“The Amish believe in the Sovereignty Of God. They do not claim or expect life to be free of trouble or pain. They embrace the biblical assertion that “the rain falls on the just and the unjust.” When faced with tragedy or difficulty, they move quickly to adjust and respond to the immediate circumstances, and they do so calmly and quietly—no drama or lament. God’s will is respected.  Then they move on. Long before “English” social workers championed radical acceptance, the Amish began to practice it. The rain falls on them too, but you would never know it from them. In church and on their carriage rides, everyone sings in one voice, in the union, so no one stands out. One person, they say, should never stand out beyond another.”    – Jon Katz.

A horse in our driveway is getting to be commonplace, and that is a delightful addition to the feeling of the farm. I had this fantasy that we would get one of those horses in retirement one day. They are calm enough.

I haven’t shared that daydream with Maria.

Bud might have a nervous breakdown when the horses come by the house, Zinnia doesn’t care, and Fate barks loudly but makes no trouble.

John was riding alone in Monday’s carriage; it was clear he had ridden down from the farm to see me. John is one of Moise’s older sons and one of his tallest. He was riding alone and hauling some old wooden doors.

He introduced us to Snapper, a calm horse famous in Amish circles for jumping an unseen ravine and clipping off the small toe of an unfortunate young man standing on the other side.

“Just like that!” said John, snapping his fingers and smiling at the legend of Snapper. John is organizing the lumber activity at Moise farm. He was engaging, friendly, and good-looking.

Maria decided not to pet Snapper. I found myself wondering about what kind of social life he (John, not Snapper)  had if any. It put it on my mental list to ask.

I scratched his forehead, keeping my sneaker-clad feet back a few feet from Snapper.

What would the pedicurist make of that? If he noticed the three dogs barking furiously at him on the other side of the window, he showed no signs of it.

Snapper was not impressed and did not move an inch.

John had come down to our farm with a lumber price list.

He asked if we had a copying machine. He said Moise was sure we had one. Before the Amish spend a cent, they check around to see if someone can help them for a lower price than a commercial store.

John wanted 50 copies. I just unplugged my rebellious and worthless new Hewlitt Packard printer and had a simple one that didn’t copy anything. I could never get the HP to work, nor could I ever reach a human in the company to help me.

So I bought another one, a Brother L23OOD. It was simple and efficient, one of the cheapest ones. You plug it into the computer, and it prints.  You change the printing ink every 2,400 pages. I couldn’t believe it. Plain and Simple.

Mosie was rubbing off on me.

But it doesn’t make copies.

I planned to take it down to the hardware store and get copies for John; I was also eager to see the lumber operation John was running. Maria, of course, said she might be able to get the one I abandoned to work and do the printing.

I said no way. I couldn’t get it to turn on.

I told John I would come up with the copies Tuesday morning. That evening, Maria went into the other room and made her incompetent husband look like an idiot. She did it. It was easy, she said, perhaps with a sneer.

Tuesday morning, I drove up to Moise’s farm to meet John with the 50 double-sided copies.

I also ordered a wooden plank for Maria that she wished to use as a shelf in her studio. It took John about 2 minutes to find a plank and saw it to the size Maria needed. I tried to pay, but he wouldn’t hear of it since I didn’t charge him for the copying.

This was the first time I agreed to barter with the family. It’s okay; I decided—a good boundary. I spend a few minutes watching John, and Joe cut Maria’s plank.

They had a huge row of sawed wood out. They will do well. (Donut Friday is this Friday, and everyone afterward all summer.)

It was a gorgeous day, and a bunch of cows came running up to them – I didn’t know they had cows, but of course, they do; they drink a lot of milk.

The girls told me they milk the cows twice a day.

It felt quite wonderful up there on that hill.

Moise was away, and John and Joe were gracious and welcoming. I’m learning Amish small talk, which isn’t really small talk.

It focuses on crops, soil, work projects, and their progress. I’m not sure the Amish ever fully relax around the “English,” I think they always keep some space between them and us to protect themselves from our craziness and turmoil.

Peace and calm are precious to them.

We talked about the weather, about wood, the crops the family was planning to plant this and next week in time for the summer and next year.

Moise told me he wanted to grow hay for his horses to eat all winter; he didn’t want to buy any. You don’t want to buy anything if you don’t have to, I joked? But he didn’t smile; he just explained that they always try to make and grow what they need.

Of course, I said. Moise has a wicked smile, I am sure he has a sense of humor, but he takes his farm and beliefs seriously. We’ll see.

On my way down the hill, I ran into a driver of an auto parts van standing by the baked goods sheds, confused. There was no one manning the shed at the moment. A sign said people should come up to the house if there were no one there.

(Moise is scrambling to finish the shed  when he gets back Thursday in time for Donut Friday, which is this Friday, the 16th at the house (just south of the Washington County Park and Lake on Route 22. They sold hundreds of donuts last week.)

“What the hell is a Shoefly pie?” the truck driver asked me, looking a bit grumpy. “Don’t they have any Blueberry pies?”

I suggested that he go on up to the house, but he didn’t seem to want to. He also seemed to assume I worked there in some way.

Okay, I said, here’s the deal. “Buy a Pumpkin pie there, and I’ll give you the Shoefly Pie for free. It’s an Amish classic.”

I took his eight dollars, and he took the two pies. I’m sure he’ll love the Shoefly pie.

I drove back up to the house and handed the astonished girls, two of whom were heading down to the shed, $18.

“You just sold two pies,” I said and drove away. I guess I better try eating a Shoefly Pie.