(The Miller’s new home, coming along well.)

I wrote about the Amish almost every day for months, and even though I have decided not to do that for now, I plan to offer updates once in a while. I think I owe that to the people who have been following this extraordinary friendship.

I am still learning from my Amish friends and am still driven to explain them to the outside world if I can. I’ve also been inspired to move towards a new chapter in my life.

I call it the ripening of age.

The Amish had a profound impact on my life when I suddenly realized they were here. They just lit me up. And I won’t ever walk away from them unless asked.

It seemed a miracle to me, something so exciting and challenging, appearing suddenly and without warning right up the road. They were open, welcoming, exotic, enchanting.

From the first, I understood that a close friendship with them was possible, but also very complex,  infused with many limits and differences. When I say they are different from us, I’m not kidding. As I’ve always said about the Amish, you can always get into the kitchen, but not the house.

What I’ve not said is that I’m much the same way.

This all would be a great test of my tolerance, patience, and empathy.

My writings were surprisingly both popular and controversial.

Some people thought I was intruding on their lives and privacy, and some even suggested I had become obsessed and dangerous. That which doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger, and I am stronger.

I enjoyed that time very much; I learned extensively about them and myself. I fell into one of those fevers that writers get when they are drawn deeper into a subject they are writing about. A subject like this doesn’t move next door every day.

The experience was profound. I learned once and for all that I am a pretty good person as far as good people go, and it was time to accept that.

That’s what the trolls and broken people taught me,  just the opposite of what they intended.

It’s been a month since I heard from animal rights fanatics and angry feminists ranting about puppy mills (the Millers have none) and the patriarchy. Somehow, these past few years have made me allergic to hatred, my own and that of others.

The animal rights people have no idea what they are talking about. The feminists raise issues that need to be faced.

But if I’ve learned nothing else from experience, it’s not to judge people because they are different from me. That’s the national disease, and there is no vaccination. It is poison.

I hope to remain friends with the Millers for years. I wasn’t sure for a while, but I know that now. It’s up to me. They have offered their friendship to me time and again.

I wrote from the very beginning that the friendship was unusual and full of land mines. I have values that they don’t share and they have values that I don’t share.

I knew there would come a time when those values would collide, and that would be the real test of our friendship. That has happened more than once. We worked it out each time. We will always be working it out.

I thought it was appropriate and healthy for me to step back for a while, and that was a good idea. I’m no longer driving Moise to the bus and train or on his shopping expeditions; I no longer visit the family every day, my boot-buying says are over, at least for now.

I miss my daily encounters with the children, who are, one and all, remarkable people.

I miss taking the photos I could take, but I also notice that I am taking better and more exciting pictures of other things. There are no big holes in my life; I have plenty to do. As the Mansion and Bishop Maginn slowly and carefully reopen, I am drawn back to both of them. I’m taking my computer lessons and my Leica lessons (one is tomorrow morning.)

Everything happens for a reason, and everything can be an opportunity to learn and grow.

Barbara came by in a buggy yesterday with Delilah to ask me to order some pie boxes; they had just about run out. I used to remind them about this, but now it is up to them to remember. The dogs did their usual frantic barking whenever a horse trots into the yard.

She came into the house to ask me to order the boxes and invited me three or four times to go and see the work they were doing on their new home. To be honest, I’ve watched and admired an awful lot of Amish construction this year, it’s not something that interests me all that much. I don’t understand the details of construction, they are lost on me.

I think Barbara wants to clarify that I am missed and appreciated. One of the roles of Amish women is to smooth things over in their communities if there are bumps or troubles.

I went by this morning to get reimbursed for the $100 the boxes cost. I have learned a few things; I talked our way out of shipping costs and even got a discount. Moise will be proud.

We talked for a while about the pandemic, about masks, about vaccinations. I beat Delilah at thumb wrestling, a punishment, I said, for not coming out of the buggy last night to say hello. She laughed and laughed. She said somebody had to watch the horse.

I didn’t argue or preach about Omnicon or Delta, I just brought them up to date on what I knew was happening. They listened carefully and expressed sorrow for those who are suffering. What they do about it, if anything, is their decision.

I do plan on going by this afternoon to see how their work on the house is going. I have to train myself to not reach for the camera, there are so many wonderful things to photograph.

My sense of all this is that while I loved every minute of my interaction with the generous and kind Miller family and their beautiful children, I feel that my life is more in balance now. There are a lot of things floating around in my head that need to come out.

Because I’m not taking pictures and writing so much, I am free to visit the family whenever I want, and when I can and work around the many differences we might have – we do have. There is no sense of co-dependence or obligation.  They know how to get help.

There are also many connections and common ethics. I am learning to appreciate what I do have, not what I don’t have.

As I begin to learn about myself, I realize that I am essential a loner, comfortable with the dimensions of my life, at long last, and increasing my own peacefulness. I need solitude; I am destined to be what people call a loner. No one but Maria seems able to get too close to me, and I cannot seem able to get too close to anyone else.

This, I realize, is not a flaw or mental health issue, it is just me, for better or worse.

The man who fears to be alone will never be anything but lonely, no matter how much he may surround himself with people.

In solitude and recollection, the man who learns to be at peace with his loneliness and prefer its reality to the illusion of constant companionship comes closer and closer to the spiritual and contemplative life.

The world of men and women outside of my life seems to have forgotten the joys of silence, the peace of solitude. The noise never stops.

For me, this quiet is essential for the fullness of living. I can’t be happy for long unless I contact the springs of spiritual life buried deep in my soul.

I’ve always tended to look outside of myself for family and for the things I need. Somehow, in the past few years, I’ve seen that the place for me to look for what I need is inside of me, and not inside of anyone else.

Contemplation is about being truthful, not about being happy. The more I learn about myself, the more grounded and accepting I am. And much of what I see is not pretty. But it is still me.

“If a man is exiled constantly from his own home, locked out of his spiritual solitude, he ceases to be a true person,” warns Thomas Merton. This has happened to me, and I am learning and healing from it.

My Amish neighbors brought me a great gift – them.

I stepped out of myself to understand a complicated culture and faith and stepped back voluntarily when it was right to do. The Amish taught me a lot, including much about myself. And I have a lot more to learn from them.

I have new and good friends of different ages, and I am confident now we will be friends up to and through the end of my life.

But the real work I’m doing is alone and in silence—no one but me.