In the Spring there were Station Wagons, holla hoops, kittens, balls and window shutters to be painted. There were ladders, wheel barrels, shovels, rakes, paint supplies, tools and lawnmowers. With each generation the seasons and cycles would be repeated. More children would play games of hopscotch, jump rope and throwing balls against the barn doors.
As a child I explored the empty Horse Stall and imagined owning a horse, or petting a horse that had just eaten from the hayloft. On Saturdays when my sister Claire took horseback riding lessons, I would imagine choosing a horse to take back home to my barn. There was also a trap door in the floor of the barn. I wondered what was below. What would happen if I jumped down into the trap door? Could I hide there? There was also an upstairs, where I could look out the window into the trees, or peek at my Memere’s old photographs, books and quilts.
There were even generations of cats that settled in the barn. There were kittens that were born in the cellar and took their first steps through the bulkhead and over to the barn. Family cats would spend a wintry or rainy night inside the barn's shelter. Stray, neighborhood cats would come for shelter also. A black cat lingered for weeks in the same spot in the driveway that had been vacated by my Dad's car.
When the barn was struck by lightning in the spring of 1968, we all ran out of the house in the middle of the night, afraid that the house could also go up in flames because of the closeness of the two structures. My Dad's main concern was to get his car out, so the firefighters and family had to convince him to stay out because it was too dangerous. Part of the upstairs was burned along with all my Memere’s things, but his car was safe.
Many cars and bicycles had been parked outside and inside the barn over the years, even a boat. There was a car the same age as Dad, a 1921 Ford Model T, that my brother Robert restored part by part in the driveway in front of the barn. My nephew, Chris stored his boat in front of the barn and a motorcycle, and even a red truck. My Pepere parked Buicks and several different cars in the barn when it could withstand the weight of a car or two. In later years it was too dangerous to walk in the barn because the flooring would not hold a person's weight. My Dad owned Plymouths and Chevy's. His last car was a 1987 Black Oldsmobile Cutlass, which seemed to be watching from across the lawn when the barn was demolished.
One summer my brother and his friends had a rock band in the barn. And lawn chairs and picnic tables would be brought back out to the lawn for summer tanning and relaxing. In the Summer the barn was the topic of many conversations at cookouts and family gatherings. In the latter years with each new storm everyone would ask, "Do you think the barn will make it this winter?" We all had the same unspoken question about Dad, " Do you think he will survive this time?"
In the Autumn there were rakes and leaf bags that had to be taken out of the barn. Then there were bags of leaves, twigs and clippings from the trees and shrubs. My sisters and I would jump into the leaves as my Dad would rake them into piles. We would sit in the largest pile in front of the barn and collect the prettiest colored leaves to be pressed into wax paper for a school project.
In the Winter there was snow that was shoveled from the driveway and into tall embankments that made good forts to play around. There was lots of snow to slide on and pile into snowmen with scarves. Last year’s snow caused the roof to cave in and land on the second floor. And so, in its winter years, the barn appeared to be useless like an old man. But as I approach the autumn and winter years of my own life I see the beauty and strength of age.
When I woke up the mornings after the barn’s collapse, I wondered if it was all a dream. “ Is the barn really gone? Is Dad really gone?” But then I heard his voice in my head singing the words from one of his favorite songs, " If ever I would leave you it wouldn't be in springtime, not summer, winter or fall... No never could I leave you at all." So I looked out the kitchen window to face the lonely pile of wood, and there was my brother standing in front of the folded wooded walls with his own thoughts and memories. I think he was revisiting the barn to make sure everything was safe and secure before he went off to work.
So as another autumn turns into winter, some pieces of wood will be saved for souvenirs, or small building projects, but what matters most is that folded in the layers of my memory I will always find my Dad and my barn. Then I can tell future generations the stories that will keep both of them alive for many more seasons to come.
photos by Rachel Boucher, Susan, Therese
