“Want my advice?”
I stared at him.
“Tear
it down.”
Another
builder heard from.
They did not
understand.
We kept our
old alive.
From the dirt floors with
cow stalls to
the upper
levels where hay was stacked,
the Barn had
served.
Now with cows and
hay gone,
it sagged sadly;
a home for
fox, bats and birds.
The wind
whipped through the spaces
where siding
provided past protection.
Over the
years rain, snow, ice and
fierce storms
had rotted out beams and posts.
The old tin
roof kept it breathing.
Chipped slats
under the roof had turned
multicolored from
years of weather and neglect.
Barn posts
stood on earth,
no footings,
no foundation.
A few lucky
ones sat on rock.
Where the
Barn was built into the hillside,
earth was
winning the battle, pushing the Barn,
crumbling
a side shored up with stone.
The Barn
curved like an old lady,
stooped but
surviving.
I could walk
around inside by keeping to the edges,
displaying the
dexterity of a cat.
Along came Al
Dell, a builder.
“You know it
could fall down any minute.”
“If it does,
walk away and I’ll pay you for what you did.”
Of medium
height and powerfully built,
Al was
cheerful and serious.
He was like
the Old Barn,
but much
younger.
He was
truthful and honest.
Could he
succeed on what
others would
not attempt?
“We won’t be
able to get it straight.”
“I don’t want
it straight, just structurally sound.”
“I gotta pick
out the best corner and
take that to the top to stabilize it.”
“Whatever you
think is best.”
The deal was
made, time and materials.
His crew
would be his sons, nephews and friends.
Al rented a backhoe and he and his son,
dug a trench
around the barn.
Later the
cement foundation was set.
Over two
years the Barn slowly took shape.
No plans, no
architectural renderings.
A decision
was made to insulate the Barn,
all done from
the outside of the posts and beams;
siding for
inside walls, insulation and then outside siding.
Inside every
post and beam showed its ancient splendor.
A friend
donated one post which
ascended from
bottom to tin roof.
Another
friend gave two posts which
ran from main
room to roof.
Marvelous
posts, over two hundred years old,
lying in old
barns, now beaming posts,
resurrected,
intoxicated by their happiness,
they had been
restored to use – to life.
Two
large double windows were installed,
separated by post and beam,
overlooking the
pond,
they were the
Barn’s eyes and
my eyes would see
through them.
Plywood was to
replace the old tin roof.
“Well, what color
do you want it painted?”
Al was
exasperated by Barbara’s rejection of
all colors
offered.
“I like the color
of the old tin roof.”
“Why don’t you
leave it?”
“I didn’t know
that was an option.”
And so the old
roof was hammered down,
patched where
needed, R-board placed on top,
a new tin roof
over all.
Lighting sconces
highlighted the worn slats
painted to a
beautiful patina by many
years of heat and
frost, rain and ice.
Below, where cows
once stood, the new cement
floor was faux
painted a bright brick.
It housed a bath and kitchen whose
refrigerator
would hold cows’ milk, now in bottles.
An antique wood
stove supplied heat.
It was finished
and the Barn rejoiced.
My family, Al and
his young crew,
relatives,
friends and neighbors came to
the party to
honor the restoration and
rebirth of the
Barn.
Breath was
captured in my chest.
The old, beaten
dairy Barn had become
my majestic
castle.
Writer
Robert G. Willner lives in Chatham, New York. He has been an attorney and
president of a Columbia County drama company called StageWorks. He is the
author of "If not now -- when? A MEMOIR IN POEM," published in 2008. Stay tuned for Part Two to see how the Old Barn was transformed into a magnificent new structure.
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