Barns: Time Capsule’s

Aside from taking a few hours to visit the Fort Henry days, I spent most of my Labor Day weekend painting (technically we used stain, not paint) our barn… joy! Believe it or not, manual labor is something that I enjoy. There’s something about doing work, getting dirty, and in the end seeing something accomplished. It’s just plain good for you to get out and move around. As I dabbed my brush in the stain (my dad’s secret ingredient in the stain) to cover the 70 year old boards that cover the frame structure of our barn, I could not help but think about everything that barn has seen over the years. A dirt road became blacktopped, interstates, guardrails, the farm tools that hang on it’s wall sit in idleness, that cement floor has seen and heard so much, where are the animals? There are none to keep warm anymore. It’s where my grandparents made beer, its were they bottled it, and where do those tools used for the process sit? In the barn where they feel at home. I was doing some sanding on a wall, as the old paint came off, I could see where the old Mail Pouch tobacco thermometer used to hang. All I could do was laugh and shake my head. Sometimes I come across something new, a rusty gadget… ugh… Dad, what did you use this for? It’s where our old license plates hang. Dad, what car did that 1956 plate come off of? The barn was built in 1937, it’s first use was to serve as the main building to a poultry farm. Somehow my grandparents acquired the property and turned it into a average farm. Years would go by and my dad would inherit the land, build a new house, sell the old, but the barn always stayed with us. For a long time we raised a few cattle and a few lambs over the summer, then we would sell them in the fall; it was our amusement. Then that just became too much, so we gave it up for a fancy smancey tractor to cut the grass that animals once grazed over. Now the barn is the place where our cat goes when it feels curious, it’s where we keep the dog food, and now it keeps our tractor nice and cozy during the winter. It’s quite cluttered, but I like it that way. In the attic there’s an old rocking chair. Why? Don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask my dad. In the attic is also where you’ll find my old sandbox, and… is that my wagon way in the back? Sure, it needs a little work, a little cleaning out, but the pleasant memories override all of that. As we were working I could see the passer byers slow up and look. They must wonder, why do all of that? It will probably be another 10-15 years before it needs another coat of tile red stain, but where will I be? My parents? The barn? I don’t know, so that’s why I remember this moment. A few years ago we asked a few “carpenters,” “What do we need to do to keep it structurally sound?” Most replied “tear it down, build a new garage.” You’ve got to be kidding me. Never.