the gate


It’s not really a gate, but that’s what we call it.  “Get the gate and close off the living room.  Get the gate and close off the deck.” Keeping toddlers safe from tumbling down deck stairs; keeping muddy dog prints off the carpets. 

What amazes me is that I still have this gate.  The side piece of a crib long-lost from the brackets, rails and other three sides that 40 years ago (or more) was a cornerstone of a baby’s world.  Soft handmade quilts and a Winnie-the-Pooh mobile turning slowly with the breath of the door whispering open as Mama checks in the night. Back when the gate was a crib.

Two professional moving company numbered stickers are on the gate from when house contents were picked up, driven hundreds of miles and unloaded in a tornado of changing worlds.  Still the gate was there and found a new home each time.  Downsizing and more moves and the gate came along with us. Peripheral to the china cabinets, antiques and furniture, it’s been along for the ride like it’s not ready to part with us yet.






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