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Just an old barn; we often pass an old home and wonder about the stories that it might tell. In comparison, old barns might seem to be story-less; or, at least, less storied.
I wonder though. I see an old barn and I think of my grandpa’s old barns and the old barns that other family members, past and present, have had. They too have stories to tell.
Their stories wouldn’t just include a cow patiently munching hay in its stall as its calf head butts its udder for more milk. Their stories wouldn’t just include the muffled shufflin’ of the mule’s hooves on the hard-packed, straw-covered dirt floor. No, the story of a barn would be a human story also.
Perhaps the story would seem to begin with the families of several community members gettin’ together to build the barn. But, the story began long before its first board was even measured or cut. Its owner had probably spent considerable time clearing land of trees for the barn. Perhaps, he used those trees for the barn wood or perhaps he bought the wood already in boards; but the money had not come easy. He had perhaps worked hours in a nearby mine or raisin’ tobacco crops to make money to purchase the building supplies for the barn. Perhaps he had exchanged labor at the lumber mill in exchange for the lumber. Regardless of how the money for the barn was earned, it had likely required many hours of toil while yet just a dream in its owner’s mind.
And perhaps, now, his neighbors and their families have joined together to assemble the owner’s barn just as his family has joined in to raise other barns. And he and his neighbors enjoy some hours makin’ a respite of camaraderie and celebration out of the hard labor of buildin’ a barn!
And after that barn had stood there for years, what other stories might it have? Perhaps, there would be stories of anguish, sorrow, hopelessness as a farmer, with family around, struggled to help a cow give birth to a new calf. That calf was to be little Johnnie’s and in spite of hours of effort through a sleepless night, the calf as well as the momma are lost. Little Johnnie sees the lifeless calf lyin’ on the ground near its momma; his head bowed and though his eyes sting, only a couple tears slide from his eyes. And his father, his father’s eyes sting, as well, but his heart feels somethin’ more dark; fear or desperation or some other brutal emotion. His family lost the cow, the calf and its milk supply; things that his family counted on for survival!
And joy! The rafters of the barn have rung with laughter; the laughter of siblings jumpin’ into piles of hay that they were supposed to be feedin’ the stock! The joy of anticipation as young children nail together pieces of wood from the lumber pile in the corner to make a sled to slide down the snow-laden hill!
And yearnin’! The old barn had known that when one young lady had confided in her sister that she was in love with the handsome young man from a couple hollers over. He had been regularly ridin’ his mule to visit their church; and as the girls sat atop a pile of hay, an older sister confided in a younger that she thought she was in love.
And pain! That old barn had seen pain when the stubborn and impatient mule Jim pushed the old farmer hard against the side of the barn, breakin’ his rib. Yes indeed, the barn has seen pain.
And contentment! That old barn knew that when the farmer has taken care of the animals and the day’s other chores and left the darkness of the barn for the darkness of the evenin’ and headin’ back to the glowing welcome of the house and his warm bed.
And if it could, the old barn might even feel loneliness; loneliness due to the absence of the children’s laughter, the absence of confidences passed between siblings and the absence of any human presence.
And then, as sheets of tin fly off in a strong breeze, and boards begin to rot, and nearby vegetation gradually reclaims the earth the barn stood on, the barn returns unto the earth from whence it came, and the lone barn’s story comes to an end.
