It was pouring this morning when I drove up the muddy hill to the Miller Farm. Only two people were working to build the foundation forms, Moise and his son Joe.

They were both soaked to the bone.

The two had begun work by themselves.

Moise said the other workers – his nephews and cousins –  would show up after lunch. The Amish work rain or shine, but the work would be easier in dry weather.

Moise’s focus and energy amaze me; I can’t recall seeing anything like it. Whenever I appear, he yells, “Hey, Johnny Boy,” and keeps working.

Today, he saw me and came over. He knew I had something on my mind; I don’t know-how. As he came to me, I looked over the barn.

I saw that substantial progress had been made since Saturday, as always. (The actual “raising” will be on July 28, between 75 and 100 Amish workers will come from all over the Northeast to help build and finish Moise’s barn. I’m invited.)

Cement for the walls inside the barn was going up, and most of the foundation floor cement had been laid.

Moise and Joe were soaked but happy.

I am working to understand the connection we have with one another. Moise seemed to know I had something to tell him. I didn’t need to say it.

“Johnny-Boy!” he said, “what’s going on?” I told him we had gone to Vermont yesterday and met our friend Liz Willis, who has 62 good-looking and well cared for sheep (Romneys and Blue Face Luster and some Como) and wants to sell at least 40 of them.

I know Moise is thinking of starting with 20, including some lambs and a ram, and building his flock.

I told him I raised the question of price, and he was pleased by the cost per sheep. I’m learning about negotiating from him; I thought I knew a lot about it. I know more now. I got a great price; he didn’t even haggle.

He was excited. He was buried in barn-raising work, but once he and Liz approve the deal, he can start fencing and grooming the pasture. One thing after another, life is like a boxcar train that keeps coming and coming.

Moise and I walked around the barn, and he seemed excited about the sheep; he was planning out where to keep them. Afterward, he said he would get 40 goats.  I told him that I told Liz that he couldn’t take the sheep until the barn was raised, and he was relieved.

But he had it all figured out already; the wheels were turning.

He put a special door on the back so the sheep could go in and out when they pleased, he would fence a large grass pasture behind the barn, he would put ram in one corner of the barn.

My guess is he’ll be looking through the fencing catalogs I brought him soon and sitting down with me on the computer to order some wire mesh.

Abruptly, Barbara rang the lunch bell, and he and Joe nodded to me, said goodbye,  and walked quickly away. Moise doesn’t waste time on small talk or chit-chat.

I walked around the barn and looked at all of the walls going up; then, I went home to write and answer e-mail and work on the blog.

The peanut butter cookie, right out of the oven.

As I sat down in my study, the dogs barked and I heard the sounds of singing in the horse and buggy that went trotting by. It was the reinforcements for Moise and Joe.

I woke up early this morning – it was the sound of heavy rain that woke me – and I had a lot of work to do, and then I took a short nap.

Last week, I realized that the Millers really need ice cubes to keep their ice chest cool and have cool water to drink in the heat and humidity. I thought I might pick some up if I went into town.

I lay down for a quick nap, 15 minutes. It helped. I put my classical music app on my Iphone and listened to some music. I felt restless, uneasy. Rainy days do that for me.

I also know now that they really love ice cream. So I thought about bringing some.

I had to go into town for some chores; I decided to stop at Stewart’s Shops for some water, and then I thought of the kids again, Moise’s kids who love ice cream, and told me their favorite flavors.

I also decided to bring two bags of ice cubes

I got three-quart boxes of ice cream – one cherry, one cookie and cheese, one three flavored – chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. They could share some of them with the boys laboring on the barn just a few yards away.

I drove up to the farm and as usual, five or six of the children came running out to meet me. I saw they were cooking peanut butter cookies on the outside stove.

Suddenly, there was a line – four children waiting to challenge me to a thumb wrestle. Let’s unload first, I said, and they all ran to the back of the Rav and hauled out the ice cubes and the bag with ice cream.

When we got inside there was a demand for thumb wrestling.

As I learned last week, these children, these young women, all have very strong thumbs. I pride myself on my thumb wrestling, but every one of them can beat me, even little Sarah, who comes up to my waist.

Barbara wanted to know how much the ice cream cost, and I said no, I’d take eight pennies. If you ask me to buy something, you can pay me back, I said, but if I decide to buy you something, you shouldn’t be expected to pay for it. No charge for the ice cream, I’ll take ten pennies for the ice cubs ( they cost $2.67).

“But you didn’t get paid for the ice cream you brought to the barn raisers on Friday?” did you. “No,”  I said, “you can pay me for that. The ice cream cost $14.” She went and got $14 out of a drawer. We were even.

I know that it is important to receive as well as give. They very much appreciate being able to pay me back for what I spend, and that feels good for me. It keeps a friendship bounded and healthy, even when it comes down to pennies.

Then, the thumb wrestlers demanded their moment. Barbara came over to watch and referee. She also loves the game. Little Sarah beat me twice, Fanny beat me once, I won two games in a rematch and then fled, fearing I would be routed. I can’t believe how strong their thumbs are.

Little Sarah tricked me by pointing over my shoulder, “look,” she said, “Tina is crying!” and I briefly turned around (I suspected a trick, I played it on her) and lost another round.

I retreated, got into the car and I saw Fanny taking some peanut butter cookies fresh from the outside rack stove. The smell was more than I could bear.

“Can I buy one of those cookies?” I asked.

“No,” said Fanny, “You brought us ice cream. You can have one.” She ran into the house and brought out a paper plate with two peanut butter cookies.

“These are warm, just out of the oven,” she said, “I got one for Maria too.”

The cookie was the best cookie I have ever had. As Fanny promised, it practically melted in my mouth. The cookies are going down to the shed to be sold tomorrow.

I drove down off of the hill and called Maria and told her I was bringing her a fresh peanut butter cookie right out of the oven, perhaps she could meet me on the back porch and we’ll sit down and eat one together.

Maria came out after a few minutes, she looked furious. She didn’t seem to be herself.

Suddenly, she screamed several obscenities in a loud, ear-shattering voice that had the donkey’s ears up and Zinnia crawling under the table, and me wide-eyed.

“What’s wrong?,” I asked, taken aback.

“I’m having a big fight with my sewing machine,” she said. “I couldn’t get it to work, time after time. I cursed at it and now I have to go apologize.”

She smelled the cookie, and pretended to be reluctant at first, but was soon eating it, sweet bite by bite. The cookie worked its magic, Maria settled down. The Sicilian part, I thought.

She went back into her studio to apologize to the sewing machine.

I went back to work.

The funny part is that this seemed like just another normal day.