The first morning after we moved in this week, we took our 8 year old back to the city for the final morning of his football camp, and also needed to finish moving some things out of our old house. We had a big covered trailer that was being pulled by one of the farm trucks. I then realized that I’d be riding, up front, in the farm truck, in rush hour, to the city.
Farm trucks and I have a messy (no pun intended) relationship. I appreciate that they are work horses and they have helped me do things I’d otherwise not have been able to do (pick up & transport that cool, big piece of furniture that I found on Craig’s List or carry the 40 bags of mulch we needed, when re-landscaping etc).
However, they are dirty and I really, really like clean vehicles.
They are big too.
You can’t just step into one - you have to hoist yourself up.
Also, there are tools, and dirt and farm “stuff” everywhere on the interior.
So, on this rainy morning, I took my to go cup filled to the brim with hot, delicious freshly made dark roast with just the perfect amount of cream, and hoisted myself up into the farm truck.
We bounced along, all three of of us in the front seat. The misty morning drive was gorgeous. Like in those cute movies where the couple is driving down the country road in a pick up truck with the breeze blowing and a great song on the radio.
I concentrated on that scene and my delicious coffee, until I realized my sparkly new, clean, summer athletic shoes were resting on a pile of tools.
A bit of this and a bit of that.
I found it amusing.
We pulled into football camp, which was practically in downtown, at a university campus. I asked my gentleman farmer if he could maneuver the farm beast properly through the morning city traffic and into the athletic complex parking lot.
I just got a look.
He perfectly got us there on time.
My son and I jumped out of the truck, ran onto the field to check him in and I’ll admit, I got a look or two from one or two pretty moms as they got into their diamond white Audi SUV’s with their Starbucks in hand, probably off now to a kid free morning of yoga and shopping at Whole Foods.
That was me at one point in time, sort of...
I hoisted myself up into the farm truck again & placed my feet gingerly on my farm tool foot rest and sighed as we passed by the Dunn Bros coffee shop.
Cappuccino life was tugging at me.
My gentleman farmer pulled the farm truck & trailer through traffic like a pro, and as if he could read my mind said something like “this truck won’t be coming up to the city much more”.
It was then I realized that this cornfield vehicle had diligently served my cappuccino self well over the years. It had made its way up from the farm on various occasions to be helpful, and now was, perhaps, making one of its last trips up to the city to finish moving us down to the cornfields.
The farm truck and I now have a different type of relationship.
I still don’t like the piles of farm tools that cover its interior, but like any good work horse, it does its job and does it well. It’s reliable and consistent and works hard.
The dirt and mess are just part of the deal, and makes it what it is.
Thar farm truck once again served us well. It quickly moved our remaining items to our new home, and once again, proved its worth.
And guess what? My sparkly new summer shoes are still clean, after all.
This week our family moves about 60 miles from the city we currently live in, to the town where the farm is.