Monday, September 8, 2008
Hanging Out In The Old Barn
This is my grandmother's barn. Or, I should qualify, it is my grandfather's barn, but he has long since passed. Two weeks ago I had a little visit with my grandmother and decided, since I was feeling a little nostalgic, to have a poke around the old space. As you can see, my grandmother has taken to growing roses and perhaps having a cup of tea in front of the main doors. When I was a kid, this barn was as much a hub as my grandmother's kitchen. Every day before work, regardless of weather, my grandfather would light a fire in the wood stove, put on his barn boots, which smelled of manure and leather, and head to the barn to milk Elvira, the lone milking cow. When he came home from work, he would repeat the routine - take off work boots, put on barn boots, milk Elvira. I remember distinctly the first time I milked a cow and how strange it felt, I was quite petrified!
Even today the smell of a barn, the sweet hay mixed with pungent manure and animal brings back fond memories of playing in the hay mows, building forts of hay bales, and yes, even shoveling manure. I was quite taken aback when BananaMuffin walked in the barn with me and immediately held her nose and ran from the door, proclaiming that "it stinks in here". Somehow, I've raised a city kid.
One thing that has always fascinated me about barns are the boards. Not just the post and beam construction, but the way things wear. For example, cows love to scratch their backs on walls, stencils, any wood they can position themselves next to. Over time, the wood smooths from the oil in cow hair, and begins to shine. No sandpaper on earth could reproduce this finish, it's satiny smooth and quite beautiful. Polished by itchy cows.
When it was time to hay, my cousins and I would eagerly ride on the hay carts, climbing higher and higher as the bales were piled aboard. When we arrived back at the barn, we would then ride a bale up the hay conveyor to the second storey mow. Having read my friend Harrison Wright's memoir of growing up on a farm, I now know this is quite common! When I think back on how much fun this was, I feel slightly sick to my stomach at how equally dangerous it was!
Today all that's left are memories. The cows are gone, the fences taken down, the farmer himself gone. It was such hard work, and I often wonder what it was like from my grandfather's perspective, but as a kid, it was such a fun time of family, accomplishment and self-sufficiency. I feel a little sad that my kids will never experience growing up on a farm, milking cows, learning just how intertwined we are with nature and playing freely in the hay, our lives are firmly planted in the city. It was a nice escape to reminisce and think about those times, long before responsibilities, mortgages and payments, when running around in a barn was the most important thing on your "to do" list that day.Labels: family
|
Archives
Brand Labels
Category Labels
Friends of Nurtured
|
Account
Subscribe to Posts [