The Ladder

It wasn't just a ladder. It was The Ladder, the one we used every time extra upward steps were needed at the Shop. "Get the ladder, boy," me Grandpa Joe would say to me when a light burned out. 

The Ladder was a wooden, ten foot step ladder and a staple at the old barn. I'd love to know how old it was. Joe might have gotten it from his brother, me great Uncle Bill, in Illinois, just like he did the bench grinder which was bought in 1928 and we used until 1990. The Ladder could have been that old. It wouldn't surprise me.

I'll bet I was many miles up and down the steps of that thing. Replacing lights, whitewashing the old barn once a year, fixing windows; I even employed it a few times at my house for this or that.

It was rickety for as long as I remember. Someone had to hold it as a safety measure when in use, except when leaned against a wall unfolded. The old red ladder was out of alignment and warped something awful. Holding it up for others required your strength; it about had a mind of its own.

Me Pops left it up against a wall in a far corner of the Shop about fifteen years ago and we ain't used it since. On top of all else the wood was clearly rotten. Yet he couldn't throw it away. So it sat and stuff piled up around it. Until yesterday, that is, when I reluctantly tossed it into the dumpster I rented for an old barn clean up.

Tease me if you want, but I darn near shed tears as I carried it out. The choice felt callous, yet was the right one. It was just a tool and was no longer safe. It needed to go. That didn't stop me from setting it up one last time and climbing up, carefully, six steps. I even got out me phone and took a couple pictures of the view. Silliness.

The true issue is sentimentality, of course. Right before I grabbed it for the dumpster I heard Joe grumble plain as day, "Get the ladder, boy." Well, it's been got.