This old door has stood the test of time. Rain and snow have blown against it. The hot searing sun has dried it out until slivers of itself hang loosely from its skin. Its rusting hinges still let it swing freely though, opening and closing with the same solid wood against wood sound as its latch fits into the socket, it too worn with age, that it has since it was installed so many years ago.

When it was new it arrived first by train from St. Louis to Denver, then up the eastern side of the Rockies on a spur line to the young and vibrant city of Jackson hole in Wyoming territory. A clerk from the Jackson hole livery and hardware store helped another young fellow load it into his wagon for the trip up the side of Kingston mountain. It was bound for a construction site where he was building a home for his soon to be new bride. It cost four dollars and was considered a huge extravagance by his father who thought he should have built one himself and saved the money.

After they were married, and the house was finished, Wallace and his bride Hetty decided to paint the door the brightest white they could find so folks traveling up the road past the house could see it coming for miles. Hetty wanted them to see it and know good hard-working people lived there. People that cared for their home and each other and to use the door as a marker for the love they had for each other. It took a lot of effort on her part to keep the door white and clean, especially as they had so much else to do. But Hetty thought it was worth every minute she spent on it. They were happy and the house was a joyful one, full of promise.

Years passed. Hetty bore seven children, three of which lived, and the door began to lose its luster. It wasn’t that the love it sheltered was ebbing, it was just hard to keep the door bright when her life was getting so dark. She missed those children. Life showed so much promise then. Young Wally drowning in the creek that last spring was almost enough to make her give up. Before that the others she lost were mainly due to sickness and there wasn’t anything that could be done about that. Little children died back then. But she wished with all her heart that she had told that boy not to go to the creek with it running so high. But he was like his father, headstrong and stubborn. He went anyway.

Her pride and joy were the two girls, Arletta and June, both of which married well. Arletta and Jess went to live in Denver, and June and her husband started a haberdashery in Cheyenne. They came home every so often but that had slowed now that June had two of her own. Hetty’s remaining son Stiller, the quiet one, stayed home to help Wallace keep the place going but she could see that he was getting restless. One morning Wallace came in and said he’s gone and that was that. She didn’t get up that day. It was also the last day she scrubbed the door.

The house was empty now again except for the two of them, and dinner time was a quiet time. Wallace didn’t have a lot to say and Hetty was lost in her own thoughts more often than not. Wallace had pretty much quit working the place after that young colt got in a lucky kick and shattered his knee. Hetty did some mending and took in laundry but soon that got to be too much and they were having a pretty rough go of it. June came and got them one bright summer day in 1927 and moved them into their place in Cheyenne. She and Bill had room and she could use the help with the kids. They both missed the old place but this was Ok. Hetty liked the gentle chaos of having a family around her again, although she often wondered if she would ever see Stiller before her time was gone. Wallace never brought it up but she noticed he still carried that old pocket knife he had given Stiller on his twelfth birthday. For some reason Stiller had left it next to his bed when he left. When it was Wallace’s time to go she made sure she put it in the casket with him.

The door began to show the ravages of time. The final flakes of white paint had long ago been swept away by the wind. The family, now June and Bill, and Arletta and Jess kept the place so they’d have somewhere to take the kids in the summer. The door still opened and closed with a satisfying thunk and they saw no need to paint it again. Arletta in particular like the way it had weathered and there was a small but short-lived argument about whether they should fix the place up so they could rent it and maybe take care of the taxes. June and Bill wanted to but Arletta fought for it staying the same as it was the only reminder they had of the folks now that Hetty was gone. Arletta won, at least for now, and so far the door has stayed natural.

If you go up there now, on the side of Kingston mountain where Wallace built Hetty her first and only home, you can still see the old door. It is still weathered, but Arletta finally gave in and now the place is rented out to summer people. If you’re there and lucky you may hear the satisfying thunk of the door being slammed as one of the kids runs in and out. The sound of a mother yelling “Don’t slam the door!” is lost on the kids. That’s what doors are for. Hetty never yelled, that time was too precious to waste it on yelling at the kids.