Twilight of my Childhood

The barn was a great deal smaller than I remembered. As a child it had seemed large, cavernous, and full of mysterious nooks and crannies.

As I walked down the center alley, I saw several stall doors hanging off their hinges. Others were missing altogether. As childhood memories crowded my thoughts, I half expected to see Elmer the Bull's head hanging out of the end stall. That stall still had a door. It was reinforced to keep that old devil contained. There had been many bulls inhabiting that stall over the decades, all descendants of the original Elmer the Bull, and all named, of course, Elmer the Bull. Grandpa said it kept things simple.

My grandfather had often reminisced about building the barn. It had taken all summer the year he and grandma first leased the farm. The building work took place during evenings and Sundays after church. The actual work of the farm had to be done before time and resources could be used for construction.

The house had already been standing when they first moved to the farm. It had been built during the original homesteading of the area. It was not a large structure, but it had two stories and four small bedrooms. The living room was large enough to eventually hold two home-made settees. The original kitchen table was a large tin bathtub with a wooden cover. There was no bathroom, only an outhouse behind the kitchen garden. I do not remember when an actual indoor bathroom was added, but I know by the time my mother was a toddler, the outhouse had been torn down.

By the end of that first summer, family and friends celebrated as the final bucket of paint was added to the back of the barn. It represented the future. There had not been any choice but to finish the barn during the summer, the animals would not fare well during the harsh winters.

The barn was built to house the heart of the farm - the animals, all the animals. It had been designed to maximize the use of space. Chickens sheltered in the middle of the barn's west side. There was a small door that led to an outside area where they could roam during warm days. Roosts were built along a wall that was adjacent to a stall that held either horses or cows to utilize the extra warmth given off by a larger animal.

Goats were often put in with the horses. I still do not understand how or why these two species get along so well. It seemed many ranchers did the same. It is supposed the keep the horses calm and the goats out of mischief.

The bull and the milk cows were kept at the far end of the barn. A square shaped corral was attached to that side of the barn. The snow and wind banked on the opposite side most often, so a lean-to was built to provide some protection from the worst of the weather.

My grandparents ranched the homestead and raised a family of four children, until my grandmother found out she was pregnant with my mother. By that time, her other siblings were school aged. She was doted on my her parents, brothers and sisters alike. Her memories became my own as she told tales of riding horses and later tractors with her father. I grew up on stories of life on that ranch, both the harsh realities of living in a remote area and the joys and experiences of being raised in a strong family in a rural setting.

I was amazed by stories of my aunts and uncles, rain or shine, riding horses down the hill to the only road in the area, stabling the horses and riding the bus to school. By the time my mother was school aged she rode a horse in good weather but, my grandfather had purchased a snow mobile, and she was driven down the hill to the bus after the snow fell. There was no way to get family vehicles down the dirt road during the winter.

Weather can be an inconvenience for ranchers. Even during the harshest of winter days, cows needed to be milked, eggs collected, stalls to be cleaned and animals to be tended. Stakes were placed between the house and the barn at the beginning of winter. Ropes were tied between the stakes. During the darkest mornings, the most severe storms, or the middle of the night these ropes were used as a guide between the two destinations. Without the ropes, it would be easy to become disoriented during a blizzard and become lost, to freeze to death.

For myself, I remember carrying buckets of milk and baskets of eggs back to the house from the barn early mornings during summer vacation. The kitchen would be bustling as my grandmother made breakfast for everyone, except my grandfather. He had been up for hours and always cooked his own meal before beginning his day.

During the summer, I remember watching animals being born in that barn to my great and constant amazement. It was an experience I never missed, even if it meant sitting out in the barn all night long. I remember games of tag with my sisters and cousins. We would sing songs of our own making, or tell jokes as we shared in the chores. All chores had to be completed before dinner time. Grandpa ran a tight ship and all tools and implements were stowed and the barn well-ordered by twilight. Looking back, I suppose the work was hard, but it never seemed like it at the time.

My cousins and I came less and less often as we grew older. There were the occasional holiday visits, but the house was no longer able to accommodate all of us. No one stayed longer than a weekend, even with air mattresses floors are not comfortable. More often, we gathered in smaller groups at our respective homes, but all gatherings included many reminiscences of our own times at the ranch. Our own lives were taking us away more often than I think any of us would like to have admitted.

Today, the barn was coming down. It had been unused for almost fifteen years now. Perhaps in more moderate weather, the structure could have stood for longer, but harsh northern winters were rough on buildings that stood unattended. It was no longer safe.

There was no one left to take over the farm any longer, aunts and uncles were gone or too old to work the property. Like myself and my siblings, my cousins were either managing their own ranches or had moved on to careers in other fields, other states. The barn had served its purpose.

I think, as I watched the sections being torn down, I cried a little. I was alone to witness the end of a chapter of our family history. That single, wooden structure represented so much of what held my family together and helped it grow strong. Roof and walls protected animal and human alike.

I swear I heard the voices of my parents, the unselfconscious laughter of children. The sounds of the memories of my childhood were loud in my mind as I walked to my car. Glancing back one last time, I said a silent farewell and thank you to that old barn. In doing so, I was also saying a final goodbye to my childhood.

Driving down a two-track road, still unpaved after all these years, I began to wonder if I had provided an environment where my own children could grow their own carefree, youthful memories. In the meantime, I would continue to share my photographs and my memories of my time and my experiences in and around that old barn.