Deep in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country we came across towns with names such as Bird-in-Hand, Blue Ball, Paradise, Virginville, and of course, Intercourse. I wish I had the concession on the products sporting that town’s name. The income from coffee mugs, t-shirts, refrigerator magnets, postcards, canning jars of everything from bean salsa to pumpkin butter to pickled eggs to flavored coffee, ad infinitum, must account for a very tidy sum. I know I bought my fair share of such Intercourse-labeled products.
I believe it’s a fascination with the word “intercourse” more than anything else that generates such interest in these offerings. I can’t honestly say that the items I purchased there are any better than others bought elsewhere, but marketing is the key. And I’m willing to bet that this blog entry gets more than the usual traffic just because I used the “I-word” in the subject line. And if you’ve read this far, I know most of you are smiling and nodding your head sheepishly.
A word of caution, however—If you are planning an actual trip to Intercourse, be advised: Most of the true Amish shops are closed on Sunday.