The Red Barn

This place exists.  It is a place that was hard earned, long loved, and much used.  My grandfather acquired this barn when he purchased the farm where he and his family lived up until they moved out and he and my grandmother died.  The red barn holds many memories for my dad, who helped bail and stack hundreds of small square bales in the loft of that barn.  In fact, he told me the other day exactly how many bales would fit in that barn, and how long they had to work to get them there.  He told me of how my grandfather, who didn’t own a tractor or baler, negotiated a deal with one of his buddies to borrow the equipment needed to get the job done.  Grandpa was a horseman, and used the hay to feed and care for his quarter horse and pony teams.  He was serious about those animals, and trained them well.

He was competitive in his events, and had many friends and rivals in the horse community.  Every braid was perfect, every ribbon was straight and tied with extreme care.  Every wagon, painted with painstaking effort and all of his attire was impeccable and stunning.  His hat, always black, his buttons, the pearl snaps, his boots, black as well, and his gloves, always a light tanned leather.  He never showed up half class.  Grandpa’s kids rode and showed when they were younger, but did not carry this hobby with them into adulthood.  We grand kids rode and showed for fun on the weekends when we were ten and under.  While I love to ride horses, I did not ever learn the trade from Grandpa, so I ride for pleasure only.  I would not be able to show without many hours of training, and sadly, there are no horsemen left in our family.  So, all that remains of those horses, the effort put into them, and the drama that transpired because of them are memories.  And I’m okay with that.

After Grandpa died, Grandma was given a settlement because of the damage done to him from War and government employment.  She used that to add on to her home and make it more accommodating to live in her sunset years.  She lived about two years after the renovation.  When she died, I was pregnant with Fritz.  The house has sat empty since then.  It has caused much speculation in the little community where they lived.  Why didn’t my parents (or any other family member) move in and keep the house and farm in the family?  The truth is, there was still much work to be done on that farm, and there were several conditions which prohibited the ease of transition for anyone in the family wanting to occupy the home.  And so, the decision to sell was reached and the wait began.

Yesterday, that wait finally ended, as the sale of the farm closed.  And now, that red barn will be in the hands of its next family.  The tax rolls show that it was built in 1900, which generally signifies that it was built before then, if not that year.  Dad remembers when the floor had no concrete, and the runoff from the pasture went straight through the middle of it.  He remembers how that was the only barn Grandpa had to keep horses and hay in for many years, until he built the pony barn in the late 70’s.  Dad’s teen years were spent on that farm.  It’s the only home I’d ever known my grandparents to live, even though I know they have lived many places during their marriage and service to our country.

I told you that I took a trip down memory lane on the 4th of July.  This was my last stop.  I don’t know what happened, but on that day, I finally saw all the beauty that was held on that farm.  And I captured some of it.  I’m sure glad I did.  The closing on the farm yesterday, coupled with our family trip reminds me that we are never guaranteed a day on this earth, and we should enjoy and live every minute to the fullest.