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The Barns That Built Me

A Tale of Three Barns and a Father's Foundation

By E.L. MartinPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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The Barns That Built Me
Photo by Markus Petritz on Unsplash

It was a simple life and humble beginning in Appalachia. My father built an old barn way out in the countryside. The barn itself appeared little more than a shack. We lived in a trailer with clean well water. The power went out frequently due to falling trees and weather. I remember making a trip to purchase a generator in a terrible snowstorm because we had no way to run the well pump, and had ran out of the water we saved. The cows, pigs, and horses were always fed, the hay was baled each year, and additions were added onto the barn as income became available.

Our first barn appeared in my dreams and nightmares. I would dream of strange, frightening, creatures appearing there. Little did I know that one of our dogs had saved me from an opossum there when I was just a baby. Dad warned of the black snakes and copperheads that hung from the barn's rafters. To this day, in any outdoor building I look up before entering just in case. The idea of one dropping down from the ceiling and coiling around my neck terrifies me. It terrified him also. I watched as he ran swiftly out the barn's door shouting at me to hand him a rifle or shotgun, the boards creaking loudly all the while. Some days he settled on a hoe, rake, or shovel to do the job. I used to laugh as I watched him dance a jig trying to ensure he killed the snake without getting too close.

I have nearly stepped on such snakes at various points in my life. Grandmother was also afraid of snakes and frequently asked me to move rocks to her liking in the creek bed. I recall one such time where I moved a large rock, and a copperhead slithered away further into the culvert its tail by my shoe. I yelled at Grandmother who chuckled and said, "That is why I asked YOU to do it." I didn't move any more rocks for her that summer.

Dad's fear of snakes didn't keep him out of the hay field any more than it kept him out of the barn. The serpents wound up in hay equipment, bales, under trucks, and the like. Dad found one inside the baler and ensured it was dead before he removed it and laid it out for the vultures to peck on. My brother found it instead. As I took a break from throwing bales onto the trailer, it found me. I didn't know black snakes could fly, but it did! Right onto my lap and chest as I took a sip of water from the cooler in Dad's white F-150 pick-up truck!

Before my brother knew it, he had been plowed over in the hayfield not by equipment, but by his sister! Like a lineman at a football game, my shoulder hit him square at a running pace and the boy toppled to the ground. Dad saw the whole ordeal and laughed. It was the first time our squabbling had an approved ending by force. As Dad said, "You're lucky. If you would have thrown a snake on me, you might have gotten a lot worse. I'm not punishing your sister." He gave me a high five instead. When we came back home, Mom would be mad but Dad would stand his ground because it was over a snake. His fear of serpents ran that deep.

By James Wainscoat on Unsplash

That old barn was eventually retired and used as a temporary tool shed thanks to an influx of animals. Dad loved to take in stray horses nobody else wanted to "winter" or feed. Occasionally he would bring home a donkey or other four-legged critter because they were "practically giving it away" at the stock sale or someone gave it to us for "free". We called these animals "Hay-burners." Many of us know that a "free kitten" or "free fish" is not free. I can assure you; livestock is most definitely not free either. Expansion upon expansion was made to suit my father's hobby.

He had a successful career as a machinist, but layout and construction did not seem to be his cup of tea. To save cost, he used scrap pieces of metal, tin, and lumber. I do credit his resourcefulness. Nothing was ever wasted, and rarely was something truly thrown out. He built the barn in a "lean-to" fashion atop a hillside. The "new" barn most certainly did not look new. It was a building with a purpose and that was all.

By Wolfgang Rottmann on Unsplash

We found that this hurried design had its own set of issues. The livestock kept getting into the feed. The only "logical" solution was to add onto the building in a place difficult for animals to get in. This location was on a very steep hillside. I recall climbing said hillside in winter with my coffee cans or empty cut out milk jugs. There was no door to enter that section. Instead, you had to climb over its planked railings like a fence. I laugh when I think of my chubby, uncoordinated, self slipping and sliding up and down the hill only to climb those wooden planks while holding onto my feed, jugs, and cans. At times, our horses, dogs, and cows would follow me, adding yet another complicating factor. "Try not to get kicked, and don't let the animals trip you." I told myself.

When I finally hobbled my way into the feed room, I was greeted by large broken chest freezers full of corn, sweet feed, and miscellaneous grains. They were rusted and chipped in places, but made great food storage bins since mice had difficulty nibbling their way through the metal. One would get in every now and then when the freezer lid was left cracked, and I would use the metal scoop to dig them out. We'd eventually use bungee cords or "rubber snubbers" as Dad called them to alleviate some of the closure issues. Between the freezers, food storage containers, and hay, there was little room for movement. I would scoop up feed into my containers, then use the freezer to climb back out of the room while fumbling with the now-full containers hoping I wouldn't drop any of the feed. If I was lucky, I wouldn't drop any before making my trip to the trough under the main barn area. I would still have to make a few more trips with all the containers, but thankfully wouldn't have to climb the steep hill again.

In the Summer, my hard work was rewarded. Dad expanded the barn and added a loft. Inside the loft, he added a basketball hoop for my brother and I to use. I remember shooting baskets with my brother and our friends for several Summers. It was also the birthplace and home of our kittens. We spent a great deal of our time at that barn and made quite a few fond memories.

Eventually, life changes happened and my family moved. To my father's delight, they found a 43-acre farm close to a small town. I was in college at the time, so I wasn't as involved in farm life as I had been as a child. When I came home on the weekends though, I was impressed with what I saw. The building Dad was working on actually looked like a barn! He still utilized some scrap metal and wood, but the way it was executed this time was much more professional. He layered the colored tin pieces in an intentional pattern. He built the structure using plans and designs instead of assembling ad-hoc out of necessity.

I recall coming home one weekend and hearing him excitedly brag that he had "acquired a crane." The "crane" was little more than miscellaneous parts he would have to assemble, but the parts he needed were all there. He used this in the new barn's construction. Even my mother, "The Skeptic", was impressed with the look and sturdiness of the building. They always say the third time is the charm!

Dad labored away in the hot sun with a smile on his face, and was proud of what he made. This venture made me realize that my dad was a creator. He might not have known what he was doing initially when he built the first couple barns, but he pressed on anyway and still ensured they served a purpose. His vision finally came to fruition when we moved. No one else could see the plans in his head coming to life, nor would they have believed it based on his two prior structures. That didn't matter. He still achieved his vision, he was still proud of his design, and the rest of us were forced to acknowledge that this time what he built was worthwhile.

This barn would be his last. He loved the farm and what he created. The day he died he was preparing to bale hay, an activity he loved. He had been back and forth getting equipment from that barn to a neighbor's hayfield. His life was taken from him, not from illness but from the malice of a mentally ill individual. It was hard on our family, especially knowing that his first grandson was only weeks away from being born. He had purchased youth horseback riding gear, ponies, and a buddy seat to go on his tractor so he could share his vision and lifestyle with his grandson.

Many of us don't choose how we leave this earth or the circumstance. There are many things I know he would have changed about that situation, but dying on his tractor doing the things he loved isn't one of them. My brother took over our father's farm in his stead. Dad's ashes were to be scattered by his biggest accomplishments; family, the farm, and specifically the last barn he built.

The Barn That Dad Built

My father's perseverance in the tale of his three barns made a solid foundation for our family in the lessons it taught us. Stay true to your vision. You don't have to get it right the first time or even the second. Sometimes perfection is in the eye of the beholder, and very few things are perfect.

Pay no mind to your critics unless they have truly helpful advice. He always paid attention to those who gave constructive criticism, and built many solid relationships with those individuals. He knew who he could count on for what, and would credit them for many of his improvements.

Waste not, want not; be resourceful and creative with what is available. Be proud of your simple life and make the most of it. Your family and dreams are the most important. Live every day with who you love and doing what you love because it could be your last.

Because my father lived like this, I doubt he had many regrets in his passing. Many people live their lives waiting for retirement; he didn't. Many say, "when this happens, then I will." Our educations may teach us that, but I did not learn those things from my father. Instead, he taught me that I have the ability to create and innovate right now with the resources I've been given. No time is better than the present to start doing what you want to do. In building his barns, my dad also built me.

The Painting on My Father's Funeral Program

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About the Creator

E.L. Martin

Powered by Nature, Humanity, Humor, Food, Lifestyle, Fiction, and Culture; Oh, and a questionable amount of coffee.

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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    Well-structured & engaging content

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  • Kathryn Wicker2 years ago

    What I like is the outline of your father's life through the barns and through both of those to his wisdom and insights.

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