Grandpa's Barn

Grandpaâs Barn

Grandpaâs barn was not unlike most barns that you see.  It was big and it was red, with the windows trimmed in white.  It stored feed, protected animals, held tools and supplies like most do.  It changed with the times from horses to tractors. And I think what Grandpa would be the most proud of is that he built it big enough to hold the stories of generations.

It took a wagon with a long ladder in it to paint the north side of the barn, and the small window high up, almost to the top.  The two windows that were just above the ground let a little light into the bottom part of Grandpaâs barn.  Now there was two important parts to the north side of grandpa barn.  One was that from the northwest corner you took two steps out, and that was first base, for the countless games of softball that were played at the family gatherings.  And on the northeast side there was a pile of rocks. And next to them a small opening that you would go through to get into the bottom part of the barn where they would milk the cows. That was before now it was where you would feed the cats.  Although I am sure that there were cats right there when they milked the cows.

The rest of the east side of the barn you didnât see a lot.  Not that it was hidden, it was part of the lot, so you couldnât run barefoot in the grass like you could on the north and west side.  And it didnât lead to the pasture like the south side did. Now it was an important part of the barn.  It was where you fed the cats, a means of escape, and the easiest way to get to the bottom part of the barn, without going through the cows in the lot.  The bottom part of the barn was split in three ways.  The one where they milked the cows, then there was an alley to a door on the south side.  On the east side of the alley was small pens, and in the alley at times square bales of hay would be piled up to form steps at times.  On the west side of the alley was a bigger pen that had a door on the south side.  That was the door you would use to help chase the cows into the barn.

It took a grain truck that you would need a step ladder to climb up to get into the box and then a long ladder as far as it would go to paint most of the south side.  And that did come with its own danger and not just for the one on the ladder, but also for anyone who was on the ground below painting.  It was a good thing that Donâs bucket was almost empty when he went to unhook it from the ladder so he could move a couple of steps down.  And that Dave already had red hair, just not the same color red.  Not that anyone of us didnât have paint on us already; you could say that we really got into our work.  And it showed on our shirts, jeans, shorts and shoes. Donât forget our arms, faces, pretty much everywhere.  That might be why we were never asked to paint the barn again.  Instead the Aunts hired it done the next time. I think that was a very wise move on their part. But we didnât have fun.

The west side didnât change much with time.  Long heavy boards like those used on wooden bridges were laid to form a ramp that stopped at the two big sliding doors that when opened took you to the main part of the barn.  As you walked in the barn on your right was an area where the halters and bridles and other tools were kept, when grandpa farmed with horses.  Farming might have changed but not where the tools were kept. And although the small window on the south wall did little to let a lot of light in, it was enough that it made you think about how it was when they used lanterns for light.  And wish that you could have been a part of it just for a day.  Next to it was a room where at one time feed for the animals were kept, and it did work well as a jail of sorts. Then the area where the buggies and wagons were kept. Some on the south side and some on the east under the loft that was a little lower than the one on the south side. But a perfect place to set and watch the basketball games, you would climb up the wooden ladder that was part of the barn to the loft and from there you could see right out the big doors to the west.  Plus you were out of the way.

The north side was where the square bales of hay were stacked as high as it could go at times. And a small door was there that could be opened to throw hay down to the bottom part, halfway down was a post with a round metal ring attached to it.  Nothing fancy, just and old metal circle, now the court was far from regulation but that didnât stop any of us.  If it was raining, muddy or just a little cool out that you couldnât play outside there was the basketball court of grandpaâs barn.

And every once in a while, not that it was done a lot, when you heard them yell from up at the house that it was time to eat the guys came up with their plan.  You put the girls in the small room where the feed use to be kept, and closes the door to the room, then closes the big sliding doors and go to the house like nothing ever happened.  Now it wasnât hard to get out.  You would take a piece of metal that was flat, which always seemed to be somewhere in the room and slide it through the opening between the wall and door and push to get the latch off.  Then walk to the small door that was used to toss the bales down to the bottom part and would jump down on the bales stacked below that had been arranged in step form.  Go down the alley to where the cats were fed and out the door on the east side, through the opening by the rocks and up to house. Simple when you did it enough.  By the time you got to the house the guys were in line to eat.

It is a good thing that grandpaâs barn couldnât laugh.  Between the basketball games, softball games, painting it, and other times, like the time they tinned it and were in a hurry because it was going to rain. The men on the roof kept calling to the ones on the ground to hurry up, they could see the rain coming it had just left the rookies.  Now it might have been taken more serious if they would have been close to the Rocky Mountains and not a thousand miles away. After all that from just one generation if it could laugh it might have fell down. But the stories still get a laugh every time they are told, by those who spent time around grandpaâs barn.  Maybe that is why he built it so big, to hold all the stories for the generations to come. But that is something that we will never know.  I never got to ask him why he built it so big, by the time I could old age and Parkinson disease had left Grandpa a man who said very little. Very little in words that is, the smile for good.  The look that let you know you were in trouble, and of course the one he would give you after he used his cane to touch your feet as you lay in front of the T.V.  Then when you turned around it was the look of I didnât do anything.  Like his barn the stories that Grandpa could have told are locked away forever.