The longest and most frustrating chapter in my now long friendship with the Miller family – they have taken to calling me “The Bootmaster” instead of “Grandpops” – came to a triumphal end today.

My boots, the pair I ordered a month ago as I struggled to find the acceptable boots that are the only ones the Amish will wear, came to a successful end. (Actually, it didn’t entirely end until last week.)

It occurred to me as I scoured the Internet for lightweight, black, soft, and plain boots for all sizes of Amish people – from 2 to 50 (I have one more request for a black boot for a 10-month-old toddler, that will not be simple) that they all had boots, but I didn’t have any.

I’ve been walking around the first Bedlam Farm and now the second for more than a decade with no work or snow boots at all, just regular shoes that quickly got soaked, cold, and ruined by going outside in the ice, snow, and much of the pasture.

Any farmer knows what will happen to shoes when you go out into a wet, soggy, manure-soaked pasture without special rubber boots. They are ruined and smell forever. And it never occurred to me to buy one until the Great Amish Boots Project Began.

How strange my mind is. I notice all kinds of things nobody else sees and fail to see things everybody else sees. I don’t know why I held off so long before getting my own boot. I think a part of it was my determination to never pretend being a real farmer. I am not a real farmer. I am a writer who lives on a farm.

I never felt entitled to my own big boot. My Amish friends have cured me of that, they wear their boots about 24 hours out of five, except on Sunday.

If Moise can have two pairs of boots (one for summer, one for winter), then, by gum, I decided, I was at least going to have one. By the time I got mine, I knew the lay of the land boot-wise. I know where to go, what to buy, how much to spend.

Mine fits perfectly; I can slip right into them without even bending down.

I can go out in any storm and take pictures and leave the boots on the porch to dry out as Maria does and has done for years. This is a huge turning point in my life, and I am embarrassed to think about how long it took me to get my boots.

I’ve been wearing them all afternoon and am wearing them now. I walked through the pasture, through all kinds of smelly muck, and stepped out of them on the back porch. When I went out to check on them, they were dry.

For Zinnie and Fate, everything we do is their business, and they closely inspected the boots, sniffing them carefully. They seemed to approve, and they knew how to get into a photo (Maria took this film.)

My boot is a Tingley work boot, and it can easily pass for a  certified and acceptable Amish boot. I can’t wait to wear it up to Moise’s farm. I can’t say it’s a good or rugged boot as the one Moise is wearing, but it’s the toughest boot I’ve ever worn. And I sure needed it.

I killed off many shoes marching around my pastures in all that muck, poop, ice, rain, and snow. Bless them, I apologize for my fuzzy brain. I can’t wait for the first snowstorm. This is a big change. I owe you.