Old Barn Encounter...

Driving along the redundant menagerie of aged split-rail fences, my eyes refocus from far to near in a desperate search of that one last priceless gem, the old barn. The classic barn is the once proud institution of grandeur in a sea of ordinary if not impoverished artifacts. Their scars & tattered skins reveal the beauty & experience of their battles against time itself. The proud organic beams still shouldering the weight of their eternal responsibilities of protection & comfort.

Like witnessing the raping of an epic warship being sold for scrap to later become paint cans, I tire in misery whenever I witness reclaimed barn wood being sold in the classifieds. I long not for the restoration of all decaying barns nor the regression to life in a past century. I only cling to the believe that some of these structures are certainly worth more than the paltry sum of their wooden parts.

I always want to stop when I see an old barn. I want to cease not only my advancement on the road, but my journey in my own rushed life. Barns are notoriously hard to reach, if not for the simple premise that they are all built on land that was once claimed by someone. Every now and then, my own courage & gracious opportunity collide to actually foster an intimate conversion with these wooden monoliths.

Today was one of those moments.

Walking free from my vehicle like a prisoner squinting his eyes against the sun with his own new found freedom, I approach the old structure in a sense of reserved awe & strange reverence.

Feeling the coarse peeling paint against my hands and watching the tireless large black metal hinges still swinging in the gentle breeze of the moment, I smiled. I know that at some insignificant juncture in the past, someone picked up a saw, proceeded to hand-cut several large beams from an oak grove forest and put into motion the construction of the structure now built before my eyes.

Each nail, board, & every stroke of paint having its own individual notes to play to orchestrate this existence of this overall piece. The impressiveness of each square foot is not nearly as moving as the whole piece. However, when stepping back and viewing the totality of the moment, the barn becomes an instant iconic beacon for nostalgia & charm. Everyone can relate to the beauty & inherent significance of barns, even those masses who have only witnessed their glory from an interstate roadway.

Tin roof, rusted.

I have always noted that the tin roofs are always rusted on old barns. I believe this is not from the simple chemical oxidation properties of iron as much as the metaphorical battles of warfare in my own mind. The stained tin roof always reminded me of trails of dried blood from wounds endured at the hands of the abuse of time & nature. Perhaps this helps to continually justify the unusual obsession with barns and my consistent anthropomorphic descriptions of these structures.

At the end of my allotted time away from the uninterested party of humans still in the air-conditioned truck, I stand still to take all of the mental pictures I can before the moment is lost. I know that I alone share this desire, this deep seated respect for these incredible structures. I know not why I do. Perhaps ancient strands of DNA from my farming ancestors
still radiate deep within my own blood.

All I know for certain is that I will continue to seek out old barns and learn from the mysterious impact that they continually have to my soul.

Genesis - The Boldness to Begin.

The start of something new. The beginning. The anchor point of action in the sea of inaction.

This blog is my new creation. I will use this site to launch my own new works & works in progress.

We must all start somewhere. Be Bold.

Here’s an interesting quote of W.H. Murray, from the Scottish Himalayan Expedition. Read it carefully.

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.

I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets:
Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."