Home Sweet Home

After 740 miles, 15 hours of driving, 3 coffees, 4 diet cokes, 2 Balance bars and one night at a Country Inn and Suites, we are finally at home in the house my great-great-grandfather built. I giggled to myself most of the way about how I managed to lure Mr. Farmer to live in this historic house, sight unseen. (He just told me that he’s laughing on the inside about living in a Norman Rockwell painting, so I think our marriage will survive.)

Fortunately the journey was uneventful once we got underway. I thought the packing job was never going to end, and it was a good thing we hired guys to load our 26-foot U-Haul. It’s also a good thing our friend Glenn and his buddy accompanied us on the trip with their big pick-up pulling another box trailer (also packed to the brim). Otherwise we would’ve found ourselves back at U-Haul for another trailer.

To be clear, 80% of the stuff is Mr. Farmer’s. He’d lived in his house for 11 years and owns a complete set of equipment for every hobby and home improvement project known to man. Which makes him endlessly attractive, but a little expensive when it comes to moving. (And all this is after 7 trips to goodwill and completely filling a dumpster!)

We finally got away from the Chicago suburbs around 3:15, under cloudy skies and the threat of rain. The winds nearly did the U-Haul in, especially given that it was at least 5 inches lower on the right side from uneven weight distribution. I, on the other hand, had the cushy job of driving the Tacoma.

It’s really too bad that I learned the best way to lure a dude now that I’m married. Simply drive around a pick-up towing a boat. I’ve never gotten so much attention. And they all seemed to think I was really going fishing. The first comment was always from the guy at the next pump: “Gee, I’d like to be fishing today.” Then the guys running in for a soda would add, “Wow, and she’s by herself!” The dudes buying chew at the register would top it off with, “How much does a boat like that set a guy back?”  The really clever ones asked, “She’ll really get points if she can back it.”

With that much driving time, I turned to my cell phone for entertainment. I called Mr. Farmer at least every 10 minutes, even though he was right in front of me. Usually it was to point out amazing landmarks, like the Wendy’s at BETO Junction.

Ma and Pa, bless their hearts, commissioned a new paint job for the barn and garage. (They seem to be slightly excited about the prospect of having us as neighbors.) As of last night, the Floridian kin of an Amish guy who dad knows had finished priming both buildings. PINK! Yes, according to Mom, they were a lovely shade of mauve.

I just about couldn’t take the excitement of the trick I was cooking up for Mr. Farmer. Of course it would depend on the painters not showing up today, which was highly unlikely, given they’re men of God.

But I laid the groundwork anyway this morning as we were brushing our teeth: “Oh yeah, Mom said they are painting the barn a different color.”

“Do you know what color it is?” he asked.

“I dunno, some shade of red, I assume.”

“I hope it’s not pink.”

Who ever heard of a pink barn? He must have ESP. I am very proud of my straight face.

Of course, by the time we got there, there was only a trace of pink. So I had to explain the story. He got a good laugh, but we didn’t get to have the totally funny conversation of me saying, “Oh no! You can’t tell mom and dad you hate it — it would offend them.” Then go to them and say, “What a great color” and go on and on in conversation with only him being out of the know.

Movers met us on this end, too, to help unload the truck. We have three excellent bedrooms upstairs in the house, but unfortnately none of our beds fit up the stairs. So I guess all our guests will have to sleep on air beds. At least there’s a spare room on the main floor for our very excellent king. I suppose I’ll avoid telling him the part about that room being used to watch dead bodies of my kin to keep the rats away before burial.

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2 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    Ann said,

    Welcome home Nelly! I woulld have never guess that you would have snached yourself up a honey in Chicago and bring him back home to Kansas. But you infact you did just that. I am so puzzled that he could sway you to come back to Kansas. You loved Chicago!! He is a man after my heart ! Welcome home Mr Farmer- I am so glad we found you! PS. I think a dog would be a good Christmas gift and some cats too. You need mouse patrol at your new farm house.

  2. 2

    Karen said,

    Some cold night, you and Mr. Farmer need to watch “Funny Farm” w/ Chevy Chase. It’ll help him appreciate the insaneness of small-town life …. or at least it did when I lived in Independence, KS! 😉


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