HERE’S YOUR HELMET – WHAT’S YOUR HURRY?

Charlie Portfors, my grandfather, 1950s

My Grandfather Portfors used to laugh over the idiom, “Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?” Are people today aware of this old phrase? It means that someone has overstayed his welcome. For instance, perhaps a dinner guest stays late into the evening, and you’re wishing you could go to bed. When he finally says, “Well, I should be getting on home,” you might seize the moment to present him with his hat as a hint that indeed the time for leave-taking has come. But to seem more polite, you could add, “But what’s your hurry?”

I thought of that last night as I mentally prepared for my weekend staycation. Mike and son Clint are riding their motorcycles up Hwy 12 to Missoula and then south to Salmon, Idaho, where they’ll spend the night. Then they’ll spend Saturday night in Nampa. Staycation doesn’t begin until Mike leaves, of course, and I was ready. “Here’s your helmet. What’s your hurry?" Oh, Bess and I will miss him, but if he's going, we just as well get on with it.

 “I’ll clean off the kitchen counter,” I thought to myself, and I mentally moved cutting boards and sewing machines. Hmmm.  I don’t know about moving machines. Maybe not. It’s a lot of work and then my supplies are still in the other room. I’ll sew in the sewing room, but I could crochet in the living room. I have a crochet project to finish. And I could read. And oh yes! There will definitely be shopping for rewards.

Well, first things first. Bess and I took our walk. KW

NOW IT’S HOT, NOW IT’S COLD

Morning light

Monday afternoon, Mike decided to make ice cream. That’s when we discovered we only had one can of sweetened condensed milk. I remembered that I’d seen recipes for sweetened condensed milk and offered to make some, but he said it likely wouldn't be as good. (I’m going to try it anyway because I think it might be better!) Okay, so he modified his recipe to allow for the lack of half a can of condensed milk and it turned out just fine.

Through the window

From the porch

Tuesday morning, I got up about 5:30, and as I turned the corner into the kitchen, I spied a doe in our driveway, happily munching something. It looked to me that she was carefully pulling something out of the gravel and crunching it. I crept out on the front porch to take her picture, and when she realized I was there, she turned tail and ran. Later I confirmed what I had suspected – she was after the rock salt that Mike dumped on the weeds in the driveway.

Today, I was up again at 5:30, and this time I glanced out the kitchen window to see the white-faced horse behind the Dakota. About that time, Bess sensed his presence and sounded the alarm. With that, he bolted through the grove and was gone.

As the sun rises

Temps have turned hot. It was around 70 this morning at the farm, and we decided to complete our chores and drive back to town right away so that we could cool the house before it got really hot. The high will be over 100. I don’t know what will happen to my raised beds in the heat, but I decided they aren’t doing well enough to worry about it. The summer squash has been anything but prolific. I ate a few beets and I’m not sure I want more. The lettuce is fine, but I don’t really care. The cherry tomato is a beautiful plant with lots of little green tomatoes. And the strawberries are “between things.” At any rate, the temperature is supposed to drop rather drastically through the weekend with 66 the high at the farm on Sunday. Weird! KW

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.]