Jan 14, 2016 3 min read

Morning broke with an ominous request.

“Put on your coat,” the farmer said. “I’m going to need you to help me carry the carpet upstairs.”

Carpet, I thought, conjuring a folded bit of berber. No big deal. The worst thing about this request was it was 15 degrees and snowy outside, and I had no clue where my boots were.

But I found them, bundled up and headed outside to be of service. There in the back of the truck was a gigantic, plastic-covered roll. It extended the length of the truck bed and then reached beyond the tailgate another four feet. It was an 11-foot roll of carpet, waiting to be carried up three narrow flights.

I uttered the first of what would be a whole thesaurus of swear words. How were the two of us going to maneuver this high telephone pole of a carpet into the house and up all those stairs? It was both heavy and awkward.

“Your job will be to guide your end,” said the farmer. “I will lift.” He suggested I place my arm into the hollow center of the roll. I did, and was now up to my shoulder in rolled carpet.

With a mighty grunt, he hoisted his end of the roll onto his shoulder and stomped toward the kitchen door. Once at the back porch, we reversed positions so I could take my end in first, a maneuver of turning the roll 180 degrees without knocking over the patio furniture or breaking a window. This must be what it’s like to turn around a cruise ship.

OK, now we were ready for the hard part. At the bottom of the staircase, the farmer pushed the roll into a vertical position.

Here was the plan: I would climb ahead and guide the roll as he pushed it around the corner of the first landing and up onto the second floor. Once there, I would open a bedroom door, slide the roll through it and position it for the shove up to the next landing.

“Ready!” I yelled down. With a grunt and a swear word, he heaved the roll over the bannister and toward me.

With that shove at the bottom of the stairs came an equal and opposite force at the top of the stairs. I took one for the team – a carpet roll to the belly, knocking me onto my butt and sliding me into the wall with a thud.

At this point, our three dogs, wanting to know what all the swearing was about, came running, getting underfoot of the farmer.

Panting and grumpy at the thought of hoisting the roll up another two flights, I suggested the carpet might be perfect for the rooms right there on the second floor.

But the third floor was waiting. Can you imagine what it’s like to be a piano mover in a big city? Is this why they lower pianos out of windows?

“Let’s go,” the farmer said. He got to the front of the carpet. With a petulant roll of my eyes and one last uttered obscenity, I stuck my arm into the carpet and held tight while he willed the ridiculous beam up the last eight steps.

“Good work,” the farmer said.

“#$&%$$!!,” I replied.