I don’t know how you spent your Thanksgiving; mine was pretty terrible. Instead of turkey, I was served a big, fat disaster, followed by storming out of the house and cutting ties with family. Perhaps I simply don’t like Florida.
After driving nearly a thousand miles, however, I realized that when one door closes, another one opens. Every connection I’ve made since that Thanksgiving has been unexpectedly warm and meaningful. It seems after a storm, things become sharper— and so does gratitude. Like the homemade ice cream I ate in a friend’s cozy kitchen after all the family drama, which, even now, still feels a-m-a-z-i-n-g.
The same feeling follows me during our December stay upstate in New York. Far, far north.
Okay, Oneonta, NY, is not that far, but considering the amount of snow we’re getting every day, it definitely feels like it.
Picture a winter fairytale: a small cabin tucked into the woods, a frozen pond nearby, and a couple of deer appearing quietly in the morning light. Now imagine that, right in the middle of this idyllic scene, a construction company arrives to redo the roof. Sounds like the beginning of a nightmare, doesn’t it?
Surprisingly, it was quite the opposite. It turned into the least stressful construction experience of my life—and an introduction to a very resourceful community.
That is how I met the Amish.
Their work was exceptionally efficient—something I say with experience. They arrived during a blizzard, at 0 degrees Fahrenheit (-18 Celsius), and carried out the job calmly, precisely, and right on schedule, all for a reasonable price. The homeowner later told us that every other company he had contacted refused to work under such conditions.
I was still skeptical and thinking that at least a week of our stay was ruined.
The snow never stopped falling. My children were happy watching the men at work, while I waited—almost expectantly—for something to go wrong.
You know the sort of thing:
“Well, unfortunately, due to weather conditions, we won’t be able to finish the work.”
Or:
“I’m sorry, we’re missing a part, and it will take several days to get it from the supplier because of the weather…”
None of it happened.
The only thing I heard was: “All good. Tomorrow might be a little challenging.”
(And that “tomorrow” was the day after a snowstorm.)
I always heard about how good the Amish are to work with, but for me, they felt like fairytale figures—simply because you can’t Google them. No negative reviews on Yelp, no website to study, no Houzz rating … I mean, come on—no internet presence.
It turns out that none of that really matters when it comes to the work you actually see and experience. Reputation still travels the old way—by word of mouth. Will I recommend them? One hundred percent.
The other day, I asked how they find property to purchase. I had noticed that many houses in the area were for sale, but none appeared on Zillow. The answer was simple:
“Well, you know… you ask around.”
So if you find yourself somewhere in the Northeast of the U.S., hoping to save time and find honest people for a job, don’t lose yourself scrolling through endless websites, building spreadsheets, and comparing dozens of contractors. Instead, go to the nearest Amish market and ask the cashier for the number of someone they trust.
And you’ll get the job done—quickly and honestly.
Easy. Like it used to be.
Merry Christmas
