"Granpa's Barn."

Composition 110
Cynthia Northup

Grandpa's Barn



It's been a month since the funeral and the family has gathered to decide on plans for rebuilding Grandma's old farmhouse. The men sit at the worn oak table discussing financing and completion of the project. My mother, aunts, and grandma are making the evening meal. I stand in the driveway and listen to the children. They are in the barn.

The cool autumn wind blows through the trees and I am taken back. The hay is under my shirt and it pokes at my soft skin, there are twigs in my hair too, and the musty air makes me sneeze. My brother and older cousins are all taking turns and I want to be like them. Larry is at the bottom with my cousin Alan; they are holding one end of the huge rope strung on pulleys throughout the roof of the enormous barn. Seated within one large loop of rope is Dale, “Okay, on three!” he shouts. “One, two, three.” And swoosh he's lifted off, swept into the air, he flies over Larry and Alan's heads and jumps off mid-air to a near by pile of hay.

I cannot withhold my excitement as it is my turn. I scramble to catch the rope on the return flight back to the top of the barn. Missing once, I seize hold of it on its second trip. Adjusting my footing on solid ground I position the great rope beneath me and cling to the massive sides with all my might. “One, two, three…” Swoosh, my heart sinks as my feet lift off, higher and higher I fly at the speed of sound. In an instant I am excited, then nervous, then scared, then terrified and finally I screech “Oh God Larry I'm going to hit the roof! Let me down! Let me down!” They drop the rope. Now I am falling so fast, my hair hits the top pulley the blood rushes to my face, I look to see where I'll land but before I even have the chance I am in a soft pile of hay.

All the cousins have their turns running up the bales to the rope at the peak of the barn. Turn after turn we scream to the top in fear always landing in the soft hay below. The bales fall apart beneath us and it is a welcome sight, as they have served as such excellent padding. You can hear each spin of the pulleys and the rattle of the rope against its sides. The tin roof aches at every new rider and the beams in the barn moan at the added weight. But Grandpa has heard the noise, protecting the hours of fieldwork he has put into each and every bale he hollers, “You kids get out of that barn.” We scramble. It is a mad rush to freedom past the old man as if we were never there.

Now the breeze sweeps my hair up and a chill runs my spine, I run to the barn of my childhood to join my nephews. Far to the top stands little David; his brother helps him into the great rope. Joshua and Alicia have hold of the end at the bottom, the countdown has already begun, and it is time for David's flying lesson.


Cynthia Northup; September, 2002