I’m charging some money on my credit cards lately, buying boots for Amish people, and today, it was time to get some cash up front to knock down those bills.

They aren’t huge by any standards, just a couple of hundred dollars,  but I hate credit card debt and don’t want any.

Even having $100 in credit card charges makes me twitchy and anxious.

The Amish are very understanding about this; they always offer me money up front if I want it or need it to buy something for them. We have a strong understanding – we trust each other.

I have a bunch of boots coming; almost all are delayed by shipping and staffing problems. The shoes have turned into a complicated and sometimes frustrating project, but I’m getting to the end of it.

They are important to the people who want them and very necessary.

I went to two different Amish households to pick up my payment. I came home with a  wad of almost entirely $1 bills with a few $5 on top.

The Amish have bank accounts in various places – credit unions mostly –  and they keep almost all of their money there. Commercial banks demand Social Security cards, which the Amish refuse to get.

For incidentals and small purchases, they sometimes use cash.

I drove straight to the bank and handed it to a slightly irritated teller.

She had some counting to do.

I haven’t seen a wad of cash since my Uncle Jack died. I use credit and debit cards, hardly ever money.

Jack was famous for taking a hundred one-dollar bills and rolling them into a ball with a $100 account on the top. He didn’t fool anybody, but it made him feel like a millionnaire.

We all knew his wad wasn’t worth much. Mine wasn’t either.

I had no desire to wave my wad around, small as it was; I wanted it in my account right away so I could pay for those boots and owe no money.

It was a lovely day for me at the Millers also. Late Monday afternoon, I assembled another food stood online and brought it to the shed. This has become a kind of game with us.

They find the stand in the morning, and if they like it, they put food on it – in this case, jam and jelly – right away. Then ask me if I brought it. I pretend to know nothing but eventually, under continuous teasing and pressure, I confess and get paid.

This one didn’t cost very much.

I haven’t failed yet to get the right stand.

I am pleased I’ve been able to help them display their food in their tiny shed. It’s not something I could typically be helpful with, but this project drew me like a magnet.

I wonder if I wasn’t another kind of person in another life, perhaps a village grocer. I don’t understand how I know how to do this.

They work so hard, and the money from the food shed is very important to them.

It turned out my small stand  was the perfect way to display their jams and jellies and pear butter.