In the winter, the barn doors stick. It’s as though the ground grows up and grabs the bottoms, but it’s the sun melting snow on the roof and the water drips, freezes, sticking the doors to the ground. I jar and jiggle them loose.
The other day I was irritated with Bruce and lost my temper. I shoved and yanked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge because I’d yanked the trolley apart. (The trolley is the gizmo that slides the door across the rails.)
Bruce pulled out the step ladder. He did not yell or even sigh, “Another job I have to do.” He put the bolt back and tightened the nut and set the wheels of the trolley back in the rails, so the door slid as smooth as ice.
I thought about doors I’ve tried to open that wouldn’t budge. Eventually they broke.
I thought about how it’s not so good to lose your temper at a door, an animal, a person who had nothing to do with why I was angry. But it would have done less good to spout off at Bruce. That door might still be catawampus, stuck to the ground, wind and snow blowing through.
Besides, that day, I didn’t need to open the southeast door because in our barn there are two other doors that gave to my pull, so I could turn out the horses. When I thanked Bruce for his kindness, he said, “No big deal.”
I’m Katie Andraskiand that’s my perspective.
