I want to apologize to most of my readers who don’t live around here. I’m writing about Donut Friday, a venture by my Amish neighbors. Since they never promote themselves because their faith requires humility, I will make some noise for them.

Usually, I wouldn’t say I like to write about things most of my blog readers can’t buy, eat or use, but I’m happy to stir the waters if I can. The Amish don’t even know the word “marketing.”

A secret source close to the Amish tells me they are selling many donuts – plain, frosted, four or five different kinds. I should mention it; they would never ask. But they very much like selling donuts.

So every Friday is Donut Friday, where their new donut creations will come out of the oven early in the morning and go straight down to their shed on the road, just below Lauderdale Lake on Route 22.

My heart will not permit me to eat the frosted ones, but the plain ones are tasty enough. Mosie is feverishly working to plant his crips and irrigate his pastures.

He’s thinking of getting some goats and sheep. He has a lot of plans for his farm. He’s clip-clopped by our farmhouse a dozen times a day, and we have waved at each other.

Moise doesn’t do chatting, which is a sport up here. The farm’s donuts, basked fresh each day, build up a following without me, but I couldn’t resist.

It is a joy to see this family’s hard work come together in so short a time. Donut Friday starts  at 9 a.m. and runs all day. The neighborhood has never had a weekly tradition like this one.