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The Gentleman Farmer

~ Found somewhere in a part of the country known as north Florida and south Georgia…

The Gentleman Farmer

Tag Archives: roommates

Moving On…

12 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by thegentlemanfarmer in Family, Living, Passages, Relationships, time, Totem Hall

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

dodge, lexus, memory, moms, moves, moving, nissan, packing, pathfinder, poodles, ram 2500, roommates, rx400h, scad, sons, u-haul

Our oldest made his return to college Saturday. This was not our first fond farewell, having over the years sent him off to summer camps, boarding school, and the first year of college, but somehow yesterday was different, he was moving into his own home, well, own home with four other roommates.

folding sheets for the first and last time...

folding sheets for the first and last time…

boxed up and ready to go...

boxed up and ready to go…

The whole process was most entertaining and it brought back a flood of memories.

i'll just stuff this...

i’ll just stuff this in…

it doesn't take me long to pack...

it doesn’t take me long to pack…

To begin with, all our carefully thought out plans fell by the wayside. The big Dodge 2500 is still in the shop. She was going to be the workhorse of the move. So, you say, no problem, I am sure you have a Plan B. Well good old Plan B did not work out either. Since my son’s Pathfinder did not have wiring for the trailer lights, there was no U-Haul for us, not rentable. Surely, we can use one of the open-air trailers here at Totem Hall, right? Ooh, too bad, the Lexus, choice three, with tow package and harness, is no good, faulty wiring.

The end result: ah, stuff it in the back of the Nissan.

packed in the back...

packed in the back…

packed on the side...

packed on the side…

packed on the other side...

packed on the other side…

and packed in the front...

and packed in the front…

He is definitely my son.

How crazy time is, really. We move through it, try our best to hold on to it, swimming upstream, you know.

bye moms, bye poodle...

bye moms, bye poodle…

Was it just the other day that I was making my own moves, possessions stuffed into a trash bag, or two? Or how about renting the first moving truck, enlisting a couple of friends with offers of beer and lunch, forgetting to tie down everything in back.

bye totem hall...

bye totem hall…

Then came children, just the births alone seem long ago, though, in the grandness of time, not too far away, remembered, just not able to be captured again, the first words, the first walk, off to school, off to university.

bye son, fare thee well...

bye son, fare thee well…

Life is such a funny game…

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Stuff of Dreams, Stuff of Boys…

06 Wednesday Aug 2014

Posted by thegentlemanfarmer in Family, Living, Passages, Relationships, Sporting Life, time

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

archery, avon old farms school, bait fish, boarding school, fishing, golf, hiking, hunting, lacrosse, landlord, quail, roommates, savannah college of art and design, tadpoles, woodberry forest school

Do you ever think that life shows you, gives you, just what need, when you need it, as you need it?

stuff of boys, stuff of dreams...

stuff of boys, stuff of dreams…

Case in point, entering every day into the world of gentleman farming at Totem Hall, I pass a little corner in my home.  Until yesterday, I never paid it any mind.  It was just stuff.  But for some reason, for some reason, yesterday was different; I sat down and, as if for the first time, I saw the stuff of dreams, stuff of boys…

gotcha...

gotcha…

Blessed, our family has always lived surrounded by nature.  Nature has all sorts of bugs, butterflies, tadpoles, and baitfish that need catching by young boys.

boys and bows and arrows...

boys and bows and arrows…

My two sons and I like to hunt and fish.  After summer camp one year, one of the little rascals, maybe both got the idea of bow hunting and fishing.  So we bought an archery set.  Now the only thing left is the bow, the arrows are long gone.

walking and talking...

walking and talking…

I take long walks on our land.  Because of the possibility of running across a rattlesnake or water moccasin, just about all the time I’ll carry a stick with me.  For me, it’s better than a machete, which is too close quarter.

get up and fly, dagnabbit...

get up and fly, dagnabbit…

My part of the world has quail.  Sometimes even if your dog sets and holds, the bird might be a bit reluctant to get up and fly.  The boys use this strap to beat the bushes in hopes of getting the bird to move along.

full count...

spring sports…

Both the lacrosse stick and baseball bat are relics of the past.  My oldest son earned a varsity letter playing lacrosse at Avon Old Farms School.  My youngest tried baseball when he was much younger, maybe not even ten, in the end deciding the sport was too slow for him.

I did not even talk about golf, or tennis, or squash, whose tools of the trade you can see in several of the pictures.  And there is no way I can possibly describe how much fun I had teaching and then getting bested by my two, just a great way for me to grow up and stay young at the same time.

all gone now...

all gone now…

Okay, I staged this scene, but still, why not a bit of poetical license, after all we are all adults here.  The oldest is off to college in Savannah by the end of the weekend, moving into a home with four other roommates.  God help the poor landlord.  Then our youngest son leaves for Virginia and the start of his boarding school career next week.

Time moves along downstream like a river, always present, always changing, always there, never there…

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Perhaps my ennui stems from David Bowie's death. I read somewhere that we should consider ourselves lucky to have lived at the same time he did. I do. Many years ago, there was a girl in my secondary school, Debbie P., who was very hip, very groovy, and very pretty. Now I attended Catholic schools and so, as you might imagine, we had to wear uniforms, except, of course, for after-school activity, and that's where I get to the point of the story. Our school was putting on its big play of the year, I had a small part, Debbie was working backstage. One evening during rehearsal she showed up wearing a Ziggy Stardust tee-shirt. I was young, naive, not hip, not groovy, and not knowing who the ambiguous Ziggy might be. During the weekend that followed that rehearsal, I went to a record store and discovered just what David Bowie was all about. It was a transforming experience. Now some forty years later, I farm, David is dead, and Debbie is into Christian rock bands. Did I say ennui...

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