George noticed the door to the milk room had blown open . He was right alongside the barn when the metal roof decided to dump a section of its load precisely on top of him .
It was probably the walker that stopped George from being smothered . Although he was covered up at the bottom of the pile , it must have given him enough air space to breathe . I was running late on my way home and noticed no lights were on in the house so I swung into George ’ s place . I was walking up the drive when I heard muffled yelling from a snowdrift . I grabbed a shovel off the porch and started digging and the more I dug into that snow , the louder the noise got . Finally , I found George curled up under the walker , his Blue Seal cap pushed down over his nose , cussing at the barn , the snow , and at me for not shoveling fast enough .
I got him into the house without further incident , made him some hot tea , and he sent me on my way . A few days later I heard from a neighbor who said George was having trouble getting out of bed and complaining of pains in his stomach .
So , I finished work early and sure enough , he could barely walk to the car for our ride to the big hospital in Burlington . He was too stubborn to admit it , but I could see he was in a lot of pain .
“ I must have drunk some milk that went sour ,” was George ’ s self-diagnosis .
After five hours of assorted tests and scans , the doctors informed George that the stomachaches were not from bad milk , but from a cancer that appeared to have spread through most of his body . They scheduled a biopsy to make sure , but they were pretty certain that George ’ s time was limited and any treatment would be questionable at best . They agreed that setting up hospice at home was the best course of action . Later in the car , I stayed quiet until we got off the thruway and onto the main road but I was frustrated and angry .
“ If you had gone in sooner , they might have helped you ,” I said .
The Vermont Writers ’ Prize is a collaboration between GMP and Vermont Magazine . It was created in 1989 as a way to celebrate Vermont , writing , and to honor Ralph Nading Hill , Jr ., a Vermont historian , author , and long-time GMP Board member . The contest is open to all Vermont residents , including seasonal and college students , and you can be a professional or amateur writer .
“ Gone in where ? To the hospital ? By jeezus , I ’ d rather die than go to a hospital ,” snorted George , shaking his head .
We looked at each other and then burst out laughing so hard that I had to slap George on the back with my right hand to stop him from coughing , while I steered like a drunk with my left .
After another hospital trip and a positive biopsy , the old farmer agreed to the hospice idea , so the visiting nurses set up a rotation and I stopped in every evening to visit . George didn ’ t argue much but insisted we move his bed into the dining room where he could keep an eye on the dilapidated barn . “ I don ’ t trust it ,” he said . “ I know it ’ s up to something .” Another time he said , “ I survived the Japanese Army , I guess I ’ ll outlive a bunch of two-bys and plywood .”
Meanwhile , the barn sagged slowly spine first and seemed to be collapsing in on itself , and the lower it got , the faster it went . George watched it through his dining room window and he thought about the ladder and the snow and smiled . “ You almost got me , didn ’ t ya ?” I heard him say one time . But he mostly didn ’ t say much because by now it was just him and the barn , and it was about the memories they shared as adversaries and ultimately friends , as sometimes happens when you come to respect your enemy over time . One morning in mid-April , the overnight nurse woke and noticed the old barn had finally collapsed in a heap of spring thaw . In the dining room , George had his head turned toward the window , his eyes closed and a smile on his face . Which one had given in first and who survived longest , no one knows and it doesn ’ t matter anyway .
He left most of the property to the land trust while the rest was sold off and the money divided among us relatives . Still , I imagine some nights around dusk when I ’ m driving past the place , I can hear the sound of an old farmer cussing at a barn . Maybe it ’ s just the wind , but you never know .
Douglas Robert Boardman , Jr . is an award-winning journalist , teacher and musician . The author has a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Johnson State College and a Master ’ s in English from the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College and studied at Oxford University as a Wallace Foundation Scholar . He has taught humanities in Lamoille County for almost 30 years and currently is the academics coordinator at the Green Mountain Technology and Career Center in Hyde Park , VT .
Boardman has served on the advisory boards for the National Writing Project , the Green Mountain Writing Project , and the Vermont Council of Teachers of Language Arts , and is currently on the board of directors for United Way-Lamoille County and Green Mountain Access Television . He is also a volunteer at the Vermont Studio Center in Johnson , the largest residential arts community in the country .
He lives in Johnson with his wife , Dr . Jacqueline Gale , and their English cream golden retriever , Snowy . His family heritage in Vermont dates back to the Revolutionary War and he is proud to call himself a “ Vermonter ”.
About the story : “ The Barn ” is a fictional composite of true events that happened to my grandfather and great-uncle . They are typical of the real “ Green Mountain Men ” ( or Women ) that can — and will--do anything , because they are too stubborn not to do it and because if they don ’ t do it , who will ? My father Doug Sr . is almost 85 years old , and he is the oldest working master plumber in the whole state of Vermont . I am not nearly as rugged as the men who came before me , but at least I can write about them .
22 VERMONT MAGAZINE