As I pulled out of the driveway this morning, Moise came riding in on his buggy, stopping by to ask me if I could give him a ride to pick up brother-in-law Jacob and take both of them to Hoosick Falls to meet a bus to Albany and then pick them both up again just before 7 p.m.

I would have driven them around Albany today – we have a lot of fun together, I call us the Three Amigos – except I had an afternoon appointment I couldn’t break.

Moise and I haven’t had a chance to talk the past week, it was nice to be alone with him and then have Jacob come along. Jacob had a great sense of humor.

Moise can be very serious, but he also has a quick and dry sense of humor. The two are close, they depend on one another and trust each other completely.

Most often, we can get each other to laugh. Moise was concerned about me, Barbara told him I spent a night in the hospital (my sleep lab) and he wasn’t sure how serious it was. The idea of sleeping while being watched on TV and connected to 36 wires was something he could barely comprehend.

These two were the ones who got on a bus from faraway Canton New York two years ago to come to this area without any idea how they would get around or where they would sleep or eat.

They were in search of a new life for themselves and their families.

Their Amish community upstate was crowded and they wanted their children to have opportunities to work and take care of themselves. The Amish take care of one another, but everyone is expected to work.

At one point, and after many days of wandering and searching, they felt exhausted and defeated.

“We decided to go home and never come back. This was too difficult,” Jacob said.

They were having trouble finding affordable farms and were worried about taxes and regulations.

Then two weeks later, said Moise, they both just woke up one morning and decided to try one more time.

For months, they had taken that long bus ride to visit and explore and wander this part of upstate New York, talking to realtors, farmers, people in convenience stores,  town managers, every farmer they could find, Dollar Store clerks, hardware store managers and  farm and feed workers.

They slept in barns and attic rooms, and in convenience stores.

They were welcomed here with open arms. This time, I don’t think God stepped in, I think they chose to be brave and keep trying.

There were more than 300 Amish families in their community, many of the families did the same work and sold the same things.

They were worried about their children’s ability to find good work. For the Amish, life revolves around work to a great degree. Here, in my county, there are very few people who do what the Amish do.

They make pies and cakes, the fix roofs, they paint houses, they clean up leaves, make raised gardens, and custom make chairs and sheds and barns.

But that would come later.

At first, they were alone in a strange place with no place to stay, nowhere to eat, and lots of frustration and disappointment. On the next visit, eight or nine months into their search, they finally found what they were looking for – each one found a different farm in a  different place that was perfect for them and their families.

Those visits were difficult, but ultimately, exhilarating and rewarding.

The rest is history. They love it here. Everyone in both families is working, busy and thrilled to be here. Moise and  Barbara and Jacobs and Biddie go back and forth to each others homes a dozen times a day.

It’s an amazing story, I keep thinking what a great movie it would make (and no, it’s not for me to write about or do. I’m not going to profit from my friendship.)

Moise said he knew I was in the hospital for one night last week and he asked why I went. I told him about the Sleep Lab, and he struggled to understand why anyone would go and get wired up like that and then try to sleep. Clearly, it was not something he would do, but he was worried about me.

This led to a conversation about aging and death and the way death for Americans is strung out over five or six painful years of modern medicine, medication, surgeries and procedures. Great cost and great pain. The Amish don’t die in that way.

I said I didn’t want to die in that way either.

“Johnnie-Boy,” Moise said, “our time together is not over. We have more to do together.”

That touched me deeply, I didn’t know what to say, but I was very much moved by what he said and the way he said it.

I finally said I didn’t think our time together was over either.

I asked Moise if he thought about death much, he shook his head. “It’s not up to me when I die, it’s up to God. I don’t take a lot of medicines to stay alive. It’s not my decision, how long I will live.”

I liked that idea, really. In a different way, I said, death isn’t up to any of us. They can delay it for  awhile, but nobody can stop it.

I told him about the death of my friends in recent weeks, and he nodded sympathetically, but did not speak. I appreciate that the Amish are not into drama. They accept death as they accept life, it is part of the human condition. There is no hand wringing.

We picked up Jacob at his farm and then the fun really started.

We must have made a half dozen detours on country roads I never heard of and had never seen, on winding dirt roads and rusting old farms. These two crank each other up with farm talk and crop talk.

Jacob and Moise knew each farm, every owner, every crop, the quality of the soil, the greenness of the grass.

Every couple of minutes Moise would say ,”look here’s an Amish farm,” by which he meant lots of acreages and pasture, a hill for a house (for drainage), a flat space for barns.

They were only interested in farms, not houses.

They knew about every recent sale, every sale price, the acreage, the people who were thinking about selling, the farmers who had decided not to sell, the farmers who wanted their sons and daughters to farm, the farmers who didn’t.

I told Moise if he ever tired of the Amish world, he had a bright future as a farm realtor. He and Jacob laughed. Think of it, I said, a farm show on TV. The greatest bargains.

As it happened, we were heading to the bus stop where they first set foot in the new land, I called it “where the movie begins,” which cracks them both up. In a sense, it is an important site to them.  Perhaps, I joked, it would one day be a historic site. On this spot, Moise and Jacob set food on the promised land.

We all had fun over that.

The two recall stepping off the bus, walking around, asking strangers where they might get something to eat, wondering where the farms were, asking for directions. They hitched rides or called for taxis.

We did a quick tour – where the first realtor was, where the first convenient store was, where they found the first taxi.

It is quite a story, an epic origin story for them. I never tire of hearing about it, I am in awe of their drive and their faith. Then we stopped to get some hot dogs and drinks for them, as Amish always do when they are getting on a bus.

Moise knew I wouldn’t take any money for the ride, so he put some quarters and dimes into my Amish penny jar I keep in the  front of the car.

“I’ll pick you up at 6:45,” I said, and they both waved goodbye. We had time, so we sat outside and sat on benches and talked.

They planned on buying materials and equipment so Moise could get started on the new house. At some point, there will be another raising.

Before I went”Maybe we can take the long way around through Buskirk,” Moise shouted,”there’s some beautiful farmland out there I haven’t seen yet.”

Once again, I am surprised at my ease with these men, and their comfort with me. I can easily make people uncomfortable. I feel very welcome with them.

I rolled my eyes. Better eat an early dinner, I thought. I’ll call Maria to tell her I’ll be late.