There Once was a Barn

It was just over a year ago that we moved to our new home....from only a mile or so away. This place hadn't been lived in for over a year and there was lots and lots of work to do.

In the yard not to far from the house stood this old beauty. I could see her from the kitchen window and she obstructed my view of the rest of the yard.

She had seen better days as was obvious by the caving-out outer wall of the lean on the west side of the barn. And over our first winter at the new place, things must have shifted even more, because glass would fly out of the windows at random intervals once spring arrived.

We felt for safety's sake we needed to tear her down.

And even though we were very excited about the prospect of gaining some back yard space by the kids' fence and cleaning up the yard by the house, we felt a bit guilty for calling in the excavator.

Our neighbor across the road was born here at our "new" house, had grown up here, and raised his kids here. He told us how he had milked cows by hand in this barn and how his dad had attended barn dances in the hay loft as a young man.

Truly great stories. Made us wonder why he ever moved across the road and sold this place. And it made us feel guilt...guilt...guilt.

The structure honestly didn't seem secure anymore and re-furbishing her was just simply way out of our budget. We even had a guy stop by who strips down old structures like this by hand to re-use and sell the materials. He didn't mention anything worth saving.

We also weren't sure how to salvage the cupola at the very top.

We didn't call off the excavator despite feeling a bit sad about the whole prospect, and finally on Memorial Day weekend, the huge machine pulled into the yard to begin the job.

The powerful machine began knocking down the lower portion of all the outer walls. As more and more came down, Adam and I kept saying, "She's gonna go any second now."

But she didn't. She was built back in the days when things were built well, when good materials weren't so dastardly over-priced. She was built for hard work.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I knew my husband felt the same way.

More walls come down. She doesn't budge. We kept reminding ourselves: the outer walls were bulging out and boards were snapping, windows were randomly shattering, it wasn't a safe structure.

Then why won't she just go? Why is she hanging on?

Finally, with a small poof of dust, she finally caves to her knees.

Is it relief I feel? Or just more guilt?

Now to salvage the cupola.

At last, it's tethered and hoisted down to the ground, where it probably hasn't been for a century...or more...we're not sure. 

The cupola has another story of it's own, but I'm not ready to objectively share that one yet.

By this time, I've retreated to the house. It's scorching hot out. And the rest I observe while standing on the kitchen floor.

The hungry jaws of the big yellow critter finish off the iconic structure.

I feel as if I've just practiced some sort of euthanasia.

She had a proper burial. The big yellow critter dug an even bigger hole and a big yellow dozer pushed her in there.

She's there now, just to the east of where she once proudly stood, and a beautiful green lawn is now growing over her. An area of the yard once marked with hours of toil and the sounds of hungry animals is now a place for family games and recreation.

The silo is still there. Some think we're silly for keeping it up when we tore down the rest. But I like it there.