Lunch with Daisy: trip to a Hutterite community

This article is published in number 5 of Vanity Fair on newsstands until February 2, 2021

The hair gathered in black handkerchiefs, the pastel-colored robes up to the feet that flutter in the wind, in a frozen land where time seems to crystallize. Hands waving as we walk away. Smiling, in the same way that, shy and curious, they welcomed us into their community.

North Dakota, Fargo. November 2019. The cold grips the limbs, -15, -20 are the constant temperatures of winter in the Midwest.

We are looking for information about the area. They tell us that, not far from Fargo, there is one community of Hutteriti, but no one knows exactly where. No one has ever seen them. The next day we are already in the car looking for this place not indicated in any map. Finally, at a bend, a gate opens. We slip into what appears to be several hectares of land, not knowing exactly what we will find. From nowhere appears a long line of prefabricated houses. All the same, all ordered in an almost maniacal way. No one on the horizon, around, only silence. We reach a shed that we will later discover to be a typography, where a man welcomes us in a somewhat gruff way: bWho are you, what do you want? “, he asks, slamming a book with the title into my hand The History of Hutterites, and in an increasingly urgent way he beckons us to leave.

As we head towards the car with our boots sinking in the snow, we notice a female figure pulling a cart, while curious glances of women peep out from a window. Nobody approaches, but a chatter comes from a nearby building. Let’s try to enter what turns out to be a kitchen. There is a delicious scent of broth, and an elderly woman stops us asking for an explanation of our presence. THEfeed her to lie. The camera dangles from Betty’s neck. My notebook leaves no room for doubt. Our eyes intertwine, on her face I read a myriad of emotions. Suspended moments.

«It’s cold, you will be tired. Would you like to have lunch with us? “. Thus began our meeting with one Hutterite community, an Anabaptist Protestant organization that has its roots in 1528, a self-sufficient sub-society that one scholar summarized as follows: no other group in North America is further from traditional Western values ​​than this one. Their survival is based on the community of goods and on surrendering to God’s will. A very rich and self-sufficient society. A world where faith and religion mark the days, where there is no exchange with the outside world, where patriarchy is a way of life. In the large dining hall we eat in silence. Men and women are separated. Among the diners, someone occasionally glances at us, but no one comes close. At the end of the lunch, we give thanks and go outside. Five girls start chasing us, all talking together. They want to know. But they also want to tell. It will be them, Beth, Annie, Daisy, Harriet e Laurie to explain how a Hutterite girl lives in the 21st century.

Where do you come from? To our answer Annie comments: «I don’t know where she is, but I know you eat Nutella» (Annie, rushed to hospital for acute appendicitis, met an Italian girl who told her about it). The men are at work, the children at school. With audacity (no stranger can enter the community) the girls let us into the house. Simple, essential. A puzzle started on the kitchen table where the family only eats breakfast. “This is how we spend our free time,” says Daisy as we go upstairs. “Once we are married, we stay in the paternal home until the birth of a child. Only then can we move into our own house. ” Divorce, extramarital affairs? I ask. He tells me that marriage is sacred, the last word always belongs to the husband. “We can’t kiss or hug each other except in the privacy of our bedroom,” he continues.

I wonder how they manage to find a husband: «Once every three months we girls with the pastor go to another community to look for a husband. We spend a few days there and it may happen that we meet a boy’s gaze for a little longer ». Beth adds: «It took me four days of travel in a van with tinted windows to reach the community where I found Robert, my fiancé.or”. The engagement consists of «an exchange of letters which lasts a few months, until marriage. The letters we receive have already been opened and read by our father. We don’t have a phone, we can’t get close to our future husbands. ” The wedding dress? “Let’s add some beads to the fabrics provided for the community. It will be the same dress that we will use for the burial. “
Laurie points to my lips which are bright pink, I show her the lipstick. They know nothing about make-up, creams and various ointments. They show us a piece of soap they produce on site, an essential ingredient of their beauty routine. Everything community related is done locally and distributed as needed. In the house there is no television, no internet, no radio. In the evening we listen to the sermon of the pastor whose voice comes through an intercom provided in all homes.

They accompany us to visit the school. On the walls many books, all printed and produced by the Hutterites. There are no geography texts, so they don’t know where Italy is but not even where the sea is. The story is only about their lineage. They study German, given the origins of the religious organization, and English. The training path for girls stops at the eighth grade, I ask if anyone has ever dreamed of a different life: “As a child I thought I would like to build bridges,” replies Harriet.

It’s time to say goodbye. Shall we take a picture? We ask the girls. And this is where the magic happens twice. Taking photographs is prohibited, and they have never seen themselves reflected in a mirror, they only have a vague idea of ​​their own image.. They sit quietly in the living room. Beth’s mom is there too. The smile lights up their faces. As we leave, we ask everyone to pose together for one last photo. They arrange themselves around us, with their backs turned, evidently they feel the weight of the transgression. And something surprising happens. In the instant before the shot they all turn. Smiling. Beautiful. Looking at their image on the camera for the first time, they don’t recognize each other, and it is understandable, since they have never been able to associate themselves with a face, with a body. The joy we see in their eyes comes from the bottom of the heart. We embrace knowing that we have projected them on a winter afternoon into a world they will never know. Which will always remain protected in their microcosm. But, to be fair, no veil of sadness leaked onto their soap and water faces.

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