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"The Old Barn," exact age unknown (100+ years), of rural Westby, passed into obscurity on June 2, 2008. The end came after a long and courageous battle against all the elements Mother Nature could throw at it over the years. Obsolescence and maintenance are the enemies of old barns. They have become an endangered species. This old barn finally succumbed to the infirmities of old age and modern farming technology. It had outlived its usefulness.

I spent some time recording the passing of this piece of history in photos and words. After all, it had been a part of my life for 55 years.

Not much remains of the once stately "Prairie Barn," with its gambrel roof, that stood tall and proud on Coon Prairie for a hundred years. I saved the front door, complete with the old hinges and latch. Some day I'll install it in our basement. I also saved the carrier, or trolley as some people refer to it, from the haymow. The patent date says 1884.

The final days began on May 28th when Levi and Rudy, two young Amish men, removed the salvageable barn boards, leaving behind a skeleton of rotting timbers. Just as it's sad to see the passing of a family member or friend, it was sad to see the demise of The Old Barn.

We moved to the farm, when I was nine years old. At that time the barn had a dirt floor and horse stalls occupied one-third of the space. The rest of the barn had wooden stanchions for fourteen cows. Heavy beams under the haymow floor were supported on a stone foundation, a foot thick. I saved some of those stones to build a fire pit and to use in landscaping around our house. My sister, Janet, will also use some at their place as reminders of The Old Barn.

If a barn could talk, what tales could this one tell? I had a love-hate relationship with The Old Barn when I was young and spent a lot of time in it. Looking back, most of the memories are good. I'll share some of those memories with you in a follow-up story.

The barn's been empty for a long time now. No cows have been milked there since the new barn was built. In reality, The Old Barn began dying then. For a while, young stock were kept in the barn, but lately the only occupants have been birds, mice, and other critters who needed a place to call home. Barn Swallows still returned to the nests they've used for many years. Pigeons still roosted in the cupola. After the barn boards were removed, I watched as a bird worked desperately trying to restore an exposed nest. I felt sorry for the many birds displaced by the removal of their home and shelter.

On June 2, the final hours arrived. Steve Mueller began digging a large hole in the barnyard where The Old Barn would be laid to rest. He took a few swipes at the foundation with his excavator to weaken it, and it began to teeter. A strong push on one side and it began to collapse. The roof broke apart and one gambrel section crashed down. The cupola tilted over to one side and broke apart.

Steve used the bucket on the front boom arm like a champion prizefighter as he poked, jabbed, and pulled with surgical precision. With each blow the barn sank lower. Like a fighter on the ropes, its legs grew weary and started to buckle. Once sturdy timbers, now rotted and weakened with age, crumbled and busted as the heavy bucket slammed down on them. Finally it dropped to its knees and pitched forward to the canvas. After standing for over a century, it had been reduced to a pile of rubble in less than an hour. Broken, old hay bales produced a cloud of dust that rose from the ruins like the last visible breaths of a dying icon.

Steve switched to a caterpillar and pushed the broken remains into the deep hole he had dug. It would be the final resting place of The Old Barn. The large pile of dirt from the hole was used to cover and seal its fate.

Now fresh dirt, imprinted with the tracks of the cat, and turned to mud by the falling rain, occupies the area where the proud, red barn once stood. Time and new growth will soon wipe out any trace of what was at one time the hub of the farm.

Times change; seasons change; landscapes change. Buildings, like people, eventually wear out and die. The passing of The Old Barn leaves an empty hole in the landscape and in the hearts of those of us who were close to it.

The death of every old barn is a sad occasion. As each one falls, an important part of the rural landscape disappears and can never be replaced. When I informed Jerry Apps, author of "Barns of Wisconsin" about the passing of our barn, he said, "A sad day indeed when an old barn falls."

I realize all too well, that times change and we must change too or be left behind. But, a part of me will always be rooted in the past and have a continuing love affair with old barns, especially "The Old Barn."

Rest in Peace old friend.