I’ve been drawn to this abandoned dairy barn ever since I first noticed it not too far off the edge of an invasive movement of development in the area. And I’ve always liked the notion that the wrinkles that we all acquire as we age can easily be compared to weathered barn wood that sells for a premium these days.
There’s an unwritten truth in this world that life and nature can take all worldly things in an instant or at a glacial pace. As late spring weather spawns severe storms with destructive tornados, anyone in their path knows just how true that is for both worldly possessions and sentient lives. Nothing in this life lasts forever even though everything leaves at different and unpredictable times.
Modern science has determined that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. And all matter is composed of the stardust of the validated Big Bang. Billions of years have witnessed the creation of all matter on this planet, including this planet, and when matter disintegrates back into the stardust of creation, new life emerges once again.
Perhaps that’s why I’m perpetually drawn to observe and commune with this silent sentinel of the country every time I pass by to observe the changing skyline overhead and the pasture grasses at its open doors. Hawks glide overhead and have found refuge in the adjoining twin silos along with all varieties of woodland creatures that have burrowed their way under the damaged roof.
If
nature has its way, another decade will pass before the glacial transformation
will be complete. But I fully expect to
drive by any day now only to observe the total annihilation of the dairy farm
to make way for hundreds of apartment units on the site in the name of progress. Maybe that’s why I feel compelled to document
its life while most of the stardust is still intact along with mine.
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