“Harold, I gotta admit I thought you was crazy, but I was the one with a loose screw in the head! You had the right idea the whole time, you old rascal!”
Shawn Gosden had to talk a bit louder than usual so that his good friend of the past forty-some-odd years could hear him above the rock song blaring from the loudspeakers overhead.
Harold Tetter leaned both elbows on the counter and winked at his buddy.
“If it was such a good idea, then why ain’t you out there skating, huh?” he jerked his head toward toward the polished rink floor.
Shawn laughed and just shook his head. “Hey, I get around well enough in these work shoes without having little wheels stuck on them.” A hand calloused from decades of farm work motioned at the pairs of multi-colored skates strung up from the rafters over the front counter. “In my book, moving that fast is just asking for trouble.”
Harold laughed, a deep laugh from way down in his belly, and slapped one worn hand on the counter. “What you mean is that Becky’d skin you if you broke something and she had to take care of you all laid up in the house every day!”
It was Shawn’s turn to laugh then and pound the counter then. Harold picked up a dust rag and some Pledge and got to wiping the spotless wood counter. A lot had changed in the past eight months since he decided to retire and sell off most of his family farm. For one, his checking account was filling up much faster than it ever had with soybeans and calves. That’s why his old buddies kept coming by – to see for themselves what had the Tetters driving a new brand new, top-of-the-line truck to church every Sunday and eating at the Greenwood Theater House every Thursday night.
Harold kept shining the countertop and let his old friend look at what he’d done to his barn.
Shawn and his boy used to help him work on on his rundown John Deere tractor right in this same spot where Harold and his wife rented out skates. The fine red dust barn floor, hardpacked with decades of boots, hooves, and tractor tires, now had gleaming slick wood planks from wall to wall. Some of the forty years of tools and fencewire still hung on the walls and overhead but shared the space now with speakers, neon lights, and even a slowly spinning disco ball his nephew had bought from an antique mall two towns over. The feeding troughs and the cattle stalls in the back were now bathrooms and a snack bar his granddaughters were fighting with each other to run. The barn his grandfather had built was air-conditioned now and watertight and even had a brightly lit fire exit that led out to the parking lot where the chicken house used to be.
It’d cost more than he even liked to think about now, and he’d made so many changes to the old barn that his dad and granddad would have had strokes if they weren’t already long gone. The town had thought he was crazy, just like Shawn had said a moment ago. Crazy for giving up farming. Crazy for selling off his family farm. And crazy for turning his barn into a skating rink. But Harold didn’t care. His wife was glad to be done with canning, and she knew that farming hadn’t been good for the past twenty years, even if none of their old friends wanted to admit it. Why else had all the younger people gone to work in the city or in the factories springing up all around? Harold’s sons, though, came home to help with blueprints and building codes, and each field Harold sold off paid for the next piece of work the barn needed.
Now that it was, the Skate Barn was paying the bills, and not just for him, but for his sons, who had stayed on and quit their own jobs. The granddaughters, too, were getting to pay for their cell phones, and even the boyfriends were signing on to get date and gas money. Plus, he was going to bed each night, still dog-tired from a day’s hard work but not dog-tired from worrying over the family’s finances. The Skate Barn was a good trade for a farming career, he had decided, even one that had been in the family for three generations, and it was a good thing for the town, too, he figured. People came in every night and packed it full on the weekends, even two months after its grand opening. He couldn’t help grinning at his reflection in the shiny countertop as he kept polishing.
Shawn must have noticed because he laughed all of a sudden, saying, “Yep, Harold, you’re a smart one, you are. Why didn’t none of us come up with an idea like this, I wonder? Maybe I should turn my barn into one of those miniature golf resorts. This air conditioner sure beats running behind a haybaler!”
Harold laughed along with his old friend. A line of six locals skated by. They were all mostly in their thirties, all children of people Harold went to school with, and all working at the blue jean factory that had been built on the other side of town. They were skating the bunny hop and shouting along offkey with Joan Jett about how they loved rock and roll. Harold kept shining and grinning. He didn’t know about rock and roll, but he knew that he loved his new job.
Shawn Gosden had to talk a bit louder than usual so that his good friend of the past forty-some-odd years could hear him above the rock song blaring from the loudspeakers overhead.
Harold Tetter leaned both elbows on the counter and winked at his buddy.
“If it was such a good idea, then why ain’t you out there skating, huh?” he jerked his head toward toward the polished rink floor.
Shawn laughed and just shook his head. “Hey, I get around well enough in these work shoes without having little wheels stuck on them.” A hand calloused from decades of farm work motioned at the pairs of multi-colored skates strung up from the rafters over the front counter. “In my book, moving that fast is just asking for trouble.”
Harold laughed, a deep laugh from way down in his belly, and slapped one worn hand on the counter. “What you mean is that Becky’d skin you if you broke something and she had to take care of you all laid up in the house every day!”
It was Shawn’s turn to laugh then and pound the counter then. Harold picked up a dust rag and some Pledge and got to wiping the spotless wood counter. A lot had changed in the past eight months since he decided to retire and sell off most of his family farm. For one, his checking account was filling up much faster than it ever had with soybeans and calves. That’s why his old buddies kept coming by – to see for themselves what had the Tetters driving a new brand new, top-of-the-line truck to church every Sunday and eating at the Greenwood Theater House every Thursday night.
Harold kept shining the countertop and let his old friend look at what he’d done to his barn.
Shawn and his boy used to help him work on on his rundown John Deere tractor right in this same spot where Harold and his wife rented out skates. The fine red dust barn floor, hardpacked with decades of boots, hooves, and tractor tires, now had gleaming slick wood planks from wall to wall. Some of the forty years of tools and fencewire still hung on the walls and overhead but shared the space now with speakers, neon lights, and even a slowly spinning disco ball his nephew had bought from an antique mall two towns over. The feeding troughs and the cattle stalls in the back were now bathrooms and a snack bar his granddaughters were fighting with each other to run. The barn his grandfather had built was air-conditioned now and watertight and even had a brightly lit fire exit that led out to the parking lot where the chicken house used to be.
It’d cost more than he even liked to think about now, and he’d made so many changes to the old barn that his dad and granddad would have had strokes if they weren’t already long gone. The town had thought he was crazy, just like Shawn had said a moment ago. Crazy for giving up farming. Crazy for selling off his family farm. And crazy for turning his barn into a skating rink. But Harold didn’t care. His wife was glad to be done with canning, and she knew that farming hadn’t been good for the past twenty years, even if none of their old friends wanted to admit it. Why else had all the younger people gone to work in the city or in the factories springing up all around? Harold’s sons, though, came home to help with blueprints and building codes, and each field Harold sold off paid for the next piece of work the barn needed.
Now that it was, the Skate Barn was paying the bills, and not just for him, but for his sons, who had stayed on and quit their own jobs. The granddaughters, too, were getting to pay for their cell phones, and even the boyfriends were signing on to get date and gas money. Plus, he was going to bed each night, still dog-tired from a day’s hard work but not dog-tired from worrying over the family’s finances. The Skate Barn was a good trade for a farming career, he had decided, even one that had been in the family for three generations, and it was a good thing for the town, too, he figured. People came in every night and packed it full on the weekends, even two months after its grand opening. He couldn’t help grinning at his reflection in the shiny countertop as he kept polishing.
Shawn must have noticed because he laughed all of a sudden, saying, “Yep, Harold, you’re a smart one, you are. Why didn’t none of us come up with an idea like this, I wonder? Maybe I should turn my barn into one of those miniature golf resorts. This air conditioner sure beats running behind a haybaler!”
Harold laughed along with his old friend. A line of six locals skated by. They were all mostly in their thirties, all children of people Harold went to school with, and all working at the blue jean factory that had been built on the other side of town. They were skating the bunny hop and shouting along offkey with Joan Jett about how they loved rock and roll. Harold kept shining and grinning. He didn’t know about rock and roll, but he knew that he loved his new job.
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