Abstract: Grandpa’s Barn
The barn was wooden and painted red, though faded,
and held up by a stone foundation.
As a child, the farmer’s shed held both intrigue and dread.
The large main store room was guarded by a large single sliding door.
Inside the darkness lived my grandpa’s Farmhall H and towering stacks of hay to either side.
Past the tractor and through the pastural scent of dry hay was a chute at the back of the room,
and it reached down to the stables where horses and cows slept and ate and left their mark.
And the combined fragrance of manure and hay and old hardwood was at once both alluring and gross.
The real magic of the barn was its purpose, a place where man and beast to interact and care for one another.
Shelter from the snow and home to the milking stool, each being knew his part and respected the others’.
And I think about that barn, if it still exists, and the important role it played in connecting a man to the land and life.
