Latest Writing
Exercise
Farm Gates
With my arms leaning on the steering wheel, I sit and stare at the shut gate. ‘I could turn around. Susie doesn’t know I’m coming. On the other hand, it would be a shame to let the birthday card and the tin can with my home-baked cookies go to waste.’
With a sigh I get out. Immediately I know this gate is going to be trouble. Six strands of barbed wires, with long narrow sticks woven in, stretch across the path. I try, with my index finger and thumb, to loosen the ten-inch long piece of wood that is wedged between the gate post and the top wire. It is stiff as a frozen steak.
I fetch my garden mitts that I keep in my Jetta to fill up the diesel tank, pull them on and try again, banging at the piece of wood with the strength of my whole hand, then my arm. I try kicking it with my foot, but either the latch is too high or I too short.
I hate gates....
First Published in: Farm and Ranch Living Magazine
