A month ago, I was sitting with Moise in his kitchen, and he took off his boot to put on dryer socks; I looked at the boot and noticed a good-sized hole in the right side near the sole.  It was pouring outside; the round was a mud bog.

No wonder your socks are cold, I offered, would you like a new boot? That was a month ago. I’m still trying to get those boots.

The big lesson about being friends with a conservative Amish man is that even though they are the plain people, they are not simple people. There is nothing simple about being Amish. There are more dos and don’t in the Amish church than in an an Irish parochial school in the 19th century.

A month after seeing the hole in Moise’s boot,  I am still buying and returning, exchanging and arguing for the right boot for him and his son, Joe. Enough shoes have come and gone to stock a small boots store.

Moise said that day, as he always does, that he didn’t need another boot. The only things he has acknowledged needing are donut boxes and pie pans.

The Amish are okay with suffering; it makes them feel virtuous and holy. Jesus suffered; why shouldn’t they? The more they suffer, the more religious they are. Perhaps my mother would have liked being Amish.

As I spelled out what winters here are like, with ice storms and sub-zero temperatures and raging blizzards, and then went over what frostbite would do to his work schedule, Moise came around to considering my getting a new pair for him.

And perhaps, he said, might I consider looking for the same boot online for his son Joe. Moise was a size 9, he said, Joe was a size 6.

First, Moise clarified that he had to have the same boot as the one he was wearing, the same color and style as the boot he bought about 15 years ago and was still wearing. At this point, we didn’t even know if the company was still in business, let alone making the same boots.

This made me anxious, American companies are deeply into change.

Moise had no idea where he might purchase another and was shocked to hear I might find one on the Internet.

We started going over the price/discount, shipping discussion – he paid $35 for his boot, and he wasn’t going to pay any more, not even 15 years later. He would ask about discounts and shipping costs.

I knew where this was going, so I took over the boot thing. I said I’d take care of it; I wanted the boots to be a gift to him and Joe; he didn’t need to be involved. I’d spare him the details.

He said he didn’t mind paying for them, but I said I did. The Amish don’t really argue, so the conversation ends.

A month later, I’ve been through about six different boots for Moise and his son Joe. They go back and forth; the UPS man knows all about it and gives me bulletins on where the boots are. Maria thinks I’ve lost my mind.

First, I ran into some chaos on Amazon, which is amidst serious order and delivery problems.

It took me a long time to find the right boots, and Amazon was one of the few places where I could buy them and have them shipped to me in the next month. But they kept sending me the wrong boots, not the ones I ordered.

I had to try older, independent companies, mostly in Ohio and Pennsylvania.

At first, there was a lot of confusion between the boots that Amazon had on the site and the arrived ones. One thing: Moise hasn’t checked out his size for 15 years. He is a size ten now.

And a big problem: the new boots have buttons on the top, so the top of the boot can be fastened and buttoned to keep the rain and snow out of the boot and the foot. (Those will be going to Albany, the refugee families and students are in need of winter shoes and boots.)

Moise was adamant – no buttons.

The Amish do not wear buttons, and buttons are not permitted on clothes or shoes. I couldn’t imagine why buttons – which have been on clothes for centuries – would be forbidden. Back to Amazon, back online. I still don’t know. what the buttons did to deserve being banished.

I went to search again and found several stores selling these boots without buttons, although the customer service people were puzzled at my objection to buttons, those boots were hot sellers. Believe me, I said, that doesn’t matter.

When Joe’s boot came the first time, there was a button that wasn’t shown on the website where I bought it. Back it went. He was shocked at the button.

The next boot was a six, but it turns out that Joe’s feet have not been measured in quite a while either; he needs at least a 7. I went through three or four different sets of boots between shipping delays, screwed-up orders, Amish rules, and regulations. In order to send them back to the very folkish companies I was dealing with; I had to go to the UPS store in Saratoga Springs.

Fortunately, I went to a doctor there every other day in the past weeks, so this was not a problem. On the day of my surgery, Maria was dropping off boots that were being returned.

Yesterday, the right boot for Joe arrived, a cause for celebration, it was a size 7-8 to eight, a lightweight (they had to be lightweight) without a  button. But it is brownish, not all black. We’ll have to see.

I don’t see Amish men wearing a lot of brown.

Two other boots, each purchased from different places, are still caught in the country’s shipping mess. They will arrive either sometime next week or sometime next month. One of these will be Moise’s button-free lightweight size 10. I’ve lost track of what I’ve ordered and when it might be arriving.

At night, I dream of scores of boots heading my way.

I can’t imagine that Jesus had any interaction with rubber work boots. But you never know.

My idea is that Moise and Joe have their working boots snug on their feet before the winter cold sets in; that hole in Moise’s boots haunts me. I’m committed to this.

In addition, I’m going to offer Moise a Messenger Bag for him and Barbara to use on their many travels. I got a new one.  It can hold tickets, letters, pens and pencils, phone numbers, sandwiches, and drinks for long bus and train rides.

It might be too flashy for them or too handy. It does not promote or enable suffering. I think it’s 50-50 that it will come back. To me, it is the essence of simple and unadorned, and it’s the same color leather as the tool belt I bought him in August for his birthday.

Whatever happens to the leather messenger bag (it is pretty unadorned and straightforward), I am determined to get the proper boots on the feet of these two friends before December. The bag is an add-on.

Step one will come tomorrow when I bring Joe his boot. He has already warned me several times about buttons, but he said nothing against a brown boot. I know these do not have buttons, and I know they are the correct size.

The rest is in the hand of the Gods, or this case, God.

I’ve driven Barbara and Moise to enough bus and train stations to know they need a bag like this. That doesn’t mean they will want one or use it. The plain people may be straight, but they are not simple.