Old red barns and the stories they tell
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I’ve always loved driving through rolling hillsides and coming upon an old, red, chippy barn, whether it be situated on a carpet of grass with a sky blue backdrop, or standing as a burst of color on a snowy white day. A barn is reminiscent of all things earthy, natural and organic and is an icon of simplicity…all things I desperately long for in my life.
The barn is more than a structure; it is a symbol of hard work, and endurance. Each one, with its own story to tell. I often wonder as I pass by, who built that barn? What creatures found shelter there? What young man forked hay up into the loft with muscles bulging and sweat dripping down the back of his denim overalls? What child curled up on the hay with a good book? Was it a place of family bonding, where one generation passed their skills to another? Romantic notions fill my head.
But I am too much of a realist to think that a red barn is a symbol only of sweet nostalgia. In that barn, a father and son shouting match may have torn apart a family. It may have been a hide-out from an abusive parent, or an escape from a destructive home life. A child may have lost their innocence behind those bolted wooden doors.
I suppose I see stories, stories of beauty AND brokenness. Smelly stalls, large animals, family ties being strengthened or broken. I see a microcosm of the world – the birthing of an animal, nourishment, food, strength, struggle, pain, and grief. Isn’t that all of life? There is beauty, joy and love, side by side with heartache, suffering and tragedy.
When I see an old barn that has weathered many storms, I somehow feel hopeful. The time-worn wood reminds me that storms produce character and beauty. I see endurance. Through rain and snow, it stands. On a crisp winter day it symbolizes shelter, and warmth. And in the summertime with blue skies and sunshine, it bursts with productivity and life. Yet, always there are buzzing flies to swat, broken down tractors to fix, stubborn animals to deal with, and manure to muck!
Sometimes, we want the beauty without the brokenness. I’m not a farmer, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way. As a young girl, growing up in rural south Jersey, our home was surrounded by farms. I had a friend, little Tommy Henessee, whose dad owned one of those farms. At times, Tommy and I would sneak out to the barn, grab an old, one-handled pot and dip out fresh milk from the big metal holder thingy (the bulk tank) in the barn. That was the most amazing milk I ever tasted! But to get to it, we had to walk through the pasture, ankle deep in manure. No matter how recently the barn had been cleaned, I almost always grabbed my shirt to cover my mouth and nose so I could breathe without gagging on the stench. But it was worth it.
A weathered barn can be a symbol of deep brokenness, yet at the same time, of simple beauty. There is beauty in this life. Right here, right now, in the midst of the mess, the heartache, the brokenness of my life, and frankly all the crap I have to muck through every day, living in this world!
My objective on this blog is to hold out hope in the midst of it all. To celebrate the beauty found in the midst of the brokenness. The only way I know how to do that is through the hope offered in the Bible. I believe that it is the inspired word of God and is overflowing with words of life for every one of us! That is where I find encouragement, inspiration and hope for each day – no matter what it brings!