Stuck In the Barn Door

I was not born in a barn, but I did get stuck in the barn door. I’m sure you have paused from your reading and are thinking to yourself, “Hmm, did I just read that right?” Then you go back and read the sentence again confirming that, yes, indeed, you did read I got “stuck” in the barn door.

How, pray tell, does someone get stuck in the barn door? Easy! Let me explain in further detail. How we managed it is quite simple, but how we got out of it was not. It was this moment where my big sister bossy leadership skills took a backseat to panic.

Oh Happy Day!

Image by Couleur from Pixabay

If there could have been a song playing while I was packing to go to my Aunt Myrt’s and Uncle Carl Hoffman’s dairy farm, it would have been “Oh Happy Day”.

It was always a treat to go out to their farm. Farm’s, in general, have so much to explore, see, and do. Especially for town kids, farm life was absolutely mesmerizing. I was endeared to all the animals. My brother Jason? Well, he just wanted to ride tractors and shoot birds with his BB gun.

With great excitement, I began packing my clothes into a small, square, 1960’s avocado green toiletries “train case”. Shut the lid, and pressed the large metal clasps shut. There! I was now ready to leave. Ahead of the schedule as usual- it was only 5:30 am.

Lugging the trail case up the hallway, I paid my parent’s bedroom a visit. My dad was getting ready for work, and my mother was dismayed to see me already up and asked me to go back to bed for a few minutes.

Dejected, I lugged the suitcase back up the hallway, into my room, dropped it on the floor, and climbed back onto my bed. I knew what a “few minutes” meant.

Ready, set, go

Image by pjmdesi from Pixabay

The moment had arrived, my mom announced it was time to go to the farm. We grabbed pillows, suitcases, and a sweatshirt. I’m sure our feet didn’t even hit the ground as we flew to the car and piled in.

Although the trip to Aunt Myrts was not more than five minutes, it seemed an eternity. Finally, the rusty farm windmill was in sight and I knew that we had only seconds till we hit their gravel farmyard.

We pulled up to the cement pad that leads to the house. Barely able to contain our excitement, my brother and I unload from the car each wanting to be the “first” into the house.

Jason made it to the steps into the house first. He whipped open the screen door and ran through the breezeway, and opened the house door. “We’re here!” shouted my brother. My Aunt was sitting at the kitchen table having a peaceful cup of coffee, probably thinking to herself the “peace and quiet” are definitely over.

Aunt Myrt

We loved Aunt Myrt. She was THE best Aunt, EVER. She played games with us, she let us do crafts, and she read books. Bet you’d never guess she was a teacher. Most of all, she let us roam about the farm and just be kids, with just a few particular rules.

We generally got the same lecture:

  • DON’T climb in the corn cribs
  • DON’T go into the milking barn
  • STAY AWAY from the road
  • NO playing in the machine shed
  • STAY OUT of the haymow
  • STAY OUT of the cornfield

These rules were generally adhered to, and we nodded our heads in agreement, dropped our stuff, and flew out the screen door. There were batches of kittens to find, cow pies to poke at with sticks and cookies to be eaten.

Let’s check the feed room

Without even as much as a “goodbye” to our mom, we left the house racing toward the barn. Mom was going to stay and visit for a bit and then go back home where “peace and quiet” had now taken residence.

Pulling down the latch I swung the door wide and we entered to feed room and turned on the light. We were allowed in the feed room, this is where most of the cats had their kittens. We poked around only to find one batch of kittens-bummer. But as was well as we sat and petted and played with each kitten.


About Michele Bruxvoort

Michele Bruxvoort is sure to draw you in with her delightful sense of humor and love for living life.   She enjoys reading, repurposing,  as well as remodeling the family home with her husband. Drawing from her life experience as wife, mom, and follower of Jesus, Michele brings you a very honest and real perspective on life.  When you don't find her writing, you can find her mowing lawns, stocking shelves, taking care of her grandbaby and tackling her latest life adventure. Wisconsin native and empty-nester, she now makes her home with her husband of 27 years in the South West Prairie plains of Minnesota.

View all posts by Michele Bruxvoort

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