Time and space
14/04/23 23:49
I can confuse myself when I try to think about numbers. In the grand scheme of things, we see such a small amount of time. When I hear astronomers talk in thousands of light years, I cannot imagine the distance. When I hear geologists talk about millions of years, I have no concept of how much time that is. When I hear politicians talk about trillions of dollars, I have no idea what that amount of money might be.
I can tell you how many years since I was born, but I cannot tell you how long it will be until I die. I cannot tell you what percentage of my life has passed by.
For about 75 years, my family has owned property in Big Timber, Montana. Since I am not quite seventy five years old, it seems to me like we have always owned property in this town. I walk down main street and I see the house where I grew up. When I was young, the house was white with green trim. Now it is black, with white trim. It looks good, like someone has fixed it up and cared for it. I suspect that the current owners paid five or six times what we got when we sold it in order to own it. But I don’t know how to compute values. Somehow, before I was born, my parents figured out how to buy that house. I’m sure there was a mortgage, but I suspect that the numbers would seem surprisingly small to us today. Maybe the paid less than the balance in my checkbook to purchase that house. I just don’t know.
Next week we will sign papers that will complete the sale of the last piece of real estate owed by my family in this town. That particular chapter will come to an end. My signature will be on the papers that officially mean we no longer own any property in this town - or in this county - or in this state. I guess “always” can come to an end.
On the other hand, proceeds from the sale of the property will be invested in at least three states. Maybe my grandchildren, who liven a 100 year old farm house with no comprehension of how long 100 years is, will someday look back at the farm and say, we’ve always lived there! My youngest grandson was born in that house. It is the only house he has ever known. And for him, grandma and grandpa have always lived just down the road in the blue house. From my point of view, it isn’t always. We’ve just barely moved there, though we’ve live in that house for a year and a half now.
When we were about 50 miles away from Big Timber, I was talking to Susan as I drove. I said, just a little while and we’ll be home. It is funny that I talk about this town as home. I moved away from here more than half a century ago. I haven’t lived in this town since I was 17 years old.
That got me to thinking about the town and the state where it is located. During the first year of our marriage we decided to move to Chicago to attend theological seminary. We both had enjoyed our undergraduate education and had thrived in the academic environment. We wanted to continue to be students and pursuing graduate degrees made sense. We had earned scholarships to make it financially possible and Chicago seemed like a grand adventure. Besides there were no theological seminaries accredited by the American Theological Association in Montana. Still, it was very hard to leave our home state. We had grown up here. We loved this state. We felt our spirits lifted by the rivers and mountains and clear fresh air. We felt we needed the wide open spaces of big sky country.
In order to make the decision to move to Chicago, we had to promise each other and ourselves that we would come back. As it turned out, it was a promise that I did not keep. When we graduated from seminary, there were no UCC congregations in Montana that were looking for the kind of leadership we thought we had to offer. We received and accepted a call to two small congregations in southwestern North Dakota. Our new home was only 70 miles from the state line, but we didn’t return to Montana. When the time came for us to move, we accepted the call to a congregation in Boise, Idaho. We drove across Montana to get between those two homes, but we didn’t stop in Montana to leave. A decade later, we moved our family back across Montana - this time to Rapid City, South Dakota. Since we left for seminary, we have never lived in Montana.
And now I’m preparing to sell the last bit of Montana remaining in our family. Susan’s sister still owns a home in Red Lodge, so her family is still partially anchored in this state,
Still our home is in Washington now. And at least one of our grandchildren thinks that it has always been that way. And we do love living so close to our grandchildren. But we also have a grandson who lives 3000 miles from our home in South Carolina. And, as I said when I start this journal entry, I don’t really understand numbers. Even though I have driven all the way from our home to South Carolina and back again, I don’t really know how far it is. After Christmas we flew there and made the trip in a day. Again when we came home we got home the same day we left there. When we talk by FaceTime of Skype it seems like we are nearly together. The distance doesn’t seem far at all until someone needs a hug and we remember that there are things we can’t do over the Internet.
Today will be a time to look around for one last time. I’ve a few chores to do and a few things to pick up. Then, when the truck is loaded, we’ll be heading out of town. I don’t know when or even if I will ever come back. It is a different kind of good bye. Somehow right now it doesn’t seem as momentous as when we moved to Chicago all those years ago and perhaps it isn’t.
I can tell you how many years since I was born, but I cannot tell you how long it will be until I die. I cannot tell you what percentage of my life has passed by.
For about 75 years, my family has owned property in Big Timber, Montana. Since I am not quite seventy five years old, it seems to me like we have always owned property in this town. I walk down main street and I see the house where I grew up. When I was young, the house was white with green trim. Now it is black, with white trim. It looks good, like someone has fixed it up and cared for it. I suspect that the current owners paid five or six times what we got when we sold it in order to own it. But I don’t know how to compute values. Somehow, before I was born, my parents figured out how to buy that house. I’m sure there was a mortgage, but I suspect that the numbers would seem surprisingly small to us today. Maybe the paid less than the balance in my checkbook to purchase that house. I just don’t know.
Next week we will sign papers that will complete the sale of the last piece of real estate owed by my family in this town. That particular chapter will come to an end. My signature will be on the papers that officially mean we no longer own any property in this town - or in this county - or in this state. I guess “always” can come to an end.
On the other hand, proceeds from the sale of the property will be invested in at least three states. Maybe my grandchildren, who liven a 100 year old farm house with no comprehension of how long 100 years is, will someday look back at the farm and say, we’ve always lived there! My youngest grandson was born in that house. It is the only house he has ever known. And for him, grandma and grandpa have always lived just down the road in the blue house. From my point of view, it isn’t always. We’ve just barely moved there, though we’ve live in that house for a year and a half now.
When we were about 50 miles away from Big Timber, I was talking to Susan as I drove. I said, just a little while and we’ll be home. It is funny that I talk about this town as home. I moved away from here more than half a century ago. I haven’t lived in this town since I was 17 years old.
That got me to thinking about the town and the state where it is located. During the first year of our marriage we decided to move to Chicago to attend theological seminary. We both had enjoyed our undergraduate education and had thrived in the academic environment. We wanted to continue to be students and pursuing graduate degrees made sense. We had earned scholarships to make it financially possible and Chicago seemed like a grand adventure. Besides there were no theological seminaries accredited by the American Theological Association in Montana. Still, it was very hard to leave our home state. We had grown up here. We loved this state. We felt our spirits lifted by the rivers and mountains and clear fresh air. We felt we needed the wide open spaces of big sky country.
In order to make the decision to move to Chicago, we had to promise each other and ourselves that we would come back. As it turned out, it was a promise that I did not keep. When we graduated from seminary, there were no UCC congregations in Montana that were looking for the kind of leadership we thought we had to offer. We received and accepted a call to two small congregations in southwestern North Dakota. Our new home was only 70 miles from the state line, but we didn’t return to Montana. When the time came for us to move, we accepted the call to a congregation in Boise, Idaho. We drove across Montana to get between those two homes, but we didn’t stop in Montana to leave. A decade later, we moved our family back across Montana - this time to Rapid City, South Dakota. Since we left for seminary, we have never lived in Montana.
And now I’m preparing to sell the last bit of Montana remaining in our family. Susan’s sister still owns a home in Red Lodge, so her family is still partially anchored in this state,
Still our home is in Washington now. And at least one of our grandchildren thinks that it has always been that way. And we do love living so close to our grandchildren. But we also have a grandson who lives 3000 miles from our home in South Carolina. And, as I said when I start this journal entry, I don’t really understand numbers. Even though I have driven all the way from our home to South Carolina and back again, I don’t really know how far it is. After Christmas we flew there and made the trip in a day. Again when we came home we got home the same day we left there. When we talk by FaceTime of Skype it seems like we are nearly together. The distance doesn’t seem far at all until someone needs a hug and we remember that there are things we can’t do over the Internet.
Today will be a time to look around for one last time. I’ve a few chores to do and a few things to pick up. Then, when the truck is loaded, we’ll be heading out of town. I don’t know when or even if I will ever come back. It is a different kind of good bye. Somehow right now it doesn’t seem as momentous as when we moved to Chicago all those years ago and perhaps it isn’t.
