In October 2006, I had planned to spend four or five days revisiting Amish country in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, to photograph this unique corner of American culture. I had visited Lancaster County twice before: the first time was in the 1960s, and the second time around had been the previous year after exhibiting at an art festival in Williamsburg, Virginia.

A few days before leaving for Lancaster, a horrifying Amish school shooting took place just a few miles from the hotel where I had reservations. A local man had shot 10 Amish girls in their schoolhouse before turning the gun on himself; five children died.

It both inspired and shocked many to see the community express forgiveness toward the killer and comfort his family, donating money to the widow and her young children and attending the killer’s funeral.

I called the hotel and was assured that I could make the trip and would be able to drive around the countryside without interfering in the lives of the Amish residents.

I had first visited the Lancaster area in the winter and photographed landscape images with snow on the ground in the countryside.

On this visit, I saw farms which were perfectly kept, almost manicured, as were the fields and buildings. They were the norm as I drove around this seemingly idyllic county, but the mass shooting that had taken place was always in the back of my mind, especially when I came into contact with people from the area.

In my limited experience, the Amish people, without exception, were humble, understated and serene; they seemed at peace with their lives. It was almost as if I had entered a culture alien to my experience. Can you imagine living without blasting radios and TVs, speeding cars, noisy semitrailers and motorcycles? And imagine a countryside without garish billboards, red flashing signage and a burger joint on every corner. Sounds pleasant, doesn’t it?

I loved that I could hear birds chirping, cows mooing and dogs barking in the distance and the ever-present clip-clopping of horses’ hooves on the asphalt. In the evening, as the sun set, there was the faint twinkling of dim electric lights and a sense of tranquility throughout the land.

I was in awe of the Amish community’s ability to somehow forgive the man who had shot and killed five young kids and wounded others a few days before I arrived. Every day, often on three or four separate occasions, I would be surprised at the courtesy, humility and the sense of humanity that the community demonstrated to me. For me, an outsider, it seemed like an ideal society.

Everywhere I went, I saw men and young women working in the fields to harvest fall crops before rain and winter weather set in. After spending about an hour photographing a couple, the young man courteously said to me, ”I think you have enough pictures now.” I got the hint.

Driving throughout the countryside during those four days was endlessly fascinating to me and so tranquil. Except for some tourist car traffic, the roads were generally peaceful and quiet, even more so than I had imagined it would be. Of course, there was a good reason for the silence. For many years, the horse and buggy was the main means of transportation in Lancaster County for the Amish; I saw and experienced the continuing tradition.

One day, I came across a produce auction in Leola, Pennsylvania, not far from my hotel, and, over the course of two days, I was able to take my favorite series of images from that October trip.

For hours, I photographed the auction as unobtrusively as possible, and certainly would stop if asked or if I felt as if, for any number of reasons, I shouldn’t be taking pictures.

I was certainly aware of the recent events but I didn’t quite understand how it affected my presence with a camera. The auction site and the farmers with their kids were such humble, unpretentious and modest subjects that I felt the need to record them in their routine activities.

If you ask an Amish person for permission to take their picture, they will politely say no, as this could be construed as their willingness to “pose” for an image, which goes against their beliefs.

I always did my best to be respectful and perhaps because of this, I was able to spend so much time at the auction, until at one point, I think I became familiar and harmless like a piece of furniture in the place.

Looking back, one of my favorite images is “Women Waving,” a photograph I took on a foggy morning as I was leaving Lancaster County to go back home to Marin.