Arkansas and Oklahoma are blessed with many beautiful old barns. 
When I say old, I mean those that were built from the ground up, not pre-fab or metal. It is painful to see a barn that is 80 or 100 years old slowly crumbling with no one to care for it. When it’s gone, a lot of history and stories go with it.
If the barn’s owner keeps the roof in good shape, the barn will last. But when the roof is neglected, tin blown up or shingles torn away, rain gets inside and the barn starts to deteriorate.
The barns of a few decades ago were built on the spot by hand. Many times, neighbors would gather to help put up a barn. There had to be a loft for hay, stalls for the cattle, and a place to hang the harness, saddle, and bridle.
Each barn started with a good, solid foundation. Isn’t there a lesson in that? A firm foundation of faith on which to build, stout walls for shelter, a roof of hope and courage to keep out the storms.
I admit I love old barns. They are silent reminders of our rural past. A lot of history surrounds each barn and I hate to see them go.
My Grandfather’s Barn
My grandfather’s barn leans to the south.
The weathered old boards 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.
–by Blanche Day Manos
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