A stuck door that always took more than one tug to pull open, inside, wet muggy atmosphere, hay on the ground, this quiet serine place I like to call my old white barn. Inside it’s a typical barn, stalls made of two-by-fours, rafters in the ceilings and water barrels in the corners. I used to love going to this old barn. I would to go run around it when the boredom of living on the farm caught up to me. There was an upstairs to this barn with a make shift ladder that me and my brothers had made one day. We found the biggest nails, the biggest hammers, and the sturdiest wood blocks to hold it up, we never wanted it to fall down. This upstairs I was talking about was very interesting. When you poke your head above the floor all you saw was wooden rafter and old boards that were used in the building of the barn. Looking around you noticed tons and tons of bird nests. Conveniently named Barn Swallows these birds were, they had beautiful blue feathers with yellowish orange breasts and under wings. Each spring and summer they would come back and I loved seeing them swoop in and out of the barn. The upstairs also had bay windows on each side of it that were about four feet by four feet and it always felt like when you were standing by them you were going to somehow fall out. They were huge and we were so small. We could see for miles up in that tall barn. The floor creaked with ever step you took. It was never a safe bet walking on those floors. We were always warned by my father to be careful up their, he never liked us going up there but there was no way he could keep us out. We spent so much time in that loft that the place started to look like a club house. We had an old dart board hanging on the wall and hundreds of lost darts lying around. We would try trick shots from the other side of the barn and it’s a wonder one of us didn’t get a dart in the leg or arm. Chairs in semi circles or faced toward the window. Various toys and tools we had used then got bored of and thrown lying around. On the outside, a chipping white paint coming off and different screws and bolts sticking out. The roof was lined with tin that, after thunderstorms, would be hanging off waiting to fall. I wait, and hate, to see the day when my old white barn finally falls to the ground.
Old White Barn
May 14, 2008