That corn crib in the background….
That was a favorite play place for me when I was growing up.
Like those fancy playhouses in subdivision backyards, only without so much fancy.
But, I had an old broom to sweep away the spiders and dust,
A couple of old crates and boards to use as tables and chairs.
And one very, very big imagination.
Corn cribs and barns are quickly becoming relics of the past, much to my sadness.
They are structures whose current use and value doesn’t always justify the cost of repair,
Being quickly replaced by cold, metal buildings (like the one we recently built).
I mourn the loss of the old barns, with their huge beams…
The smell of straw, and hay, and feed.
The way the sunlight streams in thought the cracks and catches the dust floating through the air.
The momma cat, sheltering her new kittens up in the barn loft.
Family folks working together to stack the square bales in the heat of summer.
The sound of the rain hitting the metal roof.
As I drove home the other day, I paid special attention to the barns along the way.
Each with special stories. Each with an old beauty of their own.
It isn’t just the barns that are fading away,
But also a very wonderful way of life. An old way.
And I wonder what the future will bring.