Spring Tension

Hauled my boots out of the warm towel fold and balanced on the basket's thick rim. Clipped right to the plastic lip was a two-piece birch clothespin, jaws locked tight by a coiled steel spring. Honest hardware, weathered pale from steady use. I braced my boots against the lattice, drove my hook between the wooden levers, and threw my shoulder back. The spring fought back with stiff resistance, then yielded as the jaws spread wide. I eased off the pressure. The birch snapped shut with a dry, hollow crack, biting into the rim without an inch of slip. Sturdy tackle. That spring will hold line in a blow.