Today was Day 5 of the Miller Family’s barn raising.  About a dozen concrete walls have sprung up inside the barn since yesterday.

I had no idea how complex and sophisticated a job this would be, how much work it would take, how complicated it was, or how many people would be required to finish it.

As it happened, it opens a path to enriching my friendship with Moise; I am closer to him now, we trust one another more, and I am learning how to be a good friend to him in ways that he needs and accepts.

He needs me right now, and I want to help.

Because I live so close and come by so often, I’ve had a chance to see what they have and what they need. They are fiercely independent and rarely ask for help outside of their community.

But that doesn’t mean they don’t sometimes need help or that I can’t provide it. Moise is also learning what help I might need and is generous about helping me.

I have always struggled with friendship; I am learning how to be a different kind of friend, the kind that suits me and nourishes me.

Moise has a great load on his shoulders now. It is overwhelming, even for him.

A big barn for equipment, animals, storage. A couple of hundred acres of crops. A new home to be built soon after the new barn. Concrete to order, rocks to dig, food to sell, ovens to buy and operate.

A family to be with and support. Church responsibilities, he is an elder in the Amish Church; that is no small thing. Neither is 13 children and a dozen grandchildren to watch out for, help,visit and worry and help.

He can’t do all of this by himself. He needs help even if he can’t ask for it. And he accepts it with gratitude when it comes. He is a stoic, he never complains, but sometimes I can feel he is stretched almost to the breaking point.

So when I can, and when he permits, I step in, surprised at my skill at doing things I never imagined doing.

And over the weekend, for the first time, I negotiated the purchase of something important to his farm:  20 sheep and lambs from a farmer in central Vermont, our sometime shearer Liz.

I know now how Moise would do it.

Liz has 40 healthy sheep for sale for wool and meat and a bunch of lambs. Moise wants to have a flock of goats and sheep; they would be housed in the new barn he is building, but he has absolutely no time to look for them, negotiate their purchase, arrange for their transportation, or haggle about the price.

So I stepped in. Maria and I went to Vermont to bring our wool to the mill and meet with Liz and look at her sheep.

We were impressed.  I had warned Moise I was going to Vermont and asked his blessing to try to strike a deal for him.

He said yes. Knowing how much he loves to negotiate, I was pleased.

How much did she want for them? I asked Liz. She said $100 apiece. Liz, I said, these people negotiate hard. I get it, she said; I’ll ask for $200 each.

Okay, I thought. This is an excellent price for healthy Romney and Blue Face Leicesters ewes and lambs. If she jumped to $200,  as she originally said was her price, then that means we can get the sheep for $150. It seemed fair to both of us.

Moise himself could not do better than that. How curious that I loved doing it.

When I came to check on the raising this morning, Moise was there with his son Joe.  The others hadn’t come yet. “Johnny-Boy,” he shouted and came over to me; he always knows when I want to talk about something.

I went over the trip to Vermont, the farm, the sheep; I showed him a dozen photos on the Iphone, I said he could pick them up as late as November when the barn was long built. He knew that $150 was a great price.

I told him it would be fair to split the difference and pay her $15o. He agreed.

I told him the sheep could be sold for meat or raised for wool.

I said there was no transport charge, but Liz would be responsible for getting them here.  It was all covered. I got everything he would want.

He said he was already putting a door into the new barn so the sheep could come and go as they pleased, green pasture out the door. Maria and I agreed that this is a good life for sheep.

We texted the details to Liz, she agreed; she took the sheep in to help a dying friend and is eager to shrink her flock. I asked Moise if we had a deal.

We asked Liz if she had a deal. They both said yes.

We had a deal.

Moise was both relieved and excited. He is eager to have a flock of goats and sheep, but he will be overwhelmed with work for a month and more. “I don’t have to worry about this now,” he said, his way of thanking me.

I am pleased to have won his trust in a negotiation like that. He takes the details seriously, I’ve never been known as a detail person, but I am rising to it.

I have found other ways to help in a way that does not intrude on their traditions, inclusiveness, or faith. I am acquiring books for their children to use to prepare for school begins in the fall.

I realized that the pipes that run a long distance from the creek to their house warms up in the strong sun, and the water warms up. Coldwater is essential when there is no refrigeration, the water is warm, and the weather is hot.

On instinct, I brought two bags of ice from the convenience store. I saw they had an ice chest but were struggling to keep it cool and the things inside of it fresh. They had no cool water to drink in the heat.

I saw how grateful they are for the ice cubes, which would be hard to transport in the buggies required to go and get them. Even a cool chest would warm on that hot asphalt on a 30-40 minute drive.

I started bringing the ice cubes every day; soon, one or the other would ask me if I was going to be in town and could get ice cubes, they offered to pay.

I do it every day now,  and they pay, me back of course.  I like this task. I get three bags of ice, put them in the back of the Rav.

If I forget or get distracted, Moise will say, “Johnny, could you get us some ice cubes.” For him a big deal.

I drive the cubes up to their temporary home in the big barn. Two or three children come running out, and they go and open the back door and haul the ice cubs into the house. I hear them tell Barbara, “Grandpop” is here.

I go inside to get paid, either in pennies or cash. The kids are still talking about the ice cream I bought them yesterday.

Of course, I realize, they can’t transport ice cream in a horse and buggy, and they love it. I can bring some once in a while.

I don’t come on Saturday, their family and visiting day. I don’t go on Sundays, their church day. Neighbors worry about the buggies at night; they e-mail to ask me to push for vaccinations.

I am a friend on the periphery of the family, not the center. I will probably never eat a meal with them. We will never talk politics or share the same books.

But I could hardly feel closer.

I know the children well, and they trust me and laugh at me.

I never stay in their kitchen for more than a minute or two; I don’t ever come to dinner or invite them to our house.

Moise and I have gotten to a place of complete trust and understanding.

I will drive him to the bus or train, but only him, and he always asks for me first. I am learning about their faith but am not a part of it. I doubt I will ever go to church.

I am not a part of their family, yet I am, and Moise and I have built an almost wordless connection of love, trust, and honesty. He doesn’t do small talk; he is always working,  they don’t stop working for me, and I don’t intrude on that cycle.

If Moise has sheep, he will need fencing, and he has already asked me to go online and look for the best price and the best discount. I’ve given him five or six good options.

In exchange for this, I get a rich kind of friendship and a different kind of family, a peanut butter cookie for free when I want one, and fresh vegetables at a good and fair price.

I get to tell stories to his wonderful children and thumb wrestle with them until everyone is shrieking with laughter. I get to read them stories and show them pictures on my Iphone; they never tire of them.

I also get to write about them and take distant and careful photos. Moise knows what a writer does, and while he can’t bring me into the center, he can help me understand this remarkable, controversial, and little-known or understood community.

And he can give me the great gift of his friendship; he is a good man, he has no idea how to lie and manipulate,  and I admire and respect him. I never wonder what he meant or what he really said. I know.

A friend of mine, a journalist, cautioned me that I could never be close to an Amish person as an outsider, and I know what he meant. There is truth to it.

The boundaries are high and deep. But I’m not looking to cross the moat. I’ve gotten as close as I want to be and as close as I should be.

It’s taken me a long time to learn how to be a friend, and this is not the way I imagined it would be. Perhaps that’s what makes it work.

Tomorrow, Day 6 of the Barn Raising. I’ll be there.