I brought the new and heavy green trimmed wooden food display to the Amish shed last night when they were all in bed and waited to see what would happen.

One, they could ask me to take it back, which I would have done. Two, they would have been unsure what to do with it, and three, they could have accepted it instantly and put it to work.

They chose the latter.

When I drove by this morning on the way to my Covid-19 test,  I saw the stand right out front in full view of the street, every box stuffed with squash, not bread. It looked great, I felt proud, and I imagine it will catch the eyes of many people driving by.

I am proud of the trust this family, and I have developed for one another, especially given the vast differences in lifestyle,  ethics, social and religious beliefs.

I have discovered that people who are very different can learn to love and trust one another and that people who put aside hate and grievance can find a path to peace and harmony.

It’s not dancing in the park; it is precise and complex. It is also very possible.

If the Millers and I can do it, anyone can do it. The food displays are not about food, as is probably apparent to everyone, but are about friendship, trust, and community. I have also learned and grown up a lot and understand better the power of empathy and listening.

I put my arguments and anger aside; I left them at the foot of the hill.

The Miller family and I have come to a state of trust and appreciation. They trust me to choose something they would like and could use. And that was not easy. It requires thought and patience, and tolerance.

(Squash, $4 apiece.)

They knew the display was from me, they trusted me enough to choose it and put it out front, and next week, or as soon as my surgery is over, we will sit down and barter for a mutual agreement of compensation.

We respect each other’s good faith and observe the boundaries we both care about. It’s something we wanted and worked at. And it was all done on trust; neither of us has yet spoken a word about this stand to the another.

I want many necklaces and bracelets to give to every Mansion resident who wants one and every Bishop Maginn High School student who would also love one. This includes the Afghan refugee children who are on their way here.

That’s my deal. I predict a swift and straightforward negotiation. I love the idea of this display encircling the people I care about – Maria, the Mansion, the refugees, the Millers themselves.

The Millers have already agreed in principle to non-cash bartering for many other things; I have to apply our agreement to this.

I am ever mindful that the Amish do not understand many things in my life, including my creative and practical relationship with the Internet, which they know nothing about, which is incomprehensible to them. And I have just scratched the surface of their beliefs, values, and practices, many of which are not visible to outsiders or understood by them.

I sometimes think they may see me as an alien, sent here and by God to test their faith and mine.

The vegetable and bread baskets are symbols of our trust and understanding of one another. They are essential to me, and I suspect, to the family as well. My idea of family, a struggle throughout my life, has changed and expanded and grown.

The children are not grandchild surrogates for other people or me. My granddaughter and I live far apart and rarely see one another. That is life, and I accept it.

I have no wish to teach and influence anyone.

If I want them to learn anything from me, it is to trust the people down the road – me and Maria – in a world where trust often seems so hard to come by. We don’t have to be similar to like one another.

They don’t need me to teach them a single thing. They need me to show them how to accept love and friendship from people who are not them.

I sensed this: this business of food stands (the nine basket one also) will make it easier for them to sell their goods and show them off. That is a lesson their parents very much approve of.

I was thrilled to see all those wooden boxes full of squash. They knew exactly what they wanted and needed and put it to use without compromising a single one of their values and practices.

The outside world often seems to be tearing itself apart, but we are just learning how to come together in my little world. I can say honestly that I know it can be done.