A couple of days before Thanksgiving, we drove up to the heart of Amish country—a soul-satisfying, late-autumn expedition along rural Pennsylvania back roads. Silos punctuated the landscape like exclamation points. We passed plows pulled by teams of four horses through fields of corn stubble turned golden by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. We admired a local dairy farm, where Jersey and Holstein cattle grazed against the hazy backdrop of Blue Mountain. Our destination, however, was Eberly Poultry, a third-generation operation that processes chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, partridge, quail, and more. All the birds are raised in small flocks by Amish and Mennonite farmers living within a 50-mile radius of Bob Eberly's plant, and all are raised "as nature intended," he told me, "with no pesticides, no hormones, no chemical fertilizers, strictly free-range." Old and new meet on Eberly's doorstep near the hamlet of Schoeneck (the name means "beautiful corner" in German); horses, their breath visible in the cold air, prance past the plant along Mt. Airy Road, drawing the boxy black carriages used by the Amish, while semis hurtle along the Pennsylvania Turnpike a mile away.