About 25 years ago Denis built a little garden shed on the side of the garage.  It’s large enough to store the lawn mower, weed whacker, garden pots, an old table I keep planning to ‘restore’, and all of my old beehive equipment.  The frames are gucked with old wax and there’s some sort of decay going on so if I ever return to beekeeping I can see a lot of cleaning will have to occur.

The latch to the door has become really finicky and for the past ten years we’ve had to keep a screwdriver lying on the ground outside it as once latched it’s really hard to open just with one’s hands.  However yesterday it was open as I’ve been going in and out getting pots to fill with dirt and plants, and then putting them into the greenhouse given this horrible cold spring.

In I went for another pot when suddenly a strong wind blew the shed door shut.  I ran toward it rattling it and realized to my horror I was locked in!  The shed faces the neighbour’s driveway so I tried screaming “help, help!” a couple of times, but of course given the wind, me inside a shed, them inside their house, I could see this was going to be futile.

For most of the time it’s been there a large thick English ivy has covered the entire garage and most of the shed as well, but it died this past winter.  Calvin had to take every single piece of it off, and by doing that he exposed a door I’d forgotten about on the opposite side of the shed.  This was good as images of breaking the glass to get out had already passed through my mind, and perhaps could now be discounted as a logical solution.

Seeing the door flooded me with relief and being a panicked maniac, I stampeded toward it knocking hive boxes, frames, and anything else in my way flying.  This door was fortunately bolted from the inside, and so with trembling hands I tried to slide the bolt, but it wouldn’t move as it hadn’t been done in a couple of decades.  I could also see a few thick old vines still adhering and causing a barrier.

I thought of the dogs outside, and how disappointed they’d be to miss their dinner.  Calvin was in the basement, probably with headphones on, gaming on the computer, and I imagined a day or two going by with people finally going huh, I wonder where Moni is.  I decided no damned way, I had to get myself out of this shed.

I studied the bolt and decided pushing the door forward would help, and finally I was able to loosen it which opened the door a crack, but the vines prevented full opening.  Kind of like when a fridge falls on a kid and the mom is able to lift it whereas otherwise she wouldn’t be able to, I pulled that freaking door toward myself as hard as I could and it gave way.  Suddenly I was out in the yard, panting.

How long was this traumatic adventure?  Maybe three minutes at most, but it felt much longer given I like going straight into panic mode.  Unlike the people who survive in the documentaries I enjoy about cave diving gone wrong, mountain climbing accidents and people lost on hikes, I prefer the all-out white-faced terror reaction when all logical thinking ceases.