One of my main responsibilities was to "clean" the barn each morning and on weekends really give it a shine. Inspectors would bring other farmers who were in trouble with the health codes to see what a clean barn looked like. At times I hated the dirty work but I was always proud of MY barn.
I drive by the barn occasionally now and feel nostalgic. The silos have collapsed, the milk house is in shambles, the upper doors to the hay mows are tilted off track, a lightning rod points outward rather than to the sky, the windows are filthy and the paint cries out for help.
So many good times were spent in and around that old barn. Now the owners don't care. No kids to jump from the hay mows, no rattling of milk pails being dumped into the strainer-topped milk cans before being lowered into the ice-filled vat, no cats running with a freshly caught mouse for a dinner in the sunlit doorway, no thumping of the water buckets as the cows pushed their noses deeper to bring the spring water, no horses asking for their oats and no calves blatting for mama's milk.
No milking stools neatly lined up, shovels hanging ready for use, or pitch forks ready to spread the hay along the mangers. The smell of fresh hay or ensilage or feed boxes now long gone, the pungent odors of waste...gone. And the white, limed floor now covered with dirt tracks and the gutters laying empty except for the memories of having to clean them.
The memories go on and our old barns are replaced with open sheds and mechanical wonders. Strange to catch all this on the internet. Think I'll drive a little, no a lot, slower the next time I go past the old barn. Wonder if the owners now would mind if I took a little stroll around?
Gordon Knapp
(A follow-up letter, from Gordon, after I printed his letter here.)
Good Morning Linda!
Great to hear from you again. Golly, I had no idea that my spur-of-the-moment memories of the barn would reach so many others' hearts. I am happy to share the thoughts with them and feel honored that the thoughts might give others some pleasure. Actually, the thoughts were pretty abbreviated when one dwells on the subject...the tip of the iceberg maybe.
.......the moo of 100 cows standing at the back door wanting to get in and press their noses in the water buckets
.......the smell of bellies covered with mud from wading in the pasture pond
...... the blat of the fresh-born calf waiting for mama to come and feed
it
...... the best mouser sitting on her hind feet with mouth open waiting for a hot drink to be milked in her face
......the sparrow who chose to build her nest in the ice house
......the skunk that perfumed the barnyard when the Collie decided to interfere with her parade of youngsters
......The bolt of lightning that struck the barn's lightning rods just as the cows were being stanchioned, sending shock through man and beast...the fear and melee...and the ensuing nightmare
......the grief of finding old Harry dead in his stall and the sight of his stall mate dragging him to his grave
......the school athletic coach helping milk the cows so that I could be a miler on the track team
......the hired man being kicked as he turned to carry the pail of milk to the milk house and instead sent sprawling across the barn floor ... the milk pouring over him
......being scrub nurse for the vet during a reverse calf delivery
......drinking heavy cream fresh from the milk can pulled from the ice water in the vat
......hearing the news of Pearl Harbor while doing the chores
......seeing the barn being jacked up and moved across the main highway to make room for a wider road
......the "SMOKE PRINCE ALBERT" sign that was painted on the end of the barn
......the task of putting a barn door back on its track
......the dealer's cattle truck unloading a new cow at the front barn door
......the fuss made by a new arrival and the rattle of stanchions as 99 cows sensed a new addition to their herd, replacing old Betsy who had to be sold
...... the search for a name for this new family member as every cow had a name, and her own stanchion.
I had better stop before the list of nostalgia grows any further. The down line is, of course, that the barn was the focal point of the entire farm. From early rooster crow to late evening sunsets across the muddy Susquehanna, life really depended on the barn ... that remarkable structure that today stands, or is falling, its paint peeling, its windows broken, its doors open and off track, its last remnants of clover and alfalfa chaff still giving off that sweet aroma that only a hay mow can give. How fortunate those of us who have lived the 'ole barn are. Memories are like a rainbow, filled with golden dreams, the rainbow that would span over the barn after a hard shower. Mom would call all of us to see the display and with tears in her eyes tell us stories of her youth, living on the farm...with the 'ole barn.