The Barn That Stayed

One spring day many years ago, a farmer decided to build a fine log barn. First, he gathered large stones. He chipped and fitted them together for a firm foundation.

The farmer cut many trees, chopped off limbs, and smoothed the trunks. Notch and groove, groove and notch, the logs rose straight and true atop the stone foundation.

Soon, a sturdy barn stood under a knoll beside a large burr oak, across from the farmer’s house. The farmer stuck his hands into his overall pockets and smiled. “This is a strong, dependable barn,” he said. “It’ll be the staying kind.”

The barn felt proud. Inside its walls and under its shake roof, four Jersey cows, three gray sheep, and two bay horses ate their oats and bran. Brown leghorn chickens scratched at the feed that the other animals scattered. An occasional mouse wandered in which made Her Nibs, an orange and white cat, perk up her tail and twitch her whiskers.

Seasons came and went. Springtime storms roared around the barn, but the animals stayed safe inside. In summer’s heat, the barn’s shade felt cool and welcome.

Fall frosts and careless squirrels dropped giant acorns from the burr oak onto the barn’s gray roof. Winter heaped its chill whiteness against the barn. Inside, the animals slept and ate, ate and slept, in the shelter of the farmer’s barn.

The farmer’s children grew up. They brought their own children to play in the barn’s dark, dusty hayloft.

Summer suns, winter snows, autumn leaves, and spring winds rolled over and around the old barn. The barn sighed and settled more firmly onto its stone foundation.

Years passed. At last, everyone had moved away, even the farmer’s grandchildren. The farmer’s house stood empty and forlorn. The barn was empty too. Now, when snow flew in the winter wind, some of it found its way into the stalls; no one was near to keep the logs chinked with clay.

Spring storms tore off a few shingles. Rain dripped into the hayloft. No horses sheltered snug and safe on cold, winter nights. Not even one cow warmed the stalls with her breath. The mouse’s great-great-ever-so-great-grandchildren scampered through the barn at night, unhampered by Her Nibs or any of her descendants.

The burr oak sighed when autumn winds shook it against the barn’s roof. The barn sighed too, but it stood firmly upon its foundation just as the farmer had built it.

One day while the ancient barn drowsed in the warmth of summer, a young man and his wife came. The man sat on the barn’s door sill in a pool of yellow sunshine. “It is too bad that great-grandpa’s house is gone,” he said. “This old barn is all that’s left of his homestead.”

The man’s wife tapped a weathered log. “But, see how sturdy it is. Do you think we might be able to save it?”

The man peered at the stone foundation. He ran up the ladder and gazed at the roof. Finally, he stood by the horse stalls and stuck his hands into his jeans pockets and smiled. “This is a strong, dependable barn,” he said. “It’ll last a good long while yet.”

As shadows flee the dawn of a new day, silence fled from the barn. Men came with trucks and tools. They hammered. They sawed. They pounded new shingles onto the barn’s roof. They chinked the logs with clean clay.

Stalls came down and a stone chimney rose. When all the noises stopped, not even one speck of dust was left to dance in the morning sunshine.

Finally, a moving van backed up to the barn’s wide front doors. Sofas, chairs, and tables replaced harnesses and hayforks. The warm, dark loft became snug bedrooms. A little boy scampered up the stairs and scooted through a window right into the arms of the burr oak. The oak nodded and the barn stirred.

As moonlight silvered its walls, a new farm family rested safe and secure within the farmer’s barn. A squirrel skittered across the barn’s shingles. The burr oak whispered secrets against its roof and a small, gray mouse squeezed under the door and scampered across the floor.

The barn’s sturdy timbers creaked with pride in the night wind as it stretched and straightened. It was a staying kind of barn. The farmer had built it well.