I got a lovely note from a man I don’t know this morning telling me that reading my writings about the Amish has become a daily devotion to him, and that was a beautiful thing to hear.

I realize that visiting the Miller farm has become a daily devotion to me.

In Christian theology, devotions refer to booklets or publications, or prayers that often support daily meditation or faith.

The daily passage helps the faithful focus their thoughts and guides their spirituality. Devotions are believed to block distractions so worshippers can give God all of their attention.

This morning, I felt a calling to go to the farm – Moise says I am welcome any time. We have lost many farms up here; the property sold for new homes or left in ruins.

I know Moise’s property; Maria and I have walked through it during our hikes in the woods. It was barren, dry, overgrown. None of us imagined it would be a working farm again, with crops, animals, and a family.

It lifts the heart to see farms being bought and reclaimed, tilled and planted and tended and watered,  plowed by people who know the soil and love the land. The Amish have changed our story; the small family farm is not dead after all.

We thought we would lose all of our farms; more Amish are coming to revive them.

Every morning, I drive up Moise’s hill – the site of his new home – and watch the land turn green, see the rocks cleared away, the land leveled, and watch the fruit and vegetable crops rise and grow.

So much hard work and sweat, so much life reborn.

It seems like a miracle to me; I’ve never seen people work so hard and so continuously and so joyously; I love the sound of them singing as they work the fields and ride by in their buggies.

Moise and his son Jonah came over tonight. They showed up on foot in the dark after a rainstorm.

Moise and his stepmother are going to Ohio later in the week and he asked if I could call a broker who works with the Amish to make train and bus reservations. I’d spent two hours trying to get through to Amtrak just to find out which trains are running, I never got through.

A woman named Polly answered the phone and e-mailed me the train tickets within minutes.

She said there is no need for payment tonight; she trusts the Amish; Moise can send a check when he is ready. This is his first trip to Albany.

Moise is going from Albany to Cleveland on Amtrak; I printed out the tickets. on my computer. In these settings, I see Moise’s business-like side – efficient, organized, clear. He remembers everything, even train numbers.

He asked me if I could drive him to Albany  Thursday evening and pick him up Monday afternoon. I said I would.

Jonah surprised me by asking Maria if he could see one of her quilts, and he went with her to her studio and marveled at her work and her Corona Kimono, tracking the life of the pandemic and Donald Trump’s response to it.

He’s only 12 years old, but the two of them talked for a half-hour while Moise and I sat by my computer making arrangements for Ohio.

He said the Amish don’t vote; it doesn’t matter to them who the President is. He’s happy not to have to argue about politics.

Moise and “Jo,” as he calls his son, walked down to us from their farm, and I offered to drive them home. Thursday morning, Moise puts the finishing touches on his daughter’s new temporary home a few miles from his farm.

On Thursday night, he said his whole family, except for one daughter, will live here in this area; he was beaming at the thought.

On the way out, Mosie kidded with Maria and asked her when she would want some help stacking the firewood, which she has been doing by herself.

She laughed and said, “when I’m ready.” I’m happy to drive Moise to Albany and pick him up. We both open up to each other in the car, and I look forward to those rides. I suppose they are paperless devotion sall their own.