"One-armed Crow, meet extension ladder."

"Extension ladder, meet One-armed Crow."

I can see right now that we're not going to hit it off. The wisteria wants pruning and half the ladder won't reach the nearest beam even when stood vertically. There are serious Issues here, and the Crow is accustomed to winning arguments.

The second half of the ladder had not seen the light of day since the house was painted, and that pre-dated the application of siding by a good ten years. Assembly required a bit of logic which no doubt provided the neighbours with some amusement as I stood glowering over the hooks with their diabolical gates, talking to myself volubly as is my customary wont when faced with a dilemma. I am not ashamed to admit this habit; it often serves to focus clinical observations. Yes, the problem yielded to several well-placed and deeply tinted words. The ladder's parts slid neatly and securely together and the next challenge of the project was ready to be met.

You may recall that a year and a half ago, I suffered a serious injury to my shoulder. Five and a half months of physical therapy restored 90 percent of its mobility, but muscles had atrophied and strength was not to be regained.

The first maneuver with intent to erect the ladder was awkward and I'd misjudged the center of balance by a clear foot or so. My five-foot height provided the fulcrum for a teeter-totter, and my head passed neatly between two rungs as the weight of the aluminum uprights crashed down on either side of my collarbone. The second try placed the top of the ladder in a mesh of braided wisteria vine. Progress! Jostling, tugging, shoving and twisting brought the frame to rest on the timbers of the carport and I made a preliminary ascent, lopping shears in hand. Bits of wisteria scattered to the ground under my careful ministrations as the ladder wobbled on the uneven surface which scarcely qualifies as a lawn. The larger stems felt tearing bites from the blades, too tough and woody for my weakened arm to sever with a single snip. The pile of trimmings grew, and the ladder's position had reached the end of its tenure. I guided it in a side-step to a better vantage point, up and down, back and forth, up and down until at last the task was done.

The ladder has been disassembled, replaced in its nest atop the rails of the garage door. The wisteria has room to breathe and grow and its scruffy dross has been piled to burn. It is with great satisfaction that I look out the window past its tidy stems, again victorious over that distasteful word, "can't."