I was walking up the road with Maria, Zinnia, and Fate when I heard the now-familiar clip-clop of my Amish neighbors, probably returning from church services at another Amish farm.

I thought about how much they have changed the landscape of our town this past year and also the landscape of my life.

For nearly a year, I saw Moise and some of his family members almost every day.

I rode all over the county and several other counties with Moise as he looked for an excellent price to buy the materials for his new barn and home. Our adventures became popular on my blog.

I wrote about them several times a week, obsessed at moments with the challenge of explaining them to a curious and hungry outside world. They are exotic and mystical.

I loved every minute of it, and as with most writers worth anything, I immersed myself in Amish history, faith,  culture, and family life.

I learned a lot, which is my favorite thing to do as a writer, and shared most of it.

When it got to be too much, for me, and perhaps for them – they are intensely secretive and private – I pulled back and moved on, as writers do, and as I do.

I admired my Amish friends very much – their hard work, strong faith, gentle and plain ways, tight family and community ties. They are fiercely independent. They take good care of themselves.

They have accomplished an astonishing amount of work, plowing fields, planting irrigation tubes, clearing rocks, digging foundations, raising roofs, summoning small armies of Amish men and women to help them raise their roofs and pour their foundations.

There is much to learn from them about the land, about living together peacefully and protecting their children from the ravages of cell phones, computers,  social media, and screen games and gatherings.

There is also much to learn about avoiding conflict and working together. There is much to learn about a life centered on faith, not money and power.

There are less pleasant lessons as well.

Patriarchy may have made sense hundreds of years ago when gender roles were clearly and historically defined.

In 2021, it didn’t make much sense to me, and I could never get comfortable with it. Nor will I judge it.

There is some sadness.

While the family and I are friends (Maria too) and Moise and I are friends, our friendship will never go as deep as I might wish or hope for, or sometimes thought it was. We did come close at times.

As I wrote on the first week, “there is only so far a relationship can go with a culture afraid of outsiders and determined to keep them away and at arm’s length.”

Moise told me once that I was as good a friend as he had ever known from the outside world, but we both understood that someone like me was also his worst enemy. In so many ways, I am everything they dread and fear.

It all worked out better than I imagined, I think we will always be friends, and Maria and I will also be friends with his wife Barbara and their exceptional children.

The big lesson of my friendship with Moise is that I can work through monumental differences, talk openly with someone so different, and remain friends. Our friendship just sailed right over our differences. If we can do it, so can others.

Their methods for conflict resolution are fascinating, if sometimes rigid and decidedly anti-democratic.

I don’t see the family every day anymore; I don’t drive them anywhere anymore; I will go online to buy their pie pans and boxes and bread tins and boxes.

I am available to look online for things they need. Of necessity, we will slowly fade from the consciousness of each other. We will always be neighbors and friends.

No more boots, not for a while. I am busier than ever with the Army Of Good; there is so much for us to do. This comes first in my heart and soul.

Once a week, I stop by the house to say hi to Barbara and the children, thumb wrestle and bring some ice cream, gummy bears, or tootsie pops. We talk about what’s going in our lives. I care; they care. Sometimes Maria comes too.

Sometimes, they ask me to print out price lists, and I’m happy to do that. I got gloves for all the tiny children for the winter.

If the kids are loaded with work and Moise and Barbara are away,  I might suggest bringing a pizza for dinner—lots of vegetables and pepperoni, no broccoli ever. Potato chips and chocolate is always welcome.

I don’t see Moise often; I assume he has found someone else to drive him. He is ambitious; he plans for his farm and several others. He works hard all day, every day. I admire him very much for his excellent skills.

Moise liked my Christmas presents – a new wallet to hold the cards of all their drivers, a new pair of lightweight summer boots, a new pair of heavy-duty winter boots.

I am happy to see the tool kit he wears when he is hammering, that was a birthday present. When I see him, he says he looks forward to our spending time together in the winter, when he is not so busy. I’m not sure that will happen.

Moise is always busy; I’ve never seen him make room for idle talk.

My time with the Amish is not over; it is just changing, getting quieter, less frequent. That feels good to me. I can’t honestly say what Moise thinks about it, he hasn’t told me, and I doubt he ever will.

I have a history of plunging deeply into things, then moving along. But I want to keep this one alive. If I’m sincere about that, and I think I am, then I will. It’s also up to Moise and his family.

It was one of the great experiences of my adult life to get to know these generous and committed people and write about them; I am grateful for every minute of it.

I also recognize it is time to ease off and move along with my life; an awful lot of stories are waiting for me, an awful lot of photos are ready to be taken.

I mean, as I joked to Moise a couple of weeks ago, how close can somebody like me get to people who don’t wish to be written about and thinks photographs are evil? We start with two strikes.

I noticed that Moise didn’t laugh when I said this. I don’t think he got the joke.