Featured Journal

The Ringing Doorbell

Written by Leslie Means

I’m a farm girl.  You likely already know this about me.  Even though I claim to be a farm girl – I haven’t actually lived on one for 15 years.

We do that though, us farm girls.  If you grow up on one, you’ll forever be one. 

I’ve told you about my fear of answering the door.  It goes back to those farm girl days.  If someone showed up at our front door, he or she was either selling something (encyclopedias, knives or ice cream come to mind), informing us that an animal was loose (cows or sheep, usually) or a drifter. 

Dad always brought the drifters into town.  He’s good like that. 

But when I heard someone knock or saw a random vehicle pull into our driveway off the gravel road, I ran and found a hiding place; most of the time I hid because I wasn’t wearing pants.  But even on the days when I did dress myself, I didn’t want to answer the door.   

Maybe it scared me?  Maybe it was just fun to hide?  I can’t be certain.   

It was different for my city boy husband.  He loved it when the doorbell rang.  That meant he could run outside and play with neighbor kids.  My closest neighbor was a couple of miles away.  We did play together, once we were both old enough to ride our bikes on the busy highway.  But that didn’t come until I was at least 8, maybe older.

What did I do to entertain myself until then?  I played outside.  I made up stories.  I spent hours with my sister, Lindsay.  We threw rotten eggs out of the barn door window and made cat elevators with buckets and bailing twine. 

It was glorious.  I never once felt alone or bored.  I had the wide open outside and limitless opportunities to explore.  I thought it was how everyone grew up.

Apparently cat elevators weren’t something on my husband’s list of fun.  What was on his list?  Playing with neighbor kids until the sun went down.  Exploring bike baths and trails around the city and ringing doorbells.

Lots and lots of doorbells. 

The weather is warming up, spring is almost here and our doorbell is ringing.

At first, I expected it.  We have a new home and lots of people stopped by to check it out.  I prepared myself for it.  I’ve even stayed in work clothes until after 7:00 pm, just in case someone stops by.  But the newness is wearing off.  We’ve been here for two and half months now.  Most people have stopped by – but yet, the doorbell keeps ringing.

I like the sound of our doorbell.  We didn’t have one growing up, but my grandparent’s did.  It’s the same ring as their bell – it’s the same one Kyle had in his favorite house, too.

I’m glad I like the sound, because it rings each day.  I’m certain you know this by now. 

We just might live in the most kid friendly area of town.  I think I knew that when we were building; I know Kyle knew it, too.  It was one of the reasons why we picked this spot.  He told me that neighborhood living is the way to go; that it’s so much fun as a kid to play with other kids their age.   He told me our girls would love it. 

He was right, they do.  I think I love it, too. 

Every night when that doorbell rings, my girls run to the front excited to see who is waiting to greet them.  And every time that doorbell rings, I look down to make sure I’m wearing pants.

(Feature image.  A quick shot of my girls playing with just a couple neighbor kids.)

About the author

Leslie Means

Leslie is the co-founder and owner of Her View From Home.com. She is also a former news anchor, published children’s book author, weekly columnist, and has several published short stories as well.

She is married to a very patient man. Together they have two pretty fantastic little girls ages 8 and 6 and one little dude born March 2017!

When she’s not sharing too much personal information online and in the newspaper – you’ll find Leslie somewhere in Nebraska hanging out with family and friends. There’s also a 75% chance at any given time, you’ll spot her in the aisles at Target.

2 Comments