MANCHESTER, NH – It’s bug season here in New Hampshire, and after 14 summers in our old farmhouse, a majority of our window screens were looking like Swiss cheese. Of course, adopting two active kittens last spring added to the disrepair, as they tried so hard to claw their way out of the house that we finally had to move the screens to the top of the window frames. But not before the damage was done.
I removed one screen, for measuring and comparing purposes, and headed over to the local big box hardware depot for new screens. I was on the hunt for generic-looking square frames. I needed 10 new screens. The guy working the window department greeted me with a question I wasn’t expecting.
“Are they Andersen windows?” he asked.
I had no idea, but guessed they weren’t because my windows came with the house, and if they ever had name tags, they are long gone. He said we’d have to special order them. Could take a few weeks. He estimated the cost would be about $25-30 per screen.
He must be mistaken. How obscure could my 20-year-old screens be? In desperation I walked up and down the aisle searching for a screen that looked similar, quickly realizing the only screens in stock were twice the size of my little flimsy 27-square-inch ones.
I couldn’t see paying $300 for new ones.
“I guess I could buy a roll of screen and do them myself,” I said, defiantly.
“Do you have a splining tool? he asked, but I could barely hear him, what with all the noise in my head as I was already picturing myself wrestling on the kitchen floor with a roll of screen and a sharp knife, times 10. The sound of me cursing like a handy-man sailor during the screen debacle playing out in my mind drowned out his question.
“What? Nevermind,” I said.
I took my tattered screen and left, feeling defeated. As I neared home, I remembered seeing a sign once at my neighborhood hardware store, “We replace screens,” or something like that. When I got home I called LeBlanc’s Hardware on Hayward Street, and asked how much to replace window screens.
“Depends on what kind of screen you want. We have aluminum, charcoal black and pet resistant,” said the voice on the phone.
It’s like he read my mind.
“Super, I’ll be right there,” I said. I loaded my trunk with screens and pulled into a parking spot. As I headed to the door, a man in a red LeBlanc’s shirt who saw me coming opened the door for me, relieved me of my screen pile, and escorted me to the work table where two guys were busy splining.
“I need screens,” I said to one of the men, who had stopped what he was doing to take a look. Two more guys in red shirts came over to consult.
“Aluminum?” he asked me, knowing nothing about my indoor cats with outdoor aspirations.
“No, I heard you have pet-resistant screens,” I said. He shot me a look, sort of the way my dad used to look at me whenever I suggested we go out for lunch as he was eyeing up the leftovers.
“Those are expensive,” he said.
“I’ve got cats,” I replied. He nodded, knowingly. Then he ran down the price differences, and out of respect for his interest in thrift, we negotiated. I settled on five pet screens and five charcoal, for a total of about $140. I felt like I’d just won the lottery.
“It’s gonna be a few days – maybe not until Monday before they’re ready,” he said. I did the math: It’s Thursday, plus we are in the midst of a heat wave, multiplied by the stacks of screens in his to-do pile for other customers. I knew the answer.
“That’s perfect!” I said.
Feeling victorious, I decided to browse the shelves before I left. Neighborhood hardware stores are the kind of place where I always feel like I’m going to find things I didn’t know I needed. I strolled past an array of rakes and shovels, all high quality stuff. But I think we have at least three rakes, most of them in working condition. Then, I spied some gardening gloves and decided to grab a new pair, in pink, since my husband always seems to “borrow” mine by mid-gardening season, stretching them to twice their size and blowing out the thumbs, rendering them useless to me.
I smiled when I got to the screws and nails perched on a shelf in small jars, some of them looked a lot like baby food jars. How quaint, I thought.
“Can I help you find something?” said another guy in a red shirt.
“Do you happen to have a power washer?” I asked. He said no, he didn’t think so, which was OK. I hadn’t really come for a power washer. A minute later he tracked me down in the broom aisle and announced they happened to have one, on sale.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” I said, after checking it out – not really ready to commit, but happy to know they did have everything I needed.
I arrived at the check-out counter with my gloves, and picked up a packet of lupine seeds for $2, fresh from Maine. I left with a spring in my step, and hoped the heat would break before Monday.
The next day my phone rang and a man, presumably in a red shirt, told me my screens were ready.
“Are you sure?” I asked him, figuring it was a mistake. It hadn’t even been 24 hours.
“Yes, they’re all set,” he said.
I sent my son over to pick up the fresh screens, and we installed them right away.
Bella and Luna were super excited to have a front row window sill seat for bird watching.
And I’m happy to report it’s been about a month now, and they haven’t tried to escape. Seems their clawing phase is behind them.
All in all, I feel pretty good about the whole thing. We’re bug-free and the cats feel like they’re outside, even though they’re not. Every time I open a window to let in some fresh air, I’m reminded how I saved a bundle at my neighborhood hardware store. LeBlanc’s may not have quite as many rakes or power washers as the big box competition, but you can’t beat the service.
