I was buying pie boxes for Barbara Millier a month or so ago (for Donut Day) and was on a site that sells food supplies and displays.

The site had an ad for an oak stand with a split leg but was otherwise in perfect shape for someone who wanted a bargain and was willing to make this simple repair either with strong glue or nails and screws.

Trawling the Internet for bargains for the Mansion and Bishop Maginn and now, the Amish, I find there are remarkable savings online if I can muster the patience to root them out.

A lifelong wastrel, I’ve changed. I like being frugal; it is nobler than being a wastrel.

This basket – the wood was all oak –  normally sold for $124, but in this damaged condition, it would be less than half price (I want to keep the reduced number secret, for now, so no one can try to pay me back.)

It was absolutely a perfect gift for the hard-working Amish and their woodshed up the road.

The Millers are at the peak of their summer fruit and vegetable season; they have a score of different vegetables and fruit they display in their shed and sell – kale tomatoes, watermelon, corn, squash, beets, zucchini, red and yellow peppers, and melons, etc., plus baked goods like donuts, cookies, and pies.

My first basket campaign went well, and they knew all about it,  but there are more things up for sale than there are baskets now, and I thought this would be a powerful addition to their displays.

The baskets look great; they are an effective way to display the fruit of the farm.

This is a tricky thing.

The Amish are both proud and prosperous.

They are not needy.  People are often fooled because the girls are barefoot in the summer. That is a choice and a tradition.

They can afford to buy what they need and are wary of gifts that step outside of their culture or traditions. These gifts are accepted- they are never rude or confrontational  –  but often disappear.

Whenever I get them something they didn’t ask for, we do a dance. They insist on paying, but if it’s a gift, I refuse. Or sometimes, like the baskets, I leave some of them on the property and wait for them to find them. I won’t be around to answer any questions.

They are puzzled by me and are trying to figure me out. Moise has figured me out. I like to give people things.

For the gift to take, it must not break or stretch any of their central traditions and practices. The Amish have a saying. We do what we’ve always done and don’t do what we’ve never done. They don’t alter that without a lot of struggle and consideration, and prayer.

You can’t argue with the Amish because they don’t argue. You can’t win or lose an argument because there are no arguments.

So I had to plan the nine-basket vegetable and fruit stand carefully. I ordered it weeks ago; it came on Saturday when we were away in Vermont celebrating my birthday.

The Amish never read my blog unless they have a particular reason to, and then they come over and ask me to see something. They will never see this post. I know that locals mention the blog to them all the time, but they never mention that to me.

I think this secret is safe until morning.

I planned to put the stand together on Sunday when the shed would be closed, and the family would be at church, taking rides, going to the lake, or just relaxing in contemplation and rest.

They never work on Sunday, and the vegetable and baked good stand is always shuttered. I could drop the assembled stand there when it was finished.

As often happens, there was a lot more wrong with the stand than advertised. Two of the unique dozen nails for assembly were missing, and our hardware store had nothing like the nails to replace the missing ones.

Fixing the cracked wood was simple. Replacing the nails was hard.

Holes were drilled in the oak but not deep enough or wide enough, and the Allan wrench put up a fight. It was too hard to turn the nail even for Maria, who is very strong.

I was surprised when Maria sent me to the hardware by myself. I am usually forbidden to go in there without her. I puffed myself up and talked like a carpenter.

But by standing up and changing the angle of the wrench, I was able to get them all into the holes all the way.  I surprised myself. It was not easy, and I have a blister or two to show for it, but I was proud. We had reversed roles.

Maria was impressed.  After several frantic trips to our hardware store- they had thousands of nails, but none of them worked for us – we (she) figured out how to use other nails and a drill to make our own holes.

After an hour of scrambling, that worked.

Around 5 p.m., we had the stand assembled and the nine baskets ready to go. We got them into the car and went quietly over to the Miller’s foodshed.

I decided to put them out front of the shed, where they will be noticed early in the morning when the girls come out to fill up the baskets with more fruit and vegetables.

I hoped they would be thrilled by surprise, but I plan to stay away from the farm Monday and Tuesday. The Amish never lie, and I never lie to them. (I will run and hide if necessary).

Lying would be a breach of a very sacred trust. If they take it as God’s will, I’m home.

If I show up Monday morning, someone is sure to ask me if I brought this new stand. They might try to push me into getting paid for it, and I don’t want that.  They might not even want to try it because they’ve never used one before.

Barbara and I are good friends, but she’s just as tough as Moise when it comes to negotiating. (Moise won’t be there.)

If they like the stand, they’ll start using it. If they don’t like it, it will disappear from the farm and not be seen again. If they figure out I got it for them and didn’t like it, they will be honest with me and return it.

If they like it and use it for a few days, it will never be mentioned again.

If necessary, I will explain to them that this stand will benefit them at a time of genuine need. They are selling a lot of stuff, and it needs to be visible.

People can see nine different fruits and vegetables right out in the open. This stand is not something they would ever run across by themselves or even know exists.

That’s what makes it an appropriate gift from a friend.

The Amish don’t bet, but I do or did; I spent a few years betting on the horses for a living, and I did all right. I know better than to do that now, but I had great fun while it lasted.

I bet that they will like it and accept it for what it is: a surprise gift from a friend and part-time member of the family. That would make me feel great.

It felt perfect dropping off the stand, and I hope I will soon see it full of the earth’s bounty and the Amish’s bread and butter.

A good friend helps when they can, not when they shouldn’t; the rest is up to God. I think I’ll make that point if necessary. It might even be true.