Welcome home!
God has blessed our family with six growing children. They used to play store while Daddy left them for the workaday world. We dreamt of working together. Today our dreams have come true at The Home Place where we all play store together.
We invite you to browse our 4,000 square foot showroom of fine handcrafted furniture and gift items brought to you from Holmes County, Ohio.
Intricate design and detail built into each piece of furniture reflect the personality of each Amish/Mennonite craftsman. It is our pleasure to be the link between these ingenious craftsman and you, our valued customer.
As you walk in the front door, the first greeting you receive is the aroma coming from our bakery. Besides furniture, our shelves are filled with fresh baked goods and bulk foods. Stop in for a quick sandwich, fixed fresh at our deli.
Come in and visit us. May your dreams come true at The Home Place as well!
We invite you to browse our 4,000 square foot showroom of fine handcrafted furniture and gift items brought to you from Holmes County, Ohio.
Intricate design and detail built into each piece of furniture reflect the personality of each Amish/Mennonite craftsman. It is our pleasure to be the link between these ingenious craftsman and you, our valued customer.
As you walk in the front door, the first greeting you receive is the aroma coming from our bakery. Besides furniture, our shelves are filled with fresh baked goods and bulk foods. Stop in for a quick sandwich, fixed fresh at our deli.
Come in and visit us. May your dreams come true at The Home Place as well!
Thanks for stopping by!
- the Schlabach family
THE HOME PLACE STORY
In 2006, our family of eight embarked on a journey that would require more patience and faith than we could have imagined. It was like we loaded our covered wagon, heading out with a caravan of 7 vehicles, except that we were going east. East and south, in fact, almost Kentucky. We landed in the land of the Underground Railroad, where the locals hankered for peanut bars and blackberry jam cakes, while wondering about our Yankee accent. When the realtor asked me for a “peen”, I offered him a pin, and he said “no, a peen to write with!”
Before our move on September 17, 2006, we’d made a number of forays into Brown County, meeting with realtors, sniffing out potential properties. On one of those, realtor Young of ReMax, took us to Lazy H Cattle Company on 68/125, south of Russellville, suggesting that it would be an ideal location for the business we were dreaming about.
We swung in and were privileged to speak with someone who quickly informed us that the business was not for sale, nor would it be offered for sale in the near future. We recognized a closed door when we saw one.
Only weeks later, Paul Young notified us that in his Sunday School class at Georgetown Church of Christ, someone had submitted the prayer request that the Lazy H Cattle Company, reception venue on 68/125, was on the real estate market and there was possibility of a strip club buying it. These Christian seniors doubled down on their prayers!
Mr. Young knew how to put legs on his prayers. God blessed us with an easy quick transaction, and after some cleaning, painting and acquisition of solid-Amish-made-hardwood-heirloom-quality-no-assembly-required bedroom, dining room, and living room furniture, we opened the doors on November 18, 2006.
We set off the $5000-bedroom suites and elaborately crafted dinettes with $10 candles and wall décor for all tastes. Overheard at the local library, several seniors were talking about the new Mennonite store, “Furniture? Who needs furniture? We’ve all got our furniture. They ought to do a food store.” We didn’t offer food, but we hoped the smaller gift items would entice those ladies to give our store a chance.
Lazy H came to us with a licensed kitchen, and for some reason we baked small bread loaves as gifts to pass out to every customer who attended the grand opening. Requests persisted for something in the food line since this was a food facility and apparently Mennonites look like bakers.
Well-meaning passersby informed us that this place of business had changed hands countless times in the past and we’d be hard put to last longer than any of them. (It’s like when someone is seriously ill, you inform that person of someone else who had that illness – and they died.) Some informed us that it would take at least five years for our store to show a profit, maybe longer. I think they worried about us. We hung on, doggedly praying our customers in.
Despite the naysayers, there were dozens of local community folk who hoped we’d stay around for the long haul. They’d crane their necks, in hopes of seeing cars in our parking lot. On occasion they asked if they’d be allowed to park there so as to give it an appearance of business in action. We parked our own cars in front to give the same impression.
Then 2008 hit, with the downturn of the economy. The noose tightened on our fledgling business. Our meager food offerings of honey, noodles, and granola at the store entrance were well received, with relentless inquiries for more. We reasoned that when folks were losing their properties and paychecks, we’d be unable to shove a table at them, but they might consider buying fresh bread or cookies. We gave in and began to bake more cookies and cinnamon rolls.
I said, though, I’d make no pies. I probably had a mild form of PTSD from washing piles of dishes when my home-maker mother baked pies for her own “pie route” in Nappanee, IN, when I was a little girl. I was homeschooling six youngsters and starting a bakery/store. Our children were four daughters ages 16 to 10, and two sons aged 6 and 4. How in the world would I be able to fit the pie-making circus into my already overfull life? On Thursday afternoons and evenings our family of eight kept late hours in the Home Place kitchen. Life lessons were forged there as in helping young workers understand responsibility, quality, and concerns about whether one was working more than the other. Large copies of songs hung on our kitchen walls and we belted out the tunes in to offset the fact that it was 9:00 PM and the cookies still weren’t baked. And so, the bakery offerings on our two small shelves continued to grow on Fridays and Saturdays. Folks from our church added chicken barbecues on Saturdays, raising funds for their own endeavors, and bringing folks into our parking lot.
Oh, and the pies. Of course, those followed. I had spoken too quickly. My aunts and cousins who’d done the bakery thing before us, fussed over us, honoring us with their advice and trade secrets. If our clients asked for something we easily allowed ourselves to be pushed around. Next came the spices and grocery staples, and candies, and soon after, the meats and cheeses, trademarks of any good “Amish” store. Sometimes our customers told us, “Millers or Keims do it this way.”
Three years in, we hired our first part time employee; with more following soon after. In 2014, we built an addition, filling it quickly with food items. Three years later we added an office and employee lunch room, moving the office from what is now the ladies’ restroom to an ample five-desk office area. We added donuts to the bakery line up. In 2020, we redid the roof over the existing store, trying hard to cover all the hodge-podge-patched-on remodeling. We added a warehouse in the back.
Today, seventeen years after the first passersby furrowed their brows over our furniture-selling ambitions, we are blessed beyond measure. Our furniture inventory lessens while the food choices explode. We are fortunate to count 40 persons on our payroll lineup, most of them part-time, but all intrinsically valuable to the daily workings of this enterprise. We are indebted to the local clientele who faithfully serve our pies and dinner rolls at their family gatherings, and bring their friends to our store. Over the years we’ve forged many first name friendships. We’ve clucked over photos of our customers’ grandbabies, and we’ve sorrowed at visitations when their loved ones died. We’re no longer regarded as the strange newcomers. We feel like we belong to Georgetown, Russellville, and to Brown County. This has been the journey of a lifetime. It’s good for us to remember when we shuffled money from one credit card to the other to pay the bills. Bakery flops met the dumpster. We applied for loans that were denied. We closed during fair week because business was slow. We tried expensive advertising options from postal mailings to billboards to home and garden shows. We have as many failure stories as we do about successes.
We recognize the unmistakable blessing of our gracious God. Our business today is like the grown child of a devoted community. You gave us the second chance after we messed up on your order. You were patient when a fourth grader counted back your change. It really does take a village. You gave us a place at your tables and in your hearts. We are forever grateful.
In 2006, our family of eight embarked on a journey that would require more patience and faith than we could have imagined. It was like we loaded our covered wagon, heading out with a caravan of 7 vehicles, except that we were going east. East and south, in fact, almost Kentucky. We landed in the land of the Underground Railroad, where the locals hankered for peanut bars and blackberry jam cakes, while wondering about our Yankee accent. When the realtor asked me for a “peen”, I offered him a pin, and he said “no, a peen to write with!”
Before our move on September 17, 2006, we’d made a number of forays into Brown County, meeting with realtors, sniffing out potential properties. On one of those, realtor Young of ReMax, took us to Lazy H Cattle Company on 68/125, south of Russellville, suggesting that it would be an ideal location for the business we were dreaming about.
We swung in and were privileged to speak with someone who quickly informed us that the business was not for sale, nor would it be offered for sale in the near future. We recognized a closed door when we saw one.
Only weeks later, Paul Young notified us that in his Sunday School class at Georgetown Church of Christ, someone had submitted the prayer request that the Lazy H Cattle Company, reception venue on 68/125, was on the real estate market and there was possibility of a strip club buying it. These Christian seniors doubled down on their prayers!
Mr. Young knew how to put legs on his prayers. God blessed us with an easy quick transaction, and after some cleaning, painting and acquisition of solid-Amish-made-hardwood-heirloom-quality-no-assembly-required bedroom, dining room, and living room furniture, we opened the doors on November 18, 2006.
We set off the $5000-bedroom suites and elaborately crafted dinettes with $10 candles and wall décor for all tastes. Overheard at the local library, several seniors were talking about the new Mennonite store, “Furniture? Who needs furniture? We’ve all got our furniture. They ought to do a food store.” We didn’t offer food, but we hoped the smaller gift items would entice those ladies to give our store a chance.
Lazy H came to us with a licensed kitchen, and for some reason we baked small bread loaves as gifts to pass out to every customer who attended the grand opening. Requests persisted for something in the food line since this was a food facility and apparently Mennonites look like bakers.
Well-meaning passersby informed us that this place of business had changed hands countless times in the past and we’d be hard put to last longer than any of them. (It’s like when someone is seriously ill, you inform that person of someone else who had that illness – and they died.) Some informed us that it would take at least five years for our store to show a profit, maybe longer. I think they worried about us. We hung on, doggedly praying our customers in.
Despite the naysayers, there were dozens of local community folk who hoped we’d stay around for the long haul. They’d crane their necks, in hopes of seeing cars in our parking lot. On occasion they asked if they’d be allowed to park there so as to give it an appearance of business in action. We parked our own cars in front to give the same impression.
Then 2008 hit, with the downturn of the economy. The noose tightened on our fledgling business. Our meager food offerings of honey, noodles, and granola at the store entrance were well received, with relentless inquiries for more. We reasoned that when folks were losing their properties and paychecks, we’d be unable to shove a table at them, but they might consider buying fresh bread or cookies. We gave in and began to bake more cookies and cinnamon rolls.
I said, though, I’d make no pies. I probably had a mild form of PTSD from washing piles of dishes when my home-maker mother baked pies for her own “pie route” in Nappanee, IN, when I was a little girl. I was homeschooling six youngsters and starting a bakery/store. Our children were four daughters ages 16 to 10, and two sons aged 6 and 4. How in the world would I be able to fit the pie-making circus into my already overfull life? On Thursday afternoons and evenings our family of eight kept late hours in the Home Place kitchen. Life lessons were forged there as in helping young workers understand responsibility, quality, and concerns about whether one was working more than the other. Large copies of songs hung on our kitchen walls and we belted out the tunes in to offset the fact that it was 9:00 PM and the cookies still weren’t baked. And so, the bakery offerings on our two small shelves continued to grow on Fridays and Saturdays. Folks from our church added chicken barbecues on Saturdays, raising funds for their own endeavors, and bringing folks into our parking lot.
Oh, and the pies. Of course, those followed. I had spoken too quickly. My aunts and cousins who’d done the bakery thing before us, fussed over us, honoring us with their advice and trade secrets. If our clients asked for something we easily allowed ourselves to be pushed around. Next came the spices and grocery staples, and candies, and soon after, the meats and cheeses, trademarks of any good “Amish” store. Sometimes our customers told us, “Millers or Keims do it this way.”
Three years in, we hired our first part time employee; with more following soon after. In 2014, we built an addition, filling it quickly with food items. Three years later we added an office and employee lunch room, moving the office from what is now the ladies’ restroom to an ample five-desk office area. We added donuts to the bakery line up. In 2020, we redid the roof over the existing store, trying hard to cover all the hodge-podge-patched-on remodeling. We added a warehouse in the back.
Today, seventeen years after the first passersby furrowed their brows over our furniture-selling ambitions, we are blessed beyond measure. Our furniture inventory lessens while the food choices explode. We are fortunate to count 40 persons on our payroll lineup, most of them part-time, but all intrinsically valuable to the daily workings of this enterprise. We are indebted to the local clientele who faithfully serve our pies and dinner rolls at their family gatherings, and bring their friends to our store. Over the years we’ve forged many first name friendships. We’ve clucked over photos of our customers’ grandbabies, and we’ve sorrowed at visitations when their loved ones died. We’re no longer regarded as the strange newcomers. We feel like we belong to Georgetown, Russellville, and to Brown County. This has been the journey of a lifetime. It’s good for us to remember when we shuffled money from one credit card to the other to pay the bills. Bakery flops met the dumpster. We applied for loans that were denied. We closed during fair week because business was slow. We tried expensive advertising options from postal mailings to billboards to home and garden shows. We have as many failure stories as we do about successes.
We recognize the unmistakable blessing of our gracious God. Our business today is like the grown child of a devoted community. You gave us the second chance after we messed up on your order. You were patient when a fourth grader counted back your change. It really does take a village. You gave us a place at your tables and in your hearts. We are forever grateful.