The #!*#*! Barn Door

Men never cling to their dreams with such tenacity as at the moment when they are losing faith in them, and know it, but do not dare yet to confess it to themselves.
William Graham Sumner

Arrrggggggg…Here I stand, freezing my fingers and toes as I try to pull the barn door open. The damn thing is frozen shut.  It is twenty degrees this morning and that lovely sludge that I avoided cleaning out from under the door is now frozen, keeping me from entering the barn.

As I heave my body against the door repeatedly, trying to break it free, I release several  groans, grunts and curses. Chicken chatter comes loudly from inside, a discussion no doubt of their impending doom from the creature outside the door.

I decide to hop over the electric fence, and try to break in through the back. The fence is off, thank goodness, and I make my way through the snowy gate. The goats come out through the slender opening between the two doors, and wonder what I am up to. I explain to them that I am having trouble getting into the barn. They just do not seem to care. The back door will not slide open either, so I size up the opening, and ask the goats what they think. Nope, I am definitely not fitting through that goat door.

I am now warming up in the house and I send off an email to my husband that the barn door is officially frozen; for a moment I’m contemplating not dealing with this. I peruse a couple of farm forums about the other poor souls that cannot get their barn doors open this morning either. The best advice I get is, “Get your lazy ass out there and chip that ice out from under that door or move the barn to Panama.”

Here I am again, staring at the barn door, but now I am armed with a shovel that has a nice straight edge. I chip away at the slushy and aromatic mixture of hay, ice and undoubtedly chicken poo. I wedge the shovel under the door, push it down with my foot, and then heave and ho on the door several times. I feel a bit of movement. Holy shit…its working. I find a new spot further down the door to re-wedge the shovel, push down hard with my foot on the handle and watch the door rise up out the slushy mess. I can almost hear the barn animals cheering with anticipation.

One, two, three, PUUUULLLLLL… and there she goes! Tenacity saves the day.

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4 Comments on “The #!*#*! Barn Door

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