There are few places so magical as the barnyard. There is a saying that goes like so: show me a barnyard and I will tell you who works there. A barn is something personal, it gives a glimpse into the people’s lives that live and tend to it. The barnyard says a lot about the people that inhabit it, it shows the type of person they are. When you step on to their homestead you are in essence entering their home. While this strikes some as strange the farm is all encompassing, it is more than a piece of property it is a livelihood for more than just the people that live there.
And here, I welcome you to my barnyard.
About a Barn. I think that barns are one of those magical structures that you will encounter on a farm. They have a deep rooted nature that blends into the surrounding without dominating it. And if there is one type of building that had the potential to grab your attention a barn is surely the building to do that. But it doesn’t, it plays nice with the smaller buildings and creates a breathtaking compliment to the barnyard.
And that is why it is called a barnyard.
Barns have been a central part of farm life for centuries. They act as a hub that provides the other buildings and house a common point of connection that simplifies the work, at least that was the idea when they were first erected.
There is no denying that barns are grand, their importance to the farm are just as grand. Did you ever wonder what a far would be like without that big red barn that you associate with the country? This is easy to do.
Many farms have shifted over the years, restructuring and getting shaped by the hands that tilled the earth, tended the life stock and kept the farm alive. Some barns were moved, removed, or destroyed. But they were brought back as strong as they were before.
One of the most interesting barns I had the good fortune to come across was on highway 31 in northern Michigan. This beautiful barn had withstood the test of time. It was weathered, worn, and sagging but it was a long way from broken.
It reminded me of my grandfather, a strong man in his early years, a stubborn bull of a man in his old age. Even though he wasn’t the spriest any more, he still went about his work each and every day. By evening his shoulders would be slumped, his eyes letting on to his weary bones, but undeterred in his work.
The barn on ‘ol 31 was much like him, tired but with no intention on stopping. My grandfather passed away many years ago, but the barn still stands. And I think about him every time I see that old weathered barn.