Barn Art

The sounds heard in the early summer morning air could possibly be the most precious on earth. 

• The chorus of calves calling to their mommas due to the separation that must happen in the weaning process. 
• The return call of the deeper momma voice like it comes from the depths of her soul. 
• The inconsistent chirp of birds in flight looking for that sunny spot to perch in anticipation of a busy day of grubbing food for their wee ones back in their carefully constructed nest. 
• The choral of the Ladies in exclamation that they have fulfilled their purpose and the cockiness of the rooster as he chimes in with great pride. 

 But mostly there is the stillness of the time of year when things automatically slow down because hurrying about makes no sense.  The hurriedness of seeking the warmth of home-foregone.  The coolness of the morning air, embraced for the time it lingers.  It's almost like Island Time. 

Last evening we were in the barn.  This is no ordinary barn.  It is old and it is large.  When you walk in the door, first instinct is to look up and make sure there isn't a large barn owl above, lying in wait to make you his next target.  Once you decide the coast is clear, the entrance opens to a whole new world.  The light that shines through the separations in the barn boards on the south side gives a glimpse of the scenery beyond the old. 



The construction of this merry ol' barn is told by the lack of hardware.  The lack of iron to hold it together.  Hand hewn.  There is a picture in my minds eye of horses bringing large timbers.  Skidded and molded for a perfect fit.

The many cows who have stood in the stanchions, waiting to be relieved of the heaviness of their utters.  At the mercy of the milker.  The hay gleaned from the fields and stacked to the beams.  There are many memories in this old barn.  Many generations of family who hold these memories close to the heart.



I recall a Easter Sunday when the rain came down in unforgiving sheets of coolness.  Because the tradition was hunting eggs in the calf pasture, we felt the need to regroup.  We headed for the barn.  The rain on the huge roof was loud and adventure began.  No one will forget the cat that was found.  It had gotten caught while scaling one of the tall walls in the interior.  We found the skeleton. 



Last night as we opened the barn door into the milking side, I noticed something never seen before in these shaded parts.  Barn Art. 

As if to tell a story, the pictures whisper truth.  Truth about much family and the silent echoing of the big barn that could tell more stories than Grampi Gene.



Thank you Bishop Family for being a part of this old barn's never ending history.