A Girl and Her Palace

I never thought I’d see Naomi again. But here she stands before me, a shell of the vibrant young creature I knew decades ago. Age had been kind to her; that relentless, untamed spirit still flickering in her eyes. The young girl next to her looks just like Naomi did at that age: a soul of brilliant light with long, brown hair billowing around her petite face; and big hazel eyes that were too knowing to belong to a child. “This was your barn, Gram?” she asked with fascination. “Yes Evelyn, this is where your great-grandmother spent most of her time when she was your age. It was my palace, and it used to be beautiful; constantly bustling with life. I never thought I’d see it again.” Naomi explains, tears welling up in her eyes. Evelyn inspects my slanting frame, rusted walls, broken windows, and termite-infested stalls. “Tell me again what it used to be like, Gram. I want to imagine it like it’s happening now!” Evelyn exclaims excitedly. “If this barn could talk, it’d tell you every story in much greater detail than I can,” Naomi said with a nostalgic tone. She’s right, but I’m just an old, run-down barn. So as Naomi regales the girl with tales from our past together, I savor her words that breathe life into the only thing I’m still capable of sheltering: memories.

Naomi was 9 when I was brought to life. Back then my walls were a rich, deep shade of red, trimmed in white along the corners; and I shined like an A-framed ruby gem among the 30-acre farm. My stately features included two storage rooms, each equip with one small window and a loft above; and 3 stalls on both sides of the wide, concrete corridor that split my skeleton into identical halves. Like she’d told Evelyn, I was her palace; and she ruled over her occasionally-loyal subjects – the horses, cows, hogs, goats, chickens, ducks, dogs, and cats – with all the passion, imagination, impatience, and temper one would ever witness in a 9-year-old country princess.

My feed room and stalls was the center for most of the action. Every animal on the farm tried breaking into the feed room, where one could test the limits of their stomach capacities like a kid at a dessert buffet. But one animal, a pigeon named Faith, constantly fought to maintain a corner of the room as her own. Naomi found her as an ugly hatchling on the floor of the local hay farmer’s storage barn. Raised on grits administered from a syringe, Faith grew into a handsome pigeon with the aura of a Rottweiler. She was very protective of her territory in the feed room, and Naomi had to relocate the damned bird back into the corridor on a daily basis; but could only do so after donning thick leather gloves to avoid Faith’s pinching beak. Through the years, Faith terrorized most of my visitors from the rafters of my roof. And everyone loved sending newcomers out to the barn so they would get attacked by Faith.

The feed room was also a nursery. Chicks were hatched and housed in plastic tubs with heat lamps and wood shavings until they grew big enough to live outside in the coop. Multiple litters of puppies were born and nurtured on old horse blankets. Baby pigs, goats, and kittens were temporarily sheltered from the cold of winter nights. Naomi, her brothers, and their friends would setup a makeshift veterinarian clinic and play pretend for hours. Naomi would always be the vet, so everyone else grabbed the closest unsuspecting animal and assumed the role of responsible adults taking their pets to the clinic. Naomi would occasionally steal naps on the hay bales or feed sacks after staying up too late or getting up too early. But my favorite thing about my feed room, are the markings along the door frame, where all the children would keep track of their height as they grew up.

The stalls composing the majority of my structure, never failed to produce entertainment. Chickens roamed around the yard and throughout the stalls; incessantly scratching and pecking as they’d sift through livestock manure for insects and fallen grains of feed. The hens frequently commandeered the feed buckets to lay their eggs in; which the horses would break if no one collected them. The roosters would chase Naomi and her siblings around the yard; once even spurring one of Naomi’s brother in the face. Lazy barn cats, were minimally useful as they traveled along the tops of my stall beams like tightrope walkers in a circus; staying clear of the dogs while alternating napping locations. They gave birth to their kittens in my lofts, just so Naomi could climb up a rickety ladder and crawl amongst the multitude of spider webs and dozens of boxes filled with Christmas decorations and keepsakes, to collect them. Having never seen a human before, they’d spit and hiss at her with all the ferocity their 9-ounce bodies could muster. The goats were the foulest creatures to take advantage of my shelter. They waltzed about the stalls and concreate corridor, leaving behind small pebbles of manure that bounced along the floor like tiny marbles dispersing everywhere. They were stubborn, stupid, and always causing trouble; but Naomi adored their kids. On several occasions she would stay up half the night helping a nanny goat give birth to twin or triplets. If the cows weren’t busy grazing in the pasture, they were bellowing on the other side of my gate, demanding food and enjoying the obnoxious echoes of their calls bouncing off my tin walls. They were demanding and brash; and always attempting to unhinge my gate and Naomi’s sanity. But the calves calling for their mothers and their milk, always brought a big grin to Naomi’s face; just like all the animals did. But none of them lightened Naomi’s spirt like the horses.

Those horses held a status in Naomi’s palace that was equivalent to members of a royal court. Every morning Naomi would yell, “C’mon, C’mon, C’mon!” at the top of her lungs, calling her court up from all corners of the pasture. Soon they’d come trotting and prancing up to my gate, waiting for Naomi to grant them passage to their respective breakfasts. Morning and night she cared for them as if they were her children. Their whinnies, squeals, and nickers were more like a chorus of gluttony to me; but to Naomi, it was legitimate conversation. Out of all the animals at the farm, these were the most stubborn, temperamental, and selfish. But Naomi’s blind love for them was the very passion and hobby of her youth. I witnessed countless moments of pleasure, triumph, frustration, and pain; all because of those wretched horses. Like when Naomi, her brothers, and their friends would all saddle up a horse, pack up supplies, and ride off to go camping on the creek. Or when one of the mares would drop a foal. And especially when a new horse would arrive at the farm. Naomi would assign them a stall, and commence to introducing them to all the other members of her herd.

But the good times I’ve witnessed over the years, were unfortunately countered with dark times. Like when one of the horses contracted rabies. The mare attacked Naomi’s grandfather, another horse, the farm equipment, and ran wild around the yard until she collapsed next to my back gate and died. The poor horse that’d been attacked was euthanized; every creature on the farm had to be quarantined for 6 months; and Naomi and her grandfather had to be treated for exposure to the virus. In another devastating season, Naomi’s parents had to declare bankruptcy, forcing everyone to let go of things they loved, including Naomi. I watched as she prepared her horses for showings to potential buyers; as she said goodbye to her best friends; and as she sank into a corner of an empty stall, letting her heart freely ache as she released her tears in wracking sobs. As Naomi grew older, she detached herself from me and the girl she was. I saw less and less of her, until one day she packed her things, and left; leaving me to watch as most of the animals were sold, and the farm continued to decline.

Naomi came back eventually, but not to return as I’d hoped; she’d come back to say goodbye for good. I couldn’t see the “For Sale” sign from my permanent station, but I could tell by the cleaning, repairing, and influx of strangers, that everyone was leaving this time. Belongings were sifted through; and the stalls, feed room, and lofts were all emptied. Then one afternoon, she approached me with a camera in her hands; her boots crunching on the concrete in a somber march. “We’ve seen it all, haven’t we Ol’ Red?” she said, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks. She opened the door to the feed room, surveyed the empty space, and ran her fingers along the frame where all the kids’ height markings were. “I’m sorry we’re letting go, you’ve been my true home, a sanctuary for my spirit; a refuge to escape reality. But reality finally caught up with me.” Then she began taking pictures of me. Inside and outside of the rooms, down the corridor, and all around the stalls. Once finished, she walked out from under my roof for the last time, and turned to take one last picture of my entirety. What she’d never know, was that I was taking her in for the last time, too. She’d grown into a young woman, but still wasn’t sure who she was; beautiful, but uncertain and afraid. Then Naomi whispered these final words to me, “A piece of me remains here with you. I’ll never forget you; a home I no longer have.” Then she turned and walked away.

After hours of reminiscing, Naomi and Evelyn return to the reality of my ragged remains; and I know I’m about to relive another painful farewell from Naomi. Suddenly Evelyn pipes up and exclaims, “Gram, I have an idea! One day I’ll buy this place! I’ll fix up your palace, and you can come live with me! You can have horses again, and teach me everything I need to know so I can have a farm like you did!” Naomi smiles and says, “My dear, that may sound good, but I’ve gotten to live my life on my terms, make my own mistakes, and build my own family. You must do the same; it’s not good to live in the past.” Evelyn isn’t swayed. “But Gram, you’re so old, that your past may be my future!” she says in a mischievous tone. Naomi releases a hearty chuckle. “Well sweetheart, if that’s really what you desire, don’t let this old lady hold you back.” They walk from underneath my failing roof, and then turn around to face me one last time. “I’ll be back, I promise,” Evelyn says to me, then she races off towards the car; leaving Naomi standing there alone. “I told you I’d never forget you. But I was wrong about some things. It took time, but I finally found home again. I learned that precious memories aren’t meant for mourning the past. They’re meant to be a precedent for how new memories should be made in the present.” She pauses to inhale and let a few tears slip down her cheeks. “But now I feel afraid all over again, wondering what my new home will be like. I suspect I’ll be on my way there soon.” She then looks up at the sky, a faint smile surfacing on her lips. “But this time, I don’t have to build it; I already have family there waiting for me.” Then just as before, she turns and walks away for the last time.