The F-Troop Makes A Move

"Oh, man," Bob said as he set the box down, "look at this."

"What is it," I asked.

"It's an old captain's trunk," he said and began to pick out small treasures that clearly meant something to him. There's nothing like moving all your earthly belongings to cause you to pause throughout the day and take a small mental trip down memory lane.

"Check this out," Bob said and held a small silver medal out to me. It looked like something from the civil war. I half expected a revolutionary story about a great-great grandfather or something.

"What is it," I asked again.

"It's Bear's first tag," Bob said. Bear is a Chocolate Labrador. Bob held up the dogtag and smiled like a proud father.



The Farrgintons, or the F-Troop as we call them, moved from Tenino, Washington this past December, but had been renting Jane's sister Bern's house. Bern's summer house is less than a quarter mile down the street from us, but since she spends all but the summer in Zurich, Switzerland, she rented it out to old friends. Actually, the funny thing about this, is that this is how we met the Farringtons in the first place.

Many years ago, when Bern was married to her first husband Allen, they had a house in Cape May but were spending the winter down in St. Croix. Bob and Donna had just moved to Cape May and needed a place to stay. They rented Bern's house and that's how Donna and Jane met. For the next few years, they had babies at nearly the same time, one after another. They went to the beach together, trips to the woods to go camping, or just hanging around the backyard pool, all the while dragging along nursing newborns. Of course, I was not yet in the picture. That would come later.



But back to this move. For Bob, this would be his fourth move from coast to coast. He was born in Belgium, but grew up on Long Island. There's saltwater in his veins, and he's never been too far away from the coast, although in Washington, they lived more in the mountains than at the beach. But here they were, once again, back in Cape May County, living in the lowcountry.

The house they found is in the village of Woodbine, NJ, an historic old town that still retains a certain amount of small-town charm. It's a little bit country, especially compared to the hustle and bustle of the coastal shore towns like Stone Harbor, Avalon, and Cape May. This is farm country, where you're more likely to pass a horse than a multi-million dollar beach house. The house is old, meaning it has some history, and the street is lined with trees that have been there longer than anyone living in the homes.



Max and I had gone that morning to get the truck. Technically, Max is Bob's mortgage broker, but in reality, he's more like a lost puppy Bob found and brought home. He's been following Bob around ever since. Of course, they'd been feeding him daily so he's had good reason to come around. Typical stray.

This isn't all that unusual for Bob. He collects stuff: tools, loose screws, old chairs, and every once in awhile?people. According to Donna, he doesn't throw anything out either, and after helping him move, I'd have to agree with her.

At one point, on the second day of the move, he commented on what a shame it was to throw away all these good boxes. We all just looked at him.

"What?" he cried. "They're good boxes."



But say what you will about Bob, he's got the energy of a sixteen-year-old, and according to him, the mentality as well. Bob works hard, plays hard and nearly always has a smile on his face. His enthusiasm is contageous, and his excitement about whatever he's doing is undeniable.

I'd like to believe that this is Bob's last move for awhile, and until his kids finish school, it just may be. But I also know enough about Bob to know that one day, and I don't know when that day will be, he'll sell everything, buy a boat and sail off into the sunset with his wife and his dog. I just hope they stay around for a little while.