The Barn

I sit watching the rain splatter on the wooden deck, a Blue Bird seems to skim by the rail as if impervious to the descending droplets. He heads for the grainery and beyond. The massive barn, all 70+ feet is starring at me. A sense of melancholy rises up in my soul as I think of leaving Genesis Farm. How many hundreds of times did I go into that old barn? School children would come to pick apples and I would get them the big old pickers bags, some would hang down to the ankles of the eager little pickers. After picking I would go back to the barn and get them draw string bags to put their perfect apples in, Ida Reds, Jersey Macs, Empires, Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Johnathan, Granny Smiths all were perfect in the wondering eyes of a child.

During one of our first winters Tony the Pony, his real name, stayed in his stall next to Donna's really dumb sheep. Early in the morning as his feed was brought in his nostrils would puff out billows of warm air. The sheep would try and jump up on the rail, knowing that i wouldn't feed Tony and not them.

The gray vertical boards of the barn have seen a hundred years and recorded the history of the first homesteaders and the family that planted the orchard. Countless names and faces have come and gone over the years, but the old barn still stands. Winds from the west have tried to bring the post and beam giant down. Winds from the east coming off of Lake Huron, like a monster, failed as well. The giant hand hewn timbers have stood up to every test. Some day I know the monument to hard toil and sweat will come down.

I will not be here to see it happen and in a way I guess I'm glad.