The only thing that is more fun for me to witness than Moise Miller negotiating for building supplies is when his brother-in-law and friend Jacob to haggle with him.

Moise is a master bargained, and Jacob is almost as good.  Watching the two of them battle over every cost per dollar, discount, and the shipping fee is a joy.

There is probably nothing more precious in the world to Moise right now than building the perfect house for his family. In Amish terms, this means a loving, thoughtfully constructed, comfortable, and unpretentious space.

We were planning to go to a plumbing distributor in Glens Falls – Moise is starting to collect supplies for his new house and barn.

Along the way, as is typical, Jacob suggested there was a sawmill somewhere around; he couldn’t say where or what the name was.

The two have an encyclopedic knowledge of farms, farmers, crops, concrete, nails, frames, wood, frames, foundations, windows,  and any kind of building material.

Moise visits sawmills like many people visit the supermarket. Building and plowing are his passions.

Together they are formidable in any kind of business or farm. They can spot a dry crop a mile away, and notice the flaws in a new building.

We spent an hour driving around looking for a sawmill somewhere near the Saratoga Battlefield Monument Park. that Jacob had heard about and Moise decided he wanted to see.

We didn’t find it.

Moise decided it was important to go to a floor covering store in the Adirondacks – he had an address. written on a piece of paper. Somebody told him he might get a good deal there.

It took an hour and a half to get there, and Moise and Jacob disappeared inside for an hour while they negotiated an arrangement that makes the Iran Nuclear Deal seem like a snap.

The floor covering place, it turned out, is also a lumber yard. Moise never goes in and out of a lumber yard in less than an hour.

They explained it to me five times, but the best I can do is say it sounds like a tit-for-tat trade – floor covering for lumber. No shipping fee and a discount to boot.

Jacob and Moise were excited about the possible deal. That alone made the day a success.

I thought we would look for a plumbing store in Glens Falls, maybe the Home Depot. That was the original plan. Then Moise told me he didn’t want me to drive afterward out to Warrensburg in the Adirondacks. He said he could take a bus there, and back and someone else could pick him up in Glens Falls.

I said this was a silly plan, he would be on a bus all day and into the night, I would simply drive him to Warrensburg and then back to Glens Falls.

But the floor covering man tipped Moise and Jacob to insulation (“and whatnot” store, says their ad on the Iphone) about another hour and a half into the lower Adirondacks.

This is standard practice with Moise excursions, we head for one place, turn abruptly to another, and follow whatever leads or good rumors or deals pop up.

It’s just how he does it.

The law of driving Moise is this.

If someone – anyone – a shop owner or distributor or lady walking his dog on the street – says the magic word “bargain,” we are off, whatever the odds, like the prince in search of cinderella’s shoes.

Do you have time? Moise asked, pretending that he really cared, and maybe he does. ”

That does not last long, but I appreciate the gesture.

“The man said it’s not an easy place to find, ” he warned me. He wasn’t kidding. The place was grim, at first I thought it was abandoned.

I loaded the new place into my Google Maps, we had to make 32 turns into miles of woods and cross out fingers when the GPS went out, as it did frequently in the Adirondacks.

I still don’t know where we were or how we got out. Wandering like that makes me nervous, the Amish always relax, it’s soothing to think God is watching out for you. I always think he has better things to do.

Sure,” I said, “I’ll call Maria and tell her I’ll be home sometime Thursday night.” He and Jacob both got a good belly laugh out of that.

Once we got there, Moise and Jacob spent two-and-a-half hours arguing with Harry. I could tell this was going to be a messy one. Harry was too much the salesman and too little the listener.

Harry underestimated Moise, initially treating him as a hick from the deep country. As it turned out, he had it backward.

When he named a price, Moise gave him a silent stare that could melt a rock. When he named a price, Moise countered with a price that was about 40 percent lower, quoting the price to install five other stories in the area.

Every time he argued for a high price for insulation, nails, or used porcelain, Moise headed for the door. Every time he did, the price came down.

Moise and Jacob had an almost spy-like system of communicating – winks, looks, smirks, german phrases.

“I can’t charge you less than $20 for every board of insulation,” he said, “I wouldn’t make any money. What do you think you could pay,  he asked?

“I thought $12 ,” said Moise, after a long and quiet stare, some urgent words in German with Jacob (you did get the sense they had done this many times before),  and more movement to the door.

When Harry went out to confer with his wife and distressed bookkeeper, I went over to Moise. “Are you ever going actually to walk out the door,?” I asked. “It’s getting late.”

“Not till he gets a lot lower,” he said. If Moise smells a deal no time is too long.

I said I was sick of turning the car on and off every time he appeared in the doorway with Jacob. He winked.

As Harry got more desperate and sweaty, Moise and Jacob slipped into speaking Pennsyvania Dutch more frequently and looked disgusted. Harry got more frantic as the afternoon wore off, but I noticed Moise and Jacob didn’t leave.

I went out to the car to read the book I brought along, and Moise came out to ask how I was and to put a box of nails in the back of the SUV.

“I’m fine,”  I said, “but I’m worried about Harry.” Every time you glower at him, he looks a little sicker. I’m afraid you’re going to give him a heart attack.” Mosie roared with laughter.

At one point, Moise picked up a strange-looking metal canister with holes in it. “How much do you want for this?” Moise asked.

“I don’t know what is,” an increasingly agitated Harry said as the two Amish men moved about his cluttered store slowly, shaking their heads as they went.

“It’s a cow milk screen,” Moise responded. “I’ll give you five dollars for it,” he said after a long pause.

“I’ll sell it to you for $3,” Harry said defiantly. Moise looks at Jacob; the two went into Pennsylvania Dutch dialogue, which can sound a little menacing if you’ve watched many World War II movies.

Moise invited Harry to go into the office for a sit-down, and to see if they could reach a deal.

They all emerged about another hour later, and Harry was white as a sheet and soaked in sweat. Moise and Jacob were smiling.

“Well,” I said, “at least you didn’t kill him.” Moise smiled.

All I know is that Harry is coming out to Cambridge in a week or so with some nails and possibly some insulation boards. On the way home, Jacob and Moise talked about Harry. They both said they didn’t think he was always truthful, but they both liked him.

They thought he had a big heart.

The truth is we had a blast, joking,  trading stories, stopping at Stewart’s Convenience stores three times in the boiling hot weather for a hamburger, a slice of pizza, drinks, and bathroom stops.

Here we were, the three of us, on our own adventure, laughing at the curious twists and turns of life. Why did I wait so long to do this?

On the way, Moise grilled me about being a reporter. Who did I work for,  how much did I get paid, what did I do all day? Was it true, he asked, that the government-funded all newspapers.

No, I said.

I told him my Billy Graham story about being scolded to never speak poorly of my life. He and Jacob took turns telling me the quite amazing adventure two years ago when the two of them got on a bus in Canton, New York, went to Albany, got on another bus to Hoosick Falls, where neither of them had ever been, arrived at 7 p.m. with no place to stay and no idea where they were.

The two of them, close friends for a long time, had been secretly scheming to move away from Canton, where there were 300 Amish families, and get to someplace new, where they could find inexpensive farmland, a highway that had lots of people driving on it, and good, tillable soil.

They didn’t wish to compete with fellow church members.

It was a good decision.

Jacob has a booming soap business, and Moise knew they could make at least some money selling baked goods and vegetables. I asked if they weren’t frightened to set off on such a great adventure with no friends, place to stay, or idea what they wanted to do.

They both beamed at the memory. “No, said Mosie, that was the greatest adventure of my life.” Jacob agreed. “That was glory for the both of us.”

I asked if their belief in God was the reason they weren’t afraid. Moise doesn’t always answer questions like that, but he nodded. “Well,” said Jacob, “we do have this belief that God would take care of us.”

And he has, said Moise. He has a booming lumber yard, baked goods, and fruit and vegetable business, and Jacob has more building, roof repair, and shed orders that he can fill.

Browsing for gifts for their kids.

As we stopped at our Third Stewart’s of the day, I couldn’t resist. Both of them were exhausted after a day of working in intense heat outdoors. As the day wore on, they both were yawning, nodding off as I kept my GPS closed in the hope I could navigate us home since neither of us knew where we were.

When we got into Stewart’s, I walked up to the cashier, who was goggle-eyed at the two Amish men with me.

“Can you believe it, ” I said, “A 74- year-old man is in great shape after seven hours of driving, and the Amish superstuds can’t stay awake long enough to get to the bathroom.”

She cracked up, and so did they. I did the same routine for his family when we go home; everybody was gleefully laughing, especially Moise.

After another hour or so of driving through the sparsely populated country, Jacob was reduced to looking up at the sun for directional guidance. The problem was, it was raining.

In the Northeast, all roads lead to other roads, I just told myself to stay calm and keep driving. Eventually, I came across what looked like a city, and a b building that looked like Saratoga Hospital, which I know quite well.

“Hey, “I said, “that looks just like Saratoga Hospital.”

Then I looked around at my cardiologists’ office. “It is Saratoga Hospital,” I yelled. I kissed the Iphone and turned it off. I know this road home only too well.

We were home in another half hour.

Moise reached for his wallet, but I reminded him of the Amish Penny Jars, he went into the house and gave me double the five pennies I asked for (to ten), and I thanked him.

Everybody loves the Amish Penny Jar.

Moise spent a lot of time in the vast insulation store looking for presents for his children, The store, it turned out, had all sorts of stuff. He got one for every child.

I dropped Moise off first and then drove Jacob to his farm five or six miles away. He seemed worried.

He told me of the agonizing job it was for his family to slice the soap they made into bars on the drive. Jacob doesn’t have Moise’s stern demeanor, he shows his emotions.

He told me his family had to cut the soap bars by hand, and it was painful and slow; he had been looking for a more efficient wire-based soap cutter for months.

He had an order for 1,000 bars of soap from a supermarket, and they were all wearing out.

I pulled the car over, whipped out my Iphone, and got onto Amazon.

We found the soap cutter of his dreams for $247; he was shocked; he couldn’t believe it.  He said he needed to think about it, then tapped me a few miles later and said, “I want to do it, please buy it for me.” I did, and he paid me back right in the car with cash.

The look of joy and gratitude on his face was worth a million dollars.

He was excited thinking how he would expand with this new machine; there was no battery required or any kind of power other than hand power, which cut 12 bars at a time.

He had barely heard of Amazon and thought I had performed some heroic feat. “Listen,” I said, “when it comes to trawling Amazon, I take a back seat to nobody.” He wondered how the soap slicer could get from my house to his.

That was simple, I said, I’ll bring it.

We went a few more miles, and he asked me if there was any chance I could find a large roll of white paper, the kind with one shiny side. He’d been looking for one for weeks.

I found one in less than 30 seconds, we ordered two for $60, and he paid for that on the spot. The Amish don’t do debt.

When we got home, he, too, tried to pay me. I reminded him of the pennies; he said he only had five; I said it was a deal. He insisted on giving me a basket of freshly picked beans. Maria loves beans, so I accepted.

I think he needed to give me something, sometimes it’s a gift to accept presents.

I admit to being tired, but it was a great day. These two men, the closest of friends, and I, a strange outsider, just had a blast; there’s no way else to describe it.

I felt like I was setting out with pals on a great adventure in a new and mysterious place, something I never got to do when most people do it.

They both have a great sense of humor, which Moise, being an elder in the Old Amish sect, often hides. I can pull a smile out of him.

In the car, he relaxes in a way he rarely does on the farm, where there is just so much to do and worry about. We had another long talk about sheep and fencing.

All three of us got irony and appreciation. I love their negotiating skills and never tire of seeing them, and I appreciate the diligence and thought they put into what they make and build.

Moise loves his new home and will drive anywhere for the right supplies at the right cost. He never gets angry or snarky or impatient, and today was the only time I’ve ever seen him this tired.

He usually gets his way.

Even so, we had a lot of time to talk to each other and get to know one another better. We respect each other. We both have lived a lot of life, and I think that binds us in many ways.

His life is no straight line, and neither is mine. We both are always trying to learn about the other. It’s not simple.

Moving down here was a brave, brave thing for him and Jacob to do, and I can’t help but admire how they have pulled it off, brothers in adventure and risk.

Our village is a different place than it was before they came. They both filled some of the holes that existed among our town’s businesses.

We had a long talk about what it means to be an outsider and how important it is to believe you can’t tell other people how to live.

The bizarre and insoluble part for me is that we seem to get one another. Time to stop wondering about it, and accept it, I think it’s for real.

Finally, negotiations ended (above.) Moise came out of the door.