I met an Amish miller and farmer today, he is a neighbor, and unless I misread our time together, he is now a friend as well. His name is Moses, and he lives right up the road from our farm.

He took time out from plowing his field to come and talk to me about his work, his life, and the help he might need.

I pulled into his driveway, and I was fascinated to see him plowing his fields behind three huge draft horses. His command of the horses was astonishing, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

He spoke to them almost in a whisper; they pulled his plow on a hill so steep on one side I was sure the horses would fall right over on me. He guided them calmly and skillfully, and mostly, in whispers.

I had come to bring books to his children, avid readers.

He wanted to thank me for that. I asked him how I might help him, and he said the only thing he needed once in a while was help in driving or picking up friends and family who come to visit and ride the bus or take the train.

I explained my life as a writer and Maria’s work as an artist. He said he would like to see her studio. He asked me if I write all the time.

He asked if I could go to the Albany Train station early Thursday to pick up visiting friends. I said I couldn’t go tomorrow; I’m getting my final Covid-19 vaccine.  But I would be happy to help when I could, and so would my wife.

Moses said several Amish friends and family were moving to the area.

He told me he had come in the winter and had not yet built the house; he and his family lived in a temporary storage building.

His farm has 100 acres; he has so many plans for it.

He was plowing, he said, to plant vegetables; he would build a vegetable stand in front of the house for the summer.

I could hardly believe he was going to plow that huge field by himself, the horses pulling him gently and quietly, responding instantly to commands so soft I could not hear them, even 10 feet away.

All three horses moved in complete unison.

I held my breath as the horses navigated steep hillside turns and were stopped by rocks. Moses was able to give commands to each individual horse at the same time, so the horse on the side of the steep hill stepped more cautiously, and the other two picked up the stack.

It was like a choreographed ballet.

Moses asked me what I did and what Maria did and said he would love to come and see the donkeys; he was thinking of getting some as guard animals.

It was interesting, America is so polarized, I am always cautious about talking to people too openly. There was no caution talking with Moses, as different as we are from one another.

He also hoped to have goats and sheep and wanted to talk about our sheep. I felt a curious connection with this man; he was open, soft-spoken, and gentle. I winced when I saw his plow hit a rock or piece of slate and twist and almost knock him over. He would stand up, bend over, dig out the rock with his hands and pick it up.

He plans to re-arrange the hill and the approaches to it.

I asked him if I could stand and watch him with the horses for a while, and he said certainly, that would be fine. I just stood back and watched for a while. I could have watched all day.

Time after time, he got out and pulled the rock out himself, tossing it down the hill. When I drove by later, about ten rows of soil was ready for planting.

He said his two sons – the ones I got the Hardy Boy books for – are eager to work with the horses and learn how to train them. I see I am a piker when it comes to animal training.

It seems to me the Amish are master breeders and trainers. There is no emotion shown to the horses; they are work tools, not family members.

They don’t seem to mind.

We talked for nearly an hour, and I was sorry to leave. I had to go somewhere else. “Come back,” he said, “we can sit down and talk with each other.” I’m game.

I urged him to come to visit us; he said he would.

I asked him – I always ask an Amish person  – or anyone – if it’s okay to take a picture. The Amish believe it’s sacrilegious to have their facial images captured.  I am careful not to do that, although a number of journalists and photographers have been given permission to photograph Amish families. Maybe one day.

I asked if I could take photos of his horses and sometimes, of him, if  I didn’t show his face. Yes, he said, that would be fine.

I liked this man and felt at ease with him. We hardly know one another, but it felt as if I were talking to a trusted friend.

He seemed very comfortable within himself. He was thin and bearded, but he could toss huge rocks as if they were tennis balls. I told him I was 73, and he told me he was just over 50.

Like most Amish men, he was missing some teeth. The Amish don’t believe in paying for dentistry.

His connection to the horses fascinated me; I get so many e-mails from people claiming that the Amish abuse their horses, but I hope he will one day permit me to take a video of his work with the horses. I’d have to do it in a way that didn’t reveal his face.

I think any animal lover would be mesmerized. It is a wonder what animals and people can do when they work together.

I appreciate having Moses in my life.

He will be a good neighbor to us, and I hope to return the favor. I’m thrilled by the book project; these kids love to read, their parents are delighted they have books to read.