200. The Green Screen Door – Elena Sheppard
There weren’t many rules in the cabin. In fact, there was only one: Don’t slam the screen door.
When my parents were young, years younger than I am now, they bought a dilapidated wooden cabin in upstate New York for $11,000. They pooled their resources with my aunt and uncle, and the four twenty-somethings set to work turning what was originally a counselor’s bunk for a sleepaway camp into their rustic dream summer getaway.
By the time I was born, about a decade later, the cabin was in its full glory as a fantasy destination for a little kid. Outside there were thick woods to explore and orange salamanders to catch, rickety old water pumps and trails left behind by the camp or whoever came after. Inside were treasures galore—old railroad spikes that looked ancient and I decided were priceless artifacts from some time in the distant past, and wooden countertops to climb on and scramble across, better to reach the baskets hanging from the ceiling, mouse-proofing our food. Thanks to my dad there was always soft country music playing, and when it rained you could hear each drop plunk on the tin roof. The pièce de résistance was the ladder leading up to a catwalk that connected a cozy winter sleeping loft and windowed summer sleeping porch. Being on the catwalk was like being Rapunzel in her tower and on the bow of a ship simultaneously. To a kid, the cabin was nothing short of magic.
There weren’t many rules in the cabin. In fact, there was only one: Don’t slam the screen door. The green screen door led out onto the front porch, and if you let it go without guiding it shut, it made a thwack so loud it echoed through the trees and rustled the birds in the branches. I heard the words “shut the door gently” so many times from my parents that when friends came over I would parrot them back to them. “Shut the door gently,” I’d say, but hardly any other kid would listen. I can’t blame them for not wanting to follow that rule in a magic house. Following a rule could break the spell.
When I think of that door, and the sound that it made—thhhhhhwack-ck-ck-ck-ck—it is always the magic I think of next. The salamanders and the rain drops, the feeling of being hidden in a secret forest universe and on top of the world at the very same time. I don’t know when the house transformed from a fantastical place that inspired my imagination into the rustic cabin I see when I walk into it today, but I guess that’s what happens when you grow up. Still, each time I hear that screen door slam, the echo brings me back, even just for a second, to the magic.
– Elena Sheppard
