Finally, the pond's fit.

As the sun sets and the wind eases, some 50 or so Amish teen boys and young men trickle to this farm pond south of Strasburg in buggies and on scooters.

Beat-up hockey sticks with shin guards and gloves are slung over their shoulders.

Another season of pond hockey, an old and eagerly anticipated winter pastime on starry nights in Amish communities throughout Lancaster County, is about to begin.

But the Friday night face-off is delayed first because an excited Amish man has left the post-game ice cream at home. A New Era reporter is enticed to make the dessert run.

Then, more waiting around to find working bulbs for the string of lights suspended from treetops down the center of the pond and powered by a portable generator.

In the old days, lanterns were placed on the edges of ponds. In communities where there wasn't a pond, chicken houses were sometimes flooded.

Tonight, amid 27-degree temperatures, the games are to be played inside a misshapen oval rink, formed by 2-by-6-inch boards bolted together.

To a visitor, the players look a little rag-tag. No bright jerseys. Almost all wear traditional black pants and jackets, which you would think would be an obstacle to finding teammates. Even the lone non-Amish player, a neighbor, is dressed nondescript.

All have stocking caps. Gloves range from store-bought padded hockey gloves to work and camouflaged hunting gloves. No one dons a helmet, except for one goalie.

An important prelude to the games is taking place at center ice. All the hockey sticks are placed in a pile, then team captains scatter the sticks right or left. It's a way of making sure teams are random and not stacked with superior players.

As soon as a game begins, it is quickly evident this is not the National Hockey League.

The players are excellent skaters and the pace is fast and furious. But there is an odd quiet, the only sounds that of turning blades shaving ice, puffing of taxed bodies and the shotgun thuds of the puck sent into the boards.

No shouts of "I'm open" or "Shoot!" No body checks or high sticking. The skaters are deft in their intentions to avoid collisions.

There are reasons for this.

"They're all friends and they want to keep it that way," says an Amishman. "They're not really out for blood, not quite like they are for professional hockey."

Asked how they came to be such good skaters, a teen shrugs, "We grew up with it."

Into the night they play, five-man teams and 10-minute games. Few goals are scored, partly because the nets, concocted from two-by-fours and chicken wire, are only 2 feet high.

Goalies usually place their hockey stick lengthwise in front of the goal and kneel behind it. The strategy is quite effective.

On the pond's backwater, beyond the rink, young Amish boys and girls in scarves, mittens and white skates slide on the ice, their squeals contrasting to the earnest but quiet motion beside them.

On the bank, young Amish boys are suited up, hoping to be allowed to take the ice. One has duct tape around his skates to bind them tightly to his feet.

A mixture of English and Pennsylvania Dutch is spoken. Equipment storage ranges from trendy Adidas gear bags to a corn syrup bucket.

A nearly full moon rises low on the horizon, seemingly snared in the bare trees. Still, the guys play on. It's the one night without work or church first thing in the morning and nobody wants to leave.

Just shy of midnight they call it a night, then head huffing and puffing to the farmhouse where they warm up by having pizza delivered, then chill themselves again with tubs of ice cream.

No one knows how long the good ice will last. So the next night they are back, building a bonfire, making the most of a carefree winter pleasure.

CONTACT US: acrable@LNPnews.com or 481-6029