Nothing slows or stops the Amish very much.

In the middle of yesterday’s windy, ice, and nasty storm, I looked out the window and saw an Amish horse and buggy in the yard; the horse was tied to my car and one of the young birch trees.

The buggies go by in every kind of weather.

John Miller, Moise Miller’s oldest son, was at the back door. John and I are good friends. He often comes to buy his lumber invoices copies, and I buy train tickets for him and his family (he lives on the Miller farm) on the Amtrak site.

I’m getting to be a whiz on the Amtrak site, the Amish can travel, but they can’t use phones or the Internet themselves. I’m fond of John; he is honest, thoughtful, and open.

I fill in all the information Amtrak wants, search for train tides, and always, always, for the best and lowest prices.

John almost always brings an Amish pie or donut with him since I won’t take payment from him or the family except for the tickets, and he takes his boots off, comes into my study, and both of us look for the cheapest way to get where he is going.

The Amish always look for bargains, discounts, and lower prices. I know the drill, and he and I get through it quickly and together.  And always amicably. John won’t sit down; he always stands behind me as I sit at the computer.

I’m happy to do this for John.

Moise and I seem to have drifted apart, at least for now. I haven’t been on the Miller farm since they moved into the new house, and Moise had surgery. He is doing well, says John, although he has a tendency to overdo it and has a hard time taking it easy for a few weeks.

The surgery was minor and routine, and he’s healing well, says John. He is reading the books I left and greeting visitors and friends he has made doing construction work.

There is no hard feeling between us at all, but life has pulled us apart. I’m working hard and don’t have time to drive, and Moise doesn’t handle leisure time well. He is always working. I feel a strong connection to the family, I always will.

And these days, I am also always busier than ever. But I always stop what I am doing for John, it never feels annoying or intrusive. It feels good to buy those train tickets; he pays me on the spot for buying them with cash.

We are both keeping the connection going. I’m sure there is some thought behind it.

I am aware of Moise as the buggies go by, and I am sure he is aware of me.

Moise and I wave at each other as his buggy comes by or we pass on the road. I miss our time together, and perhaps we can re-connect in the Spring.  But not in the same way.

Friendship is a complex and tricky thing with the Amish, the friendship with John is perhaps a good model.

I’m not inclined to do any more driving; they have found other drivers nearby, as I expected.

I miss the children and Tina; I’ll get some lollipops, potato chips, and dog food next week and drop them off. I’ll keep the kids in treats and Tina in good food.

Soon, the family will be busy planting and watering their crops again. I want to see how the blueberry bushes are doing.

I have a lot to do between the farm, the blog, writing, picture-taking,  exercising, and the Mansion and refugee work for the Army Of Good. I never really had time to do all that driving, but I got caught up in it.

It was a great adventure, fascinating and fun. I’m grateful for it. I loved writing about it. But life is a wheel, it turns and turns.

There is a good feeling, and goodwill between us, but we have, as was obvious,  different lives and separate lives. Life is like this; it moves, rises, falls, and changes like a river. I love this family and their energy and independence.

I asked John if all the storms and ice made it difficult to ride in the buggies. No, he said, “we don’t pay much attention to the weather. We know how to bundle up.”

John stayed to chat for a while; we talked about his family.

He has two small children and he talked about how the Amish like to travel. It is never simple.

I told him he could probably get his three-year-old on the train for free; he looks two. He was looking to shave every dollar off the trip he’s making to Ohio with his wife and newborn baby.

He smiled and shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said, “we can’t do that.” The three-year-old can come along next year when he’s older, he said.

I walked him out to his buggy in the driving snow. “I’m going to take your horse’s photo, John, “I said, “get out of the way.”

“OK, he said. He did get out of the way, waved goodbye, and vanished into the driving snow.