THE GENTLE ART OF BACK AND FORTHING

My dad, a piano teacher, gave lessons in his home studio at our house in town. For the first ten years that he and Mother were married, after his last lesson Friday evening, he changed into his work pants, chambray shirt, and farmer work boots, climbed into his pick-up, and drove 11 miles up the mountain to the farm where his mother and sister still lived. Besides farming and maintaining the house and grounds, he carried groceries, drinking water, and supplies. Sunday evening, he resumed his life in town. After Grandma’s passing in 1957, he drove back and forth less often. He retired from farming in the mid-60s, but he still maintained the house and grounds until his passing in 1987.

And then Mike and I inherited the back and forthing, except that we lived an hour farther away. Eventually we decided to make Grandma Ina’s farmhouse our “real” house. The town house, a modular home, was meant to be a place to “hang our hats” in winter and any other time when we can’t be at the farm. Actually, town has its allure, and it hasn’t exactly worked out the way we planned. It’s cooler and quiet at the farm, while town offers socialization, shopping, group activities – and the beach. We work hard at the farm, though, and I often think we have to go back to town to rest up.

But – the potential exists to get one place or the other without something we need or want. Twice this summer I’ve left the camera in town. And on a recent trip back to town, as we were rounding the top curves of the grade, Mike happened to check for his phone and found he had left it at the farmhouse, so we turned around and went back for it. On this trip, I left my phone charging at the town house, and so, yes, we turned around and went back for it. Last week I forgot to change my shoes before we left town and had to wear my old, worn out work shoes. And then today, we discovered we were short a can of sweetened condensed milk which Mike needs for ice cream. I found a recipe and offered to make some, but he said it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe not. Maybe it would be better.

I have found as I grow older that distraction is the enemy. On my way to pack the camera, another thought came in, and the camera was forgotten. Mike had picked up his phone but set it down when I reminded him of something. Lists are a necessity, but some things, such as shoes, aren’t on it. And even if you have a list, you have to remember to check it.

The back and forthing seems to have gotten easier over the years, though. I have learned, for instance, that there’s nothing like having what we need in both places. It became easier when I bought a second sewing machine for the farmhouse, and through trying many organizational systems for my sewing supplies and current project(s), I landed on a sturdy inexpensive toolbox. Things were better again when I supplied the farmhouse with charging units and cords for our devices. And now, with this latest remodel, somehow we just seem to take less.

Once we unpack at whichever place, we begin to repack for the next trip, tossing things into baskets and crates. We’re mostly ready when it’s time to load up. It’s the “last minute” items, such as the devices and shoes, that tend to be forgotten. There’s also nothing like taking our time as we load. Hurrying is another enemy. KW

[The photos here were taken of the farm in 1950 by Earle J. Dobson, my dad's brother.]