Not too many years ago, I was a New York Times best-selling author writing about dogs, animals, and rural life.

This week, my career took yet another radical turn, one I never imagined, and perhaps would have horrified my parents.

Moise Miller is my Amish neighbor, and we are friends now and he really needs a hand; he seems to have shrewdly and quietly enlisted me to help him establish a blueberry patch on his farm.

I am the senior advisor on this project; I am researching buyers, studying soil, learning about the right care for blueberries in the Northeast Zone, how much they cost, how they are shipped, planted, nourished, cared for, and sold.

I’ve gotten deeply hooked on this project, as happens to obsessives who suffer from too much curiosity and respond intensely and immediately to new challenges.

My friendship with  Moise is one of the most interesting in my life.

I am eager to learn everything I can about him, his life, his Amish Culture. He is very interested in my current life, life on the farm, my values, and passions, my views on fences and soil, but not so much about the world I live in.

This is not narcissism, but for the Amish, a matter of survival.

The Amish are wary of taking in too much information from “outsiders” – or “English” as they call them; they fear it will pollute and weaken their sense of community and faith.

I fear they are right.

When Moise tells me a story about his life, I soak it up and grill him for more.

When I tell him a story about my life as a writer or journalist, he looks at me and goes blank and changes the subject, almost always without comment.

Unless it is about fences or sheep or donkeys or dogs on the farm, then he wants to know all.

This is not self-absorption, but his culture, the Amish formula for survival, which has worked for five hundred years.

We security-obsessed, feuding, selfish, anxious, distracted, and greedy people are dangerous to this small community of Anabaptists, who have chosen, As Jesus said, to be in the world but not of the world. They protect their faith by walling it off from us and avoiding most of the things we desperately need.

They believe they have survived by not learning too much about the world outside of their communities. They don’t ask many questions and don’t offer too many answers.

Moise knows now to get help when he needs it, and he chooses it carefully, and considerately. I confess to being flattered. I am invited and welcome in few places.

I feel safe in saying that Moise cares about me deeply, even prays for my tortured soul. He is a good and valued friend. His family has chosen to trust me and open their lives to me.

Moise has a focus that can bore through steel and move large hills.

He has taken on a massive task of plowing, building, selling, family caretaking, finding homes and properties for others, and paying close attention to his role on the Amish Council, which prepares the church for the critically important twice-yearly Communion, the affirmation of the Ordnung and a review of outstanding church issues, including dealing with members who have defied church authority.

Ordnung is a set of rules for Amish, Old Order Mennonite, and Conservative Mennonite.

Moise is a big deal in his world, something he would never say or admit to.

And I’ve never seen anyone take on more tasks or be busier: in just a few months, he’s launched a lumber business, built two huge barns, plowed more than 150 acres (150 more to go), functioned as husband and father to 14 children and almost a many grandchildren,  a dozen horses and a dog, and helped four other families find land to buy and build homes and businesses on their new properties.

And sold a ton of donuts, pies, cookies, and buns.

He is always busy; every second of every day, he relishes his time on busses to think and plan.

In a few weeks, 100 fellow Amish will descend on his farm from all over the Northeast and begin work on a new barn. A few months later, they will return to help him build a permanent new home.

I am very drawn to helping my friends, especially when they ask me, and as worthy as Moise, and as hardworking. I trust Moise and know he will be there if I need him to be and that he will be honest with me.

He is the first person I’ve met who really can’t lie. I hope the same thing can be said of me.

When I saw him today, he looked exhausted, and I asked if he was tired. He looked at me as if I fell out of a spaceship and smiled: “there is a lot of work to do,” he said.

I’ve never heard Mosie say a harsh word about his life or work; I never will. He never takes the bait.

In this world, there is always work; there is no such thing as idle time.

Last week I was driving him around Glens Falls, and he asked me to stop at several nurseries, he wants to sell blueberries on his farm, and he was pricing blueberry bushes.

I saw the idea had just come to him.

The ones he saw at the nurseries all started at $20 each, so he asked me a favor.

Since he can’t go online, and I seem to know something about the Internet, he said (he was very pleased with the bush purchase), would I be willing to go online and look for better prices, and also perhaps consider what kinds of blueberries were right for this climate, and what needed to be done to care for them?

Moise has figured out how to get me to learn, which almost none of my school and academic teachers could figure out: ask me about something I do not know.

It’s like the starting pistol on a horse race; I’m off.

My work with the Mansion and Bishop Maginn and the Army of Good has taught me to be a tiger on social media, Amazon, and the Web when it comes to tracking things down, getting the best prices, avoiding high shipping costs, and even learning how best to choose and care for blueberries, something I knew absolutely nothing about.

This was way out of my wheelhouse.

As I have done,  you can say no to Moise, no hard feelings.

But I never feel I am being taken advantage of by him when I step in to help. I know he would do the same for me.

I struggle with one-way friendships and have accepted too many of them. No more.

His way of life requires interaction with the outside world, and that is also the thing he most fears for himself and his family.

Our friendship has been built on the idea that we each offer something the other doesn’t know or understand.

I am a freak to Moise, as much as he is alien to me. So our friendship, which has, I think, surprised both of us, depends on our learning about the other.

I can teach him; he can teach me.

This means opening up to life and the very different choices it offers us.

After trawling online for several hours (I can’t tell you how much I love doing this, or how good I’ve become at it).

After rejecting a dozen blueberry bush growers,  and checking out a score of “sales,” I found the deal we were looking for:

A four-foot high, three-year-old blueberry bush grown for colder climes,  ripe and ready to blossom: $10 each. Mosie is careful about what he buys, and I was afraid this sale wouldn’t last. The farm was experienced, well-reviewed, and didn’t take credit cards: you had to call.

I liked the farmer’s stubborn insistence on avoiding credit cards. That, they told me, is how they can sell $10 blueberry bushes.

So I did call, and we had a fine talk.

The farm has been growing blueberries for more than a century; it’s a family farm in central New Jersey; I realized after calling that I wrote a series of articles about blueberry growing on the farm when I was a young reporter, it was one of my first stories as a journalist in New Jersey.

If I’m good at sniffing around online, I’m even better on the phone. The family members talked to me for more than an hour, telling me everything I need to know about planting blueberry bushes.

Life is curious sometimes. The woman answering the phone remembered my name from her father using it in vain, and that story was about a half-century ago. It was late at night by now.

I didn’t have time to consult with Moise, and I was nervous about spending his money. He would have long ago gone to bed.

Moise is a discount and free shipping warrior. He does what I called the Gentle Haggle. He just kept coming, politely and gently. It is intimidating to sub for him.

I proposed buying 30 plants for $300 plus tax and more than $180 to ship the thirty plants north to our county. This farm family was tough, I could tell from the tone of voice. They didn’t reduce shipping costs for anybody.

I thought about bushes – I could see them online and read the glowing reviews – and took the plunge. I wrote a check and rushed it over to the post office to put it in the bin for early morning pick-up.

I wrote a brief account, printed it out, and around noon drove up to Moise’s farm and told him what I had done.

I admit to being a little nervous. I had crossed a line, taken over responsibility for something I really knew nothing about. Moise had absolute faith in my judgment, and that scared me.

I had to write a check; I explained to him in the morning, no credit cards. That was one reason the bushes were so cheap.

He didn’t blink. He was grateful and excited (he doesn’t get too excited) .  He smiles when he sees me and shouts, “Hey, Johnie-o, good to see you.”

Now, he said, there would be a blueberry crop to sell on his farm this year. The plants I bought should yield blueberries this summer. He went to a room in the back of the barn and returned with every penny I had spent and 50 cents more. “Keep the change,” he said.

I see that one thing leads to another. I now had purchasing power and bargaining and searching power.

I was now Godfather to 30 blueberry bushes and five more I purchased on a different web page earlier. They did take credit cards.

I guess I felt the pressure. It was on me now.

I told Moise that it was remarkable that one of the family members remembered that I was a reporter so long ago. He looked at me blankly, and I realized he could not even conceive of a story like that or comment on it.

Nor did he want to know more.

He sat down with me and said, “now I really have to prepare?”

Could I help him? he asked: How deep are the holes for the bushes, what nutrients did they like when planted? How much water? How much water did he need, and how could he get it to them regularly? Did they need to be trimmed? Were they acid-loving plants? Should they be prepared for winter?

A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know this man, and now I was putting together an elaborate plan for his blueberry patch. It would either be great, I thought, or a disaster if I made a mistake.

Okay, I said, I’ll call the farmer back, get more information and do more research. I already had most of the answers from my sniffing around and asking questions.

Here are Mosie’s questions and my answers (or thoughts):

How could we keep the birds off of it?

Everyone is unanimous. Only netting will keep the birds away from a blueberry bush. I still have to think about deer.

Did I have the authority to order the things we needed?

Yes, of course, he said, and I will pay for it.

It seemed a given; he was surprised I even asked.

The last thing I ever have to worry about with Mosie is whether or not he will pay. When I spend money on his behalf because he can’t go online himself (he can watch me do it), he always has the money counted out in his pocket the next time I see him.

I never even think of having to ask.

I went back to his farm this afternoon; he was buying lumber for his son’s mill.

We sat down for a few minutes. “I’ve got some answers,” I said.

One of the most interesting things about Mosie is that he believes I have full knowledge of things – animals, repairs, sheep, fences.  He thinks I either know things or will figure things out. He never seems to absorb my pleas of ignorance.

“Listen, “I said, “I don’t want to misrepresent myself. I know nothing about anything I can’t type. I’m even screwing up planing my Zinnia garden in my raised garden bed; the first batch died upon the first sight of me.”

As always, he ignored that story and began asking me questions.

Did blueberry bushes need sun?

Yes, I said they needed a sunny, sheltered spot; they should be protected from harsh, drying winds.

They needed to be a good distance from trees, as trees will block out the sunlight they need and suck up any moisture in the soil, which they also need.

How many bushes do you need to plant? Blueberries self-pollinate, I said, you can plant one bush if you want, but if you want to sell them, the harvest will obviously be much larger if you plant more.

Thirty-four bushes should make for a great start.

How do you plant and maintain blueberry bushes?

I explained that you had to keep the soil moist but not soggy. The soil should be moist to a depth of one inch. They need at least one inch of water per week and four inches during fruit ripening.

Do blueberries like acidic soils, Moise asked? He knows everything there is to know about soil; it is, along with plowing, one of his great passions.

Yes, I responded; they much prefer acidic soils.

An almost fail-safe way to grow blueberries in almost any soil is to incorporate peat moss into the planting medium. Mix the moss with soil.

For planting directly in the ground, work up a planting area approximately 2 1/2 feet in diameter and one foot deep for each plant. Clearly, the peat moss is central to a successful bush.

How long does it take blueberry bushes to grow?

It can take three to four years before they will produce fruit. Choosing the type of blueberry to grow is important.

What about fertilizers? 

No fertilizers the first year. I’m not sure which ones to use after that. I think Mosie already knows the answer.

The questions went on and on. I had chosen lowbush bushes, which thrive in the Northeast Zone. The 30 bushes were all already three years old and therefore of age to produce fruit. It could take them another year, but it could be sooner if we got a good start.

As I answered these questions – Moise is like a laser when it comes to his crops – I was pleased to see that I knew the answers to every one of them. If Moise had been my teacher, I might have amounted to something.

And here’s Maria’s question to me: Are you really sure you want to do this?

Yes, I said, I am actually loving it. My life is not about doing nothing, but a series of somethings.

Moise had to talk to a logger about wood, and I was all fired up by this time.

I drove straight to the hardware store and bought a huge bag of Peat Moss. I wanted Moise to have everything he needed when the plants arrived; running to the store isn’t quite so simple when you have to hitch a horse to a wagon.

And I pray he doesn’t collapse under the weight of all he is doing.

It seemed I was in charge of the blueberry bush project. I never asked for that, and he never asked me if I wanted to do it. It seemed we both just grew into it. Our friendship is a story of acceptance and trust, and both things take time and thought.

It was hard hauling that heavy bag of peat moss into my car, and when I pulled back up to the barn, the girls came out to say hello, as they always do.

I told them I had peat moss for Moise, and Delilah looked at the receipt and came out with $12 in cash.

Little Sarah, who comes almost up to my knees, came about the back of the car, her bonnet snug on her head, popped the rear hatch, picked up the peat moss, and carried it effortlessly over to the side of the house.

“Tell your father he needs this when the blueberry bushes come. He will know what you mean.”

As I left, they all thanked me and waved to me. I went home. Who knows where this can lead? Will the writer who bought a farm actually learn something about farming?