I think I need some carbs,” I whispered.

The veggie-forward menu had gluten free, grain free, dairy free and other “free” (not to be confused with “complementary”) options; an entrée alone runs about $50, but throw in the resort perks, and the price tag doesn’t seem so heavy.

Included in the $500+/- nightly rate are bikes, hiking trails wellness guides, aqua therapy and over 100 movement, personal growth and spiritual classes. I opted for yoga, cardio strength and “Band and Buns” while Benjamin zenned out with breathwork, meditation and sound-healing.

In true “us” form, we packed our schedules with classes and spa treatments. Of course, there were gardens and labyrinths to quiet the mind, open the heart and ground the body. Benjamin explored them. I did not, because I was too busy running to my next class. Like students on campus, we would wave in passing or meet up for lunch over smoothies and antioxidant bowls.

Shaking my empty water bottle, I tapped my forehead.

“I already feel so hydrated. … Oh, look, they have hard Kombucha!”

Despite our resolutions, we were on vacation after all — a time to let go, raise a glass, and toast to the fact we were reaping the benefits of our environment. Others got it, eating breakfast in bathrobes, sipping post-spa margaritas and ditching workouts when suffering and leisure no longer aligned.

I was sad to leave CIVANA, having just awakened the 2.0 version of myself. As we packed the car for Castle Hot Springs, I felt healthy, alive and poised for what was next. During the hourlong drive, we passed spiny saguaro cactuses, wild donkeys and a world of Winnebagos. Tumbleweeds rolled across desert plains, as if each one had a destination and a deadline.

“Is this where they filmed ‘Breaking Bad’?” I asked.

My husband didn’t respond, but rather mumbled something about our rental car being put to the test. In our wake was a plume of dust, leaving behind any sign of civilization. Thoughts of his tire-changing skills crossed my mind, along with my sudden desire to adopt a burro.

And then, there it was, an oasis thriving in the barrenness. Greeting us at parking was a valet who whisked us via golf cart through a private gate, down a palm tree-lined pathway, to Arizona’s first luxury resort. At the center of the 1,200-acre property were pools and ponds dotting manicured gardens and vibrant lawns so perfect, you’d swear you were living in an AI post.

A seven-mile dusty road leads to the lush oasis of Castle Hot Springs. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

Castle Hot Springs existed to help people come up, and then slow down with mindful activities, rugged nature, and soft adventure. While rates were three times that of CIVANA, it was one-size-fits-all with an inclusive experience covering tours, meals, gratuities, resort fees, in-room amenities, valet, cart service and endless activities. Hiking, archery, paddleboarding, biking, horseback riding, pickleball, gardening, stargazing, wine-tasting, yoga — you name it, and they had a personal guide to take you from adventure to relaxation.

The diamonds of this jewelry box, however, are the hot springs that have been replenishing souls since 1896. From the Yavapai Tribe who soaked for medicinal purposes, to the prospectors who sold the land to the Murphy brothers for development, word spread of the healing waters and fertile soil in the Bradshaw Mountains.

The Rockefellers, Wrigleys, Vanderbilts and Roosevelts all escaped to this sanctuary of well-being, which pioneered Arizona’s first tennis courts, golf course and telephone. In 1943, it served as a military rehabilitation center for injured veterans, including future president, John F. Kennedy.

Despite its curative properties, Castle Hot Springs went up in flames in 1975. For over 40 years, the charred resort sat desolate, ready for someone to resuscitate its heart so that it might once again breathe life into others. Along came Cindy and Mike Watts, who first spotted the land while flying over during quail-hunting season. For around $2 million, they purchased the skeleton resort with only three buildings remaining. After a five-year historic restoration, Castle Hot Springs finally had the resurrection it deserved, today earning accolades matching some of the best hotels in the world.

Understandably so. Designed with luxury and relaxation in mind, 30 bungalows and cottages boast stone tubs, covered decks, telescopes and indoor-outdoor fireplaces. Each room is strategically located at the water’s edge so you can fall asleep to the sound of the babbling creek.

Clearly, we had found our healing place. Pulling back the curtains, my husband inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

“Oh look, a hiking trail,” I clapped behind him.

Reaching new heights at Arizona’s only Via Ferrata Adventure Course, at Castle Hot Springs. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

Alas, it was, and 17 of them to be exact. From aerial walkways and agave farms to canyon caves and mountain summits, we explored as many as we could in between yoga, massages, biking, rock climbing and farm tours. The latter ignited an unparalleled appreciation for the kitchen, where the chef and farmer work in unison; so much so, that they create the daily 4-course tasting menu together.

During our tour through the “living pantry,” we tasted leafy greens and fragrant herbs that made their way from farm-to-fork later that night. With over 3-acres under cultivation, the team of agronomists harvest more than 150 varieties of crops each season. Nova Scotia halibut with beluga lentils or Colorado lamb with pistachio butter and sweet potato fondant? Choices, choices.

If only we had more time and doggie bags to take home the feeling of Castle Hot Springs every time life turned south. It was the type of place that coated you in experiences over accommodations, memories over moments. We felt it during our bike tour, cruising down a network of single-track trails, mining roads and narrow canyons. It hit us again during our multiple soaks in the thermal pools.

Hot springs can vary in temperature up to 106 degrees Fahrenheit. (Benjamin Myers/TNS)

We slept deep that night, so deep in fact, that we awakened, and it was time to go … at noon.

Driving back to the airport, we once again sat in silence. Only this time, I wasn’t thinking about rental cars and traffic and the meditation class I was about to miss.

Instead, I was thinking about the miracle of an oasis that withstood the flames of the past to now extinguish the pain of the present. I thought about how those restorative waters had the power to plunge me out of exhaustion and emerge me anew with a deeper understanding and appreciation of loving myself. I thought about how cultivating wellness — from the food that I eat to the hours that I sleep — is a purposeful journey, not a prescribed destination. I thought about how two resorts in the Arizona desert revealed the importance of staying aligned in 2024, versus reaching a point of pushing reset.

Grabbing my husband’s hand, I gave it little squeeze. “Well,” I said, “this is certainly off to a good start.”

____

Marlise Kast-Myers (marlisekast.com) is an author and journalist based in San Diego. She and her husband live at the historic Betty Crocker Estate where they run Brick n Barn (bricknbarn.com)

©2024 Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

Teams with an abundance of salary-cap room first look to invest in their own players. It’s always more sound to build from within than to chase veterans in free agency, where teams wind up overpaying for players who, in many cases, are available for a reason.

The Chicago Bears head into a seismic offseason with a healthy cap situation. They have the eighth-most “effective cap space,” according to overthecap.com, at $36.6 million. Effective cap space takes into account where a team will be after it has met what’s called the “Rule of 51,” for offseason bookkeeping purposes, and signed its projected rookie class. For the Bears, that includes the first and ninth picks in the draft.

The Bears’ figure is expected to rise. Releasing free safety Eddie Jackson and offensive lineman Cody Whitehair would create an additional $21 million in cap room. So general manager Ryan Poles has more than enough flexibility to accomplish his goals for the next phase of roster construction.

That process figures to begin with negotiations to retain cornerback Jaylon Johnson, who was voted to the Pro Bowl Games and was a second-team All-Pro after a banner season that included a career-high four interceptions.

“Jaylon’s not going to go anywhere,” Poles said last week, a sure sign the Bears are prepared to use the franchise tag if they’re unable to hammer out a multiyear contract before the window closes. Teams can apply the tag from Feb. 20 through March 5.

The franchise tag for cornerbacks is expected to be about $18.8 million in 2024, and that would set a floor for contract negotiations and buy another five months to work out more than a one-year deal. The Bears have used the franchise tag twice in the last decade — on wide receivers Allen Robinson in 2021 and Alshon Jeffery in 2016 — and placed the transition tag on cornerback Kyle Fuller in 2018.

Johnson is aiming to become the NFL’s highest-paid cornerback, a distinction currently held by Jaire Alexander of the Green Bay Packers or Denzel Ward of the Cleveland Browns, depending on how you measure it.

“The ball’s in my court, the ball’s in my favor,” Johnson said Wednesday when he appeared on the Fox Sports podcast “All Facts No Brakes” with Keyshawn Johnson. “I think it’s just a matter of time and when it happens. Going into the negotiations I don’t think there’s too much to try to talk about.

“I feel like there’s no reason why I can’t be the highest-paid corner in the league. That’s what I’m aiming for. That’s what I’m shooting for. That’s what I think can be done and should be done.”

Alexander received a four-year, $84 million extension in 2022, with the average annual salary of $21 million setting the bar atop the market. That same year, Ward got a five-year, $100.5 million extension ($20.5 million average) with a record $44.5 million fully guaranteed. Jalen Ramsey of the Miami Dolphins is the only other cornerback in the $20 million club in terms of annual average, having signed a five-year, $100 million deal in 2020.

Two years after the Alexander and Ward contracts, with Johnson having bet on himself, it stands to reason he is shooting to reset the market considering his performance and accolades and the rising salary cap. Whether he gets there remains to be seen.

Poles was reluctant to consider a market-setting deal for inside linebacker Roquan Smith in 2022. While he hasn’t spoken specifically about numbers for Johnson, cornerback is considered a more premium position and the Bears could maintain a strength by retaining Johnson with developing second-year cornerbacks Tyrique Stevenson and Terell Smith and third-year nickel back Kyler Gordon.

The cornerback market took a slight dip since Alexander and Ward were paid, but that probably had more to do with the available talent than a shift in thinking about positional value and budget allocation.

Some defensive coaches place a greater premium on cover men than pass rushers with the philosophy that it’s easier for offenses to scheme around a defensive end than an elite cornerback, especially one who isn’t a liability against the run.

That’s not to say you can play great defense without top-tier edge rushers — you can’t. It all goes hand in hand, but if forced to pick an elite cornerback or an elite edge rusher, some coaches would go with the guy who can mirror top-tier wide receivers.

That’s why it is paramount the Bears keep their talent. Johnson turns 25 in April, and he’s only eight months older than Gordon despite having two more years of experience.

The Bears love Johnson and his makeup, and he’s wired exactly how you want a cornerback to be with a desire to face the best receiver every Sunday. The only issue they will have when considering whether to make him the highest-paid cornerback in the league is durability. He missed three games this season, including the finale against the Packers when a minor shoulder injury sidelined him. He missed six games in 2022, two in 2021 and three as a rookie.

That doesn’t take away from what Johnson accomplished this season, meeting the challenge of delivering more on-the-ball production. It’s important to recognize Johnson was having an elite season before Poles acquired defensive end Montez Sweat at the trade deadline. So it’s not like his ascent was the result of a suddenly enhanced pass rush.

The front office has a lot to work through with its attention being pulled in many directions. The Bears need to fill out Matt Eberflus’ coaching staff while preparing for free agency and draft meetings.

Confidence should be high that the Bears will resolve matters with Johnson, but it could take some time. The last three players on whom the Bears used the franchise tag — Robinson, Jeffery and defensive tackle Henry Melton (2013) — played out their one-year deals. The Bears secured running back Matt Forte with the franchise tag in 2012, ultimately leading to a four-year contract.

The goal with Johnson has to be a multiyear agreement.

“We’ll work through it and get something done,” Poles said.

It’s a matter of how high the dollars — and more importantly the guarantees — go.

()

When life feels too complicated, I can regain a sense of balance by driving to farmland where Amish families intentionally live quietly, simply and conservatively. Add “mysteriously,” if you’ve had little exposure to their lifestyle.

In their rural landscape are black, horse-drawn buggies instead of trucks and tractors. They are driven by men with straw hats, suspenders and beards. The women wear bonnets and modest, ankle-length dresses.

Roughly 384,300 Amish people live in 32 states and four provinces in North America, reports Elizabethtown College, where Amish studies is a specialty. The college is in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, home to the nation’s largest Amish population at 44,315.

These Christian families typically live without electricity, motorized vehicles, telephones and other modern conveniences. Contact with outsiders is not a priority; but interactions are not one-dimensional, cookie-cutter experiences either.

Amish encounters, and how hard you have to work to find them, in part depend on location. Communities with a high concentration of Amish families approach tourism with varying degrees of interest, creativity and commercialism. Consider the examples of Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana.

Wisconsin: root around on your own

My wintry Saturday drive ended 40 miles north of Madison as I cut east toward Dalton, population 203, for a glimpse and taste of Amish life. Thick-legged workhorses hauled ice from a pond. Others clip-clopped more daintily while pulling buggies on snow-packed hills.

Roughly 10% of Wisconsin’s 25,000 Amish residents live between Highways 22 and 73; Barry Road is one popular shopping route.

First stop, farm-based Pleasant View Bakery, south of Barry Road. In the commercial kitchen were pans of just-baked cinnamon rolls. Cherry mash — chocolate under and over a vanilla filling with chopped cherries — roused my curiosity; I bought one-half of the last pound and also left with a cherry pie, pumpkin bars and a dozen cookies.

Next, Mishler’s Country Store, where household provisions arrive in bulk and are packaged into portions suitable for the average family. Sets of wind chimes, made by the Amish in Indiana, tinkled outdoors. Fat heads of cauliflower, blemish-free and 89 cents each, filled a shopping cart indoors.

On a bulletin board were signs and business cards for clock repair, rides, welding, stump removal and more. On shelves were Amish cookbooks, home medicine remedies and seasoning blends that included ones for homemade bacon and bologna.

Signage on Barry Road in Marquette County, Wisconsin, reminds motorists about who else is sharing the thoroughfare. (Holly L. De Ruyter)

I left with cauliflower, a garlic bulb, bags of teeny bow-tie pasta and chopped pecans. Eggs were not in stock, but the clerk eagerly gave directions to a farm with chickens.

Last stop, Mast’s Bent and Dent, which stocks an unpredictable mix of nonperishable foods that are near, at, or past “best by” dates. Don’t expect signage; I drove past the farm-based business twice before nailing the location.

The treasure hunt of merchandise from overstocks and liquidations was excellent at this well-organized store. Vinaigrettes, toothpaste, mouth guards for sleep, Dolly Parton cake mixes, keto products and oodles of other items were deeply discounted.

Adding a stop or two for bedding plants would be logical during spring. There are at least a dozen greenhouses in the rural neighborhood. The countryside is similarly abundant with woodworkers who build kitchen cabinets, furniture, birdhouses and cutting boards — and they might sell items for Amish craftsmen from other states.

Businesses are listed by address at travelmarquettecounty.com. Or visit the Princeton Amish Country Store for a one-swoop purchase of everything from honey to rocking chairs.

It’s all an easy day trip from Madison or stretch the getaway into an overnight stay closer to the Amish enclave. A good match for lovers of the outdoors is the lodge at Mecan River Outfitters, near Princeton. For a modern, lakeshore resort vibe, check out Heidel House in Green Lake.

Another large Amish settlement is in the southwest, within the attractive hills and valleys of unglaciated Wisconsin. Particularly pretty are 17 miles of County Road D, between Cashton, population 1,108, and La Farge, population 730; driveway signs denote farm family businesses.

Kathy Kuderer describes the people in the area as “Old Order Amish”; they use gas or kerosene lanterns for light, and a wood stove for cooking and warmth. Kuderer, a recent retiree, was raised in the area and for 30 years led tours and sold Amish products at her shops.

Another option: Amish vendors sell bakery, baskets and other wares at the Saturday farmers market in Viroqua, population 4,504, from May through October.

Boxes and pallets of whatever is in season — bedding plants, veggies, potted mums — are sold spring to fall at the twice-weekly Growers Produce Auction; add quilts and furniture at the Memorial Day and Labor Day auctions.

In this more remote part of Wisconsin is a mix of bed-and-breakfast inns and mom-and-pop motels.

Illinois: an elevated Amish profile

George Fritz, owner of the Wood Loft in Arthur, Illinois, grew up in Skokie. (Mary Bergin)

Seventy miles east of Springfield, an Amish settlement of 4,500 is the eighth largest nationally. Arthur, a village with 2,231 residents, is where I stopped for a springtime introduction and overnight.

Meals at Amish farms are arranged for groups, but as a solo traveler, I wasn’t accommodated because there were no group reservations for me to join. So I indulged at the buffet at Amish-owned Yoder’s Kitchen, eating chicken and from-scratch noodles, casseroles and pot pies.

It’s easy to explore the area because self-guided audio tours provide narration. That’s one way to discover fourth-generation Green Meadow Farms, which offers buggy rides, and Beachy’s Bulk Foods, which grinds peanut butter to order.

George Fritz, a Skokie native, operates the Wood Loft, which has Amish-made merchandise. About one-fourth of the store’s furniture and one-third of the quilts are made locally.

“The Amish have been in the area for 100 years but work quietly,” said Fritz, a former Amish cabinetmaker’s employee. “Each farm made something separate — the doors, for example.”

The Wood Loft helped address the question of “how can we help market you because you can’t market yourself,” Fritz said.

“You can’t make a decent living doing any one thing,” Ed Coller, Arthur’s former economic development director, said of small-town life. “The Amish came here for the farmland, which was swampy and tough to farm, but they made it work.”

Penn Station Theatre, which opened last year, hosts productions including Amish-themed musicals. The Illinois Amish Heritage Center, open on Saturdays, is a campus of Amish-built structures and has demos of sheep-shearing, corn-picking and lumbering.

Although national chain hotels are nearby, I preferred a homey suite in an Amish-built cottage at Martha’s Vineyard, which included breakfast.

Amish shoppers fill buggies with groceries purchased in Shipshewana, Indiana. (Mary Bergin)

Indiana: showtime in Shipshewana

Amish-made decor was abundant when I checked into the 155-room Blue Gate Garden Inn in Shipshewana, population 841, about 130 miles east of Chicago. The area’s 20,000 Amish are the nation’s third-largest Amish community; that doesn’t include Mennonites, whose lifestyles are somewhat less restrictive.

At the inn is a restaurant, theater and conference center, where I encountered quilters on a six-day stitching retreat, organized three times per year by Gay Bomers of Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Frequent flea markets brought visitors to Shipshewana a century ago, and buggies fill grocery store parking lots today. Much of the downtown is walkable, and gift shops stock locally made products.

My group’s first supper away from the inn was at an Amish farm and was served family style. At least four farms offer this. We ate “poor man’s steak” or breaded ground beef patties with mushroom sauce; chicken marinated in an Italian dressing; noodles boiled in chicken broth; and sweet corn, frozen from summer. For dessert, there was apple pie and canned peaches.

We peppered the meal, served in a simple shedlike building, with questions about Amish life:

How fast does a horse and buggy travel? Figure one hour for 10 miles.

How long are Sunday church services? They’re 9 a.m. to noon.

Tourists in Shipshewana, Indiana, sometimes have the option of touring an Amish home after eating supper in an adjacent farm building. (Mary Bergin)

Is it hard to be Amish? “We grew up like this and don’t think anything of it,” answered our amused hostess, with a shrug.

Afterward, we saw the inside of an Amish home, which was cozy but not lavish. Inspirational messages were plentiful, in needlepoint and on walls. A bookcase was stuffed with titles so worn that binders were torn and peeling.

Cucumbers, gladiolas, honey and maple syrup are common products on the area’s 2,100 farms of 10 to 49 acres. Most families take on other work too; we visited cottage industries through Back Roads Amish tours, but you can also explore on your own.

Lambright Country Chimes began with a semitrailer truckload of discarded square metal tubing. Now there are three dozen variations of wind chimes shipped throughout the U.S. and Canada.

Teaberry Wood Products, a Mennonite business, began with wooden puzzles made from sawmill scraps. Now most work is handcrafted baskets that look woven.

Racks of narrow to extra-wide noodles are made and dried at Dutch Country Market. Ten flavors of honey come from harvesting beehives maintained by the owner and other local residents.

Plain Foods, a wholesale business, produces jams, butters, mustards, pickles and salsas under the Mandy’s Harvest label. The work began with a family recipe for apple butter.

Racks of noodles are made from scratch at Dutch Country Market, between Middlebury and Shipshewana, Indiana. (Mary Bergin)

Silver Star Leather, a former harness shop, uses exotic animal pelts (think elephant, ostrich and cobra) to make purses, belts, gun holders and other goods. Pelts, from creatures that died of natural causes, come from as far as South Africa.

Cinnamon caramel doughnuts are popular at Rise ‘n Roll Bakery, which began by selling treats from a porch, using generations-old recipes. Now there are 15 Indiana locations.

It’s an early-to-bed vibe in Shipshewana, with rare exception. Blue Gate Theatre presents wholesome, Amish-themed productions, such as “Half-Stitched: The Musical” and this year’s “When Calls the Heart.” The new Blue Gate Performing Arts Center accommodates larger audiences, for nationally known touring acts.

If you go, a few rules are basic when shopping at Amish farms. Stop if serious about making a purchase, but not just to gawk and interrupt. Shop with cash, not credit cards. Ask before taking photographs. Don’t visit on a Sunday.

Mary Bergin is a freelancer.