Story originally printed in the Westby Times or online at www.westbytimes.com
Published - Monday, June 30, 2008
Across the Fence: Eulogy To The Old Barn
"The Old Barn" is now history. I said I would share some memories with you and, in turn, I hope it stirs up some of your own barn memories.
Thoughts of the barn ignite many things in my memory bank of sights, sounds, and smells. I see cows in the stanchions waiting to be milked, their tails swishing at the pesky flies of summer. I hear the clanging of the stanchions as they stretch their necks trying to steal their neighbor's feed or hay. I smell the sweet odor of fresh silage. I see the plethora of barn cats milling around the overturned milk can lid, waiting for the meal of warm, fresh milk they know is coming. I hear the noisy motor that provides the suction for the milking machines. I smell the disinfectant in the water used to clean the cow's teats. I see barn swallows darting in and out the open doors as they bring food to their newborns huddled safely in nests affixed to the ceiling beams.
When the milking was done and all was finally quiet, I can see Dad standing in the doorway looking out into the darkness of the night. I wonder what his thoughts were?
I also smell cured tobacco when I think of the barn. That was where we stripped it each winter. Along with the smell of tobacco is the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee when Ma would bring lunch to the strippers in the barn each day.
You can't have an old barn without a silo. They went hand in hand. That silo is where I did a lot of heavy thinking in my youth while throwing down silage for the cows. The solitude and quiet I found inside that silo provided an ideal place for my mind to wander and examine the mysteries of life and the expanding universe around my little corner of the world. One old silo had long ago been torn down. The remaining one met its demise along with the barn. The silos are gone now, but most of the mysteries of life remain.
One thing that stands out in my memory is the warm intimacy I found in that small barn. This was especially true on cold, winter nights when the wind was howling outside and snow was flying. The warmth from the cows as we were milking them provided a safe haven from the harsh world outside the stone walls of the barn. The low-light conditions provided by one, exposed light bulb in the center of the barn, added to the enclosed intimacy.
The haymow is another story. It was a place of both work and play for us kids. We spent some hot, dusty times while stacking new hay. In the early days it was loose hay, and later it was hay bales. During hot, summer days the temperature in the haymow must have been well over 100 degrees. I'm glad we didn't have a thermometer hanging up there or we'd have really been hot. When I think of those days I remember how good the cold well water tasted, pumped direct from the windmill, after we crawled down from the mow, soaked with sweat, and covered from head to toe with chaff.
The haymow was also a great place to spend a rainy day playing, as the rain beat upon the roof and tin cupola on top of the barn. I've mentioned in other stories the tunnels we built with the bales, how we pretended we were paratroopers and jumped off the cross beams into loose hay piles below, played Tarzan while swinging on the hay rope, and climbed up the rope to the cupola and crawled inside.
In the evening the haymow was a spooky place where our only source of light was a flashlight. You never knew what creature waited in the shadows to jump out and grab you.
A friend asked if I was going to disclose any encounters with girls in the haymow. You always hear stories about farm boys and girls sharing a first kiss in the privacy of the haymow. I'll plead the 5th and say no more on that subject.
When our kids, Erik and Amy, were young, The Old Barn was their introduction to life on a dairy farm. They learned first-hand how cows are milked. Grandpa let them feed calves and spread hay in the mangers for the cows to eat. They climbed the ladder to the haymow and played with the many cats that made their home in the crevices among the hay bales. We taught them the dangers associated with getting too close to the hay chutes. They both have good memories of their experiences "helping Grandpa" in the barn. They also learned about new life when they watched a newborn calf being licked and cleaned by its mother, and learn how to stand on wobbly legs. It gave a couple city kids a life-long appreciation for farm life and country living. They also feel sadness at the loss of The Old Barn.
That stately old barn is now history. It was full of strength and character during the hundred plus years it occupied a prominent place on this farm. The memories it rekindles through the sights, sounds, and smells associated with it, will help keep it alive in spirit as long as those of us who spent time with it have breath.
All stories copyright 2006 Westby Times and other attributed sources.