The big thick rope that hung from the top beams of the barn was the best thing about living on our farm. We could climb up on top of the hay loft, grab the rope, and swing forever. We had to be careful not to let go when we were above the trap door though. Once my brother did and bounced down the steps to the concrete below where the horse's stalls were. My mother would always tell me not to let go when the rope was swinging toward the trap door. Once I saw my brother disappear down its mouth, I never did let go. I think I'm still on that rope.
