Well, the last boots I’ve ordered for the Miller family came Saturday, and the last one for a child cousin comes next week. They are the last ones in the boot saga, or almost the last ones, which has gone on for two months now.

I toasted myself with some oat milk and protein powder. A half-hour later, a horse and buggy came by to tell me two more Amish people saw the boots I got Little Sarah (a very hard-to-find size 4) and wanted some for the winter.

This all started when I was sitting in the kitchen with Moise and I saw a big hole in his black rubber boot. I asked him when he bought his last boot, and he said it was 15 years ago. They haven’t been able to find a nearby store that carries them, especially when he moved.

I had this idea to get him a new pair as a present. I had no idea what I was getting into. One thing really does lead to another, and I am Bootman to the Amish community here. I am happy to tell you that everyone who wants a boot now has the right one and the three who don’t are getting them this coming week.

Manufacturing and supply chains are in crisis, almost everyone was a struggle. At least seven were ordered and then canceled because they couldn’t be shipped or delivered.

Although he didn’t remember it, Moise asked Saturday for the very same boots he asked me to return several weeks ago. He said he has realized he will need a special winter boot when it gets colder and snows. He is always walking in the woods, he said.

This inspired me, and I realized that I did not have a pair of good rubber boots like Maria and the Amish, so I went out and bought two winter boots, one for me, one for Moise. If he didn’t like it, I told him he could give it away, but I wasn’t returning anymore. As always, he said he would be happy to pay.

One thing I should make clear in case anyone misunderstands, they are paying for these boots, they insist upon it, and I couldn’t afford to buy them if I wanted to, which I don’t. They were, in fact, hard to find, and they suffered torn boots for years rather than get new and different kinds of boots.

It took some genuine Internet detective work, but I prevailed and I am just as stubborn as they are, and am proud of my boot acquisitions. Everyone will have the one they wanted, and they are damned good boots, badly needed.

It is no small thing to return the boots to the people who make and sell them. I kept missing taboo items, like colors and logos. I can exchange them, but refunds are a different question. Moise said he understood; he would pay me either way. And he has.

The Amish are never looking for a free ride; they try to pay for every bottle of Mountain Dew and every ice cube and candy bar I bring. Sometimes I let them, sometimes I don’t. If it’s their request, they pay. If it’s my idea, I do. I often take necklaces and bracelets (and donuts) for the Mansion residents and Bishop Maginn refugee kids. Soon, every Mansion resident and every Bishop Maginn student will have a necklace or a bracelet.

I love bartering and so do they.

So I have three more boots coming, and I am not entirely out of trouble. I ended up buying boots for about 14 Amish adults and children. And the shoes are such a hit I suspect there will be more requests. It’s really nice to wear boots with no holes in them.

They are all paid for in advance,  every penny (except the original boot I gave Moise as a gift.)

I’ve moved on into mitten shopping now, and this is a first for me.

Moise is the hardest to please because he is the strictest and most conservative. And most everyone follows his lead.

He never bends the traditions or rules, never. If his great-grandfather wore them one way in one color, that’s the only one that’s good enough for him. Some of the other Amish are blessedly more flexible. I have told Moise he is a pain-in-the-butt sometimes; always gets a good laugh out of it.

Keeping track of all those boots, some of which came and went and came again, was daunting.  If Moise didn’t want it, most of the other adults didn’t either. He is the head figure in this district of the Amish Church.

(boots in concrete)

Three or four Amish children pleaded with their parents to let me get the ones they were seeing, and the parents relented. I have a pair coming Monday, a pair coming Tuesday, and my own pair coming in a month, just before the heavy snows. (I don’t know what took me so long.) They are all black and unadorned.

It was a great test of my shopping skills, and also my patience and tolerance for Moise’s unwavering embrace of tradition. He refuses to change more than is absolutely necessary; he does almost everything (except shopping for concrete) the old way. He is not what he calls the “upscale Amish.”

I have to respect that, even if I wanted to set some of the boots on fire.

I’ve been paying attention to how the Amish use these boots – kids and adults – and I can hardly believe any of them lasted as long as they have. There were a lot of holes in a lot of boots when all of this started.

They wear these boots every day, in mud, snow, much,  and smooth out concrete. They have a whole space in their washroom to clean them every day. They earned them and suffered for them.

There is a payoff and a good one. I love seeing these people wear these tough and warm and well-made new boots as they work hard day after day to build their new home. It matters, and it was worth every second of work and research. I love seeing them in the muck and concrete.

I am happy for them and pleased with me; that is always a good outcome.