49. Gate

This is the Gate That Mr. Murphy built. Possibly Mr. Chapman or Mr. Woltjen. I don't think it's original to the house, but it is old. It is, like many parts of my house, shabby. I think the brick is what fools the eye--brick houses, barring earthquakes, just stand and stand and stand. Yeah, a little tuckpointing, but they don't need to be painted, they don't need new siding or replacement bits of siding. No need to re-stucco. They just are. So it shocks me, still, when other things don't hold up like the red brick.

But I digress. This gate has to go.

My yard, during rougher times in the neighborhood, has been used as a quick cut-through to the alley to escape detection or just as a shortcut. The fault lies in two places--I could put a lock on my back gate, which is 6 feet tall and can be locked with a padlock or other such device, but the major fault is right here with this gate.

That's Billy's hand there, and the gate isn't much taller than he is. It's about as tall as Daisy, actually, easily jumped over by any teenaged male with his limbs intact. And look at that lock--it confounded our old rottweiler dog, but even billy has figured out how to wiggle the bar out of the lock. It is useless as a barrier now.

So it is time to replace it. This is the Year of Unfinished Projects, and I'm getting a lot of them done. This is one that has been staring at my in the face for 13 years. It's time.