My Grandfather’s Barn
My grandfather’s barn leans to the south, The weathered old logs are gray.
The tin roof is rusted and dented and busted; The wind blew the doors away.
But once that barn, filled with freshly-mown hay, Was a dark, sweet-smelling retreat.
The straw in the loft was wonderfully soft, A hideaway, cool and complete.
A tinkle of cowbells, a jingle of harness, The smell of horses and leather
Once filled the stalls and the hand-hewn walls Were a refuge in wild, windy weather.
Now Grandfather’s gone and that empty old barn Holds more than a fond memory.
It’s a heritage dear of a bright yesteryear And all that those years meant to me.
–Blanche Day Manos
Old barns make me feel melancholy and content by turns. Sad to see those old times gone but sweet memories.
Yes, I understand that. I wish the owners of the few old barns that are left would keep the roofs intact, at least. Then, the rest of the barn might stand. And, that the developers would respect the barns and not demolish them, for they will never be replaced. Somehow, malls and parking lots just don’t have the same appeal. Thanks for writing, Linda.
Very nice post about your grandfather’s barn, Blanche.
There are lots of bright yesteryears for me as well. And as I got older (starting in my thirties) I realized how much those years meant to me also.
Thanks for writing, Susan. Yes, as we get older and look back, we realize those yesteryears were and are very dear.