Thanks for this story, Elizabeth. Not only does it stand on its own (pun intended) it also has the visual details that thrill us barn lovers. Joy and sadness entwined. Life!
I fell in love with my first barn as a child on my grandparent's working farm and it had everything a big farm barn needs - stables for horses and cows, a shed on one end for pigs, and big open central area surrounded on three sides by a gigantic hay mow, and a workshop for tools and repairs. As a barn lover, I wanted one, so when I had the space on our 12 acres in northern New Mexico, I built one, with help from friends. I bought a 100 year old post and beam frame from a dismantled barn in Minnesota, had it trucked to NM and, because it had been numbered and lettered when taken down, we were able to reassemble the frame and I had a crew put on reclaimed pine, board and batten siding on the outside, the frame exposed inside. It was a two-story barn about 36 x 54, big, high, double doors on one side. two garage type doors on one end. I kept my tractor with front end loader inside, had a big workshop in the rear. When we sold the property, the new owner gave the barn a new life and turned it into a state of the art, insulated, mechanical workshop. Perfect title to your post, "Losing what we have, gaining what we need." That's life as we know it!
Gary, I think our earliest connection here included some insights into your barn-relocation adventure. That's some story, and I remember what a beautiful structure it was! I imagine it must have stung a little to see it transformed into a more refined building (there were elements of that for me with the restoration of the original barn Pot Pie barn), but I'm glad it's still being used and loved. Life has a way of teaching us what we need to learn, doesn't it? Thanks so much for your lovely comment.
Thanks, Elizabeth. I tried finding that post again and it seems to have disappeared from my files for some odd reason. Would you, could you send me a copy, maybe in Messages or via email? Thanks~! When I toured the new version of my barn, I was happy for the new owner who made it into what he needed. Not my barn any longer.
Gary -- do you mean the post where you shared the picture of your former barn? If so, I've done some poking and thinking, but I can't seem to find my way back to it. Sorry about that! Glad you were able to see the barn safely and gratefully into new hands. That's how it ought to be, in my opinion.
Thanks for looking, Elizabeth. I think I lost a lot of older posts when I updated an old web site where they were stored. Better to leave some things behind and move on with the good memories. Funny that, in not finding our way back, maybe time better spent finding our way forward!
There was a special home where we lived in Harford County for 4 years that felt like magic far longer than the actual time-a few hundred acres, an old manor home (we only lived in half of it and it was still massive). During this time we were also sailing as a family, every weekend and sometimes more April through October.
I now have a far better understanding of the challenges my parents faced while living there but I only remember it as a haven-the wide open spaces, off in the woods with my brother for hours, my mom in her happy place gardening and canning. I was young enough to hold my parents in an uncontested hero status and i hadn't yet learned the fine art of self judgement.
I know now that It was the place where my childhood came to a close.
When we moved from that home the summer of 1978 we also had our last summer of sailing as a family.
Those were amazing years-that home, the property, our boat, aptly named 'Incredible', will forever hold magic for me.
Oh, wow, Kate. I can't recall ever hearing about that period of your life before. What a marker and milestone in your past. Your opening line is such a keeper. I love the action of that word "engaging." Change happens either way, right? If we allow ourselves to step into it when it comes I think our hearts catch up faster. Hugs to you and your family. Happy Independence Day!
What a devastating loss… and then the rebirth. That image of you looking for those handprints will stay with me. Seeing the photo, it is amazing that the nearby buildings were untouched during the fire (or at least it looks that way).
And then the rebirth...! Certainly bringing a new life into the world and nurturing it along demands emotional and physical shifting, so that word is just right here.
The fire took the adjacent pole building, associated sheds and contents, but I guess wind direction, or perhaps lack of it, helped protect others. The cottage (visible in that one image) where we and our successors lived is maybe 200' from the barn. It could definitely have been worse.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, Amy. You are often present in mine.
Oh Elizabeth, such a tragic story, but one with such deep acknowledgement and gratitude for the what the barn had meant, and a story that contains so much hope.
"Fire cares nothing for legacies. But neither can it devour spirit. The pulse of a place is not so easily destroyed. Emerging from the promise of possibility, there is resolve. There is hope."
Much gratitude, Rebecca. I know you are a student of history, too, and being a Brit, you have access to places that make everything in America seem newly born. Still, attachment is attachment. Thank you for the kind words.
I think similarly, Betsy, that my loss has been a tragic one also... It did not happen 10 years ago... But about 10 months ago.... The church where I served for 40 years as minister to youth ...and the youth to whom I served included you and your brother Don... chose to disaffiliate.... It was not my choice and never would have been my choice.. For me to have joined the group of disaffiliation it would have meant to me that some people would have to be rejected and I would have to make judgments on people's worth and I was not about to do that.... The youth program that you and your brother and hundreds ..actually thousands came to was one of total acceptance of everyone regardless of lifestyle, sexuality. or theology.. We tried to reflect the words of Jesus for all children to come unto us and to come unto Jesus through us.. In the blinking of an eye.... In the sweat of a late afternoon political vote... 175 years of church history was lost and smudged.... Youth ministry as we knew it left in the dust.. The 2400 youth that I had in our program was my church then and will continue to be my church now... However the place where I and you and your parents and many many others found safety ...acceptance... and love...... Well let's say..... Without a sarcastic tongue and cheek.... went up in flames.. I have moved on, but I'll always hear echoes from a distance in the halls where youth gathered, saying I love you and thank you for loving me.....
Oh, Barry. I felt such betrayal when that vote came through, and the rending of so many tender connections: the choir, the friendships, my wedding, children's baptisms, my parents' inurnments, and of course the transformational, unparalleled youth program. I can't let myself spend too much time with it; I don't need to breed resentment. Yes, it is an even more painful loss, somehow, because while the space remains, the heart has changed. Perhaps, one day, it will be returned to what you and I and so many others know to be its true purpose.
Thank you so much for being here and for being a lifelong mentor and friend. 🧡
Such a beautiful recollection. It's reassuring to know that memories can never be whitewashed, that they are there to sustain us and give us joy (and perhaps, sometimes sadness.)
It's wonderful that a new home has emerged from the ashes and I think that the essence, the soul, of what was before, has now found an anchor-point once again and that future lives will be imbued with the past.
I also love the appearance of the new house and its position is sublime. There's absolutely no question that what went before will be a part of all that is now and into the future.
I have places from my life that give me joy (and sadness that I'm no longer a part of that location's life) and the memories are the bricks that created the structure of 'Me', and for that I'll always be grateful.
I love the idea of us being built from the bricks of our memories, Prue! And how fortunate we are to have so many happy ones to offset those that are more painful. The new barn has, I think, a bit less grit to it, but it is no less functional for the needs it now fulfills. I hope, somehow, we can keep a thread of connection going with the new owners (whom we've not yet met), but if not, I know for sure that we left pieces of ourselves rooted in that place.
When we moved from our Hillcrest drive house, the Busby family bought it. They renovated everything. Necessarily. 🤪 I became their regular babysitter - I had a million emotions. But what a cool opportunity for me to get to still be a part of our HOME and come home to our new condo to tell mom about it. That wonderful house still peeks into our dreams at night - those of my sisters and me. It symbolized so much.
Oh, now how amazing is that!? A little like you got to finish growing up there. Do your house dreams (or your sisters') ever follow a theme? I totally get the attachment, and I also get why new families want to change things to fit their own visions. Who knows, maybe the buildings want that, too?
Thanks so much for making time to read and comment, Courtney. Sounds like life is full!
I remember the fire and the sadness I felt. Living just around the corner, it was a touchstone of coming home along with the red roofed schoolhouse and the "flowerbeds".
I also have strong memories of A barn. My grandmother's was a world all its own to my young self to explore and hide in, away from adults talking and talking. It was a place to nestle in the hayloft, climb on the old buggy and carriage, find Bantam eggs and the occasional black snake. I can still see the hay motes sunlit in the open door and smell the warm scent of hay, dust, old leather, and the horses that once lived there.
THAT's the energy we experienced, too, Susan. I'm convinced it's more than just "happy memories" at work. If it's not too weird to say out loud, it's like the buildings (or the land on which they're built) are communicating, forming relationships, making friends.
Also, I need to ask forgiveness. I'm having a hard time placing you in my Maryland past. Clearly we were neighbors, or nearly so, but my brain has let go of the details. Could you remind me, please?
From 2009 until 2019 I lived on New Rd. We kept our workboat at the Wittman Dock, the Ms Susan. I returned to Ohio after a failed marriage, sorrowfully leaving behind my beloved Bay and my beautiful tribe of women friends, one of whom was the feisty soul sister of mine Mary Robinson. I worked at Aquacare for 16 years and met amazing people who shared their extraordinary stories with me. I endured 2 rounds of breast cancer and my colleagues and my women surrounded me with their love and strength. I miss them fiercely but am now in a place of health and peace.
Quite the journey you've been on, Susan, and I'm glad to have a better sense of your connections to this part of the world. Mary is such a gem! And to you -- continued health and peace! Thank you so very much for being part of the Scratch community.
I deeply appreciate the extended metaphor of this piece. It was a balm I needed after the fires of the past week, especially today.
These words, when I went back for a re-read, felt especially poignant: "It was our daughters' first home, where their earliest aspirations took shape. They appreciated every bump and tumble place, every high and mighty place, every cool and silent place. We all knew the barn so well that any one of us could navigate it in the dark. Sometimes I'd play a little game with myself and do just that, even when I could have turned on a light, because it reminded me that there was nothing to fear."
I'm so sorry for the loss of your barn, which took even your daughters' handprints. I appreciated, too, this passage: "It didn’t replace the original—nothing could—but its walls now gather in their own stories. Rehabilitation is a process and, when it comes, notable. To rebuild is to rise and, to once again, make way."
Oh, Rita -- it must be so scary living in proximity to fires like that. I'm really sorry for the angst that must bring to everyone's lives each summer (and beyond), and I'm honored that this essay might help a little. I appreciate how carefully you read and consider words and ideas. You always add another layer of depth in your comments. Thank you.
Thanks for this story, Elizabeth. Not only does it stand on its own (pun intended) it also has the visual details that thrill us barn lovers. Joy and sadness entwined. Life!
I fell in love with my first barn as a child on my grandparent's working farm and it had everything a big farm barn needs - stables for horses and cows, a shed on one end for pigs, and big open central area surrounded on three sides by a gigantic hay mow, and a workshop for tools and repairs. As a barn lover, I wanted one, so when I had the space on our 12 acres in northern New Mexico, I built one, with help from friends. I bought a 100 year old post and beam frame from a dismantled barn in Minnesota, had it trucked to NM and, because it had been numbered and lettered when taken down, we were able to reassemble the frame and I had a crew put on reclaimed pine, board and batten siding on the outside, the frame exposed inside. It was a two-story barn about 36 x 54, big, high, double doors on one side. two garage type doors on one end. I kept my tractor with front end loader inside, had a big workshop in the rear. When we sold the property, the new owner gave the barn a new life and turned it into a state of the art, insulated, mechanical workshop. Perfect title to your post, "Losing what we have, gaining what we need." That's life as we know it!
Gary, I think our earliest connection here included some insights into your barn-relocation adventure. That's some story, and I remember what a beautiful structure it was! I imagine it must have stung a little to see it transformed into a more refined building (there were elements of that for me with the restoration of the original barn Pot Pie barn), but I'm glad it's still being used and loved. Life has a way of teaching us what we need to learn, doesn't it? Thanks so much for your lovely comment.
Thanks, Elizabeth. I tried finding that post again and it seems to have disappeared from my files for some odd reason. Would you, could you send me a copy, maybe in Messages or via email? Thanks~! When I toured the new version of my barn, I was happy for the new owner who made it into what he needed. Not my barn any longer.
Gary -- do you mean the post where you shared the picture of your former barn? If so, I've done some poking and thinking, but I can't seem to find my way back to it. Sorry about that! Glad you were able to see the barn safely and gratefully into new hands. That's how it ought to be, in my opinion.
Thanks for looking, Elizabeth. I think I lost a lot of older posts when I updated an old web site where they were stored. Better to leave some things behind and move on with the good memories. Funny that, in not finding our way back, maybe time better spent finding our way forward!
Yes!
Whew, the vulnerability of engaging in change!!!!
There was a special home where we lived in Harford County for 4 years that felt like magic far longer than the actual time-a few hundred acres, an old manor home (we only lived in half of it and it was still massive). During this time we were also sailing as a family, every weekend and sometimes more April through October.
I now have a far better understanding of the challenges my parents faced while living there but I only remember it as a haven-the wide open spaces, off in the woods with my brother for hours, my mom in her happy place gardening and canning. I was young enough to hold my parents in an uncontested hero status and i hadn't yet learned the fine art of self judgement.
I know now that It was the place where my childhood came to a close.
When we moved from that home the summer of 1978 we also had our last summer of sailing as a family.
Those were amazing years-that home, the property, our boat, aptly named 'Incredible', will forever hold magic for me.
Thanks for making me think E.
Oh, wow, Kate. I can't recall ever hearing about that period of your life before. What a marker and milestone in your past. Your opening line is such a keeper. I love the action of that word "engaging." Change happens either way, right? If we allow ourselves to step into it when it comes I think our hearts catch up faster. Hugs to you and your family. Happy Independence Day!
What a devastating loss… and then the rebirth. That image of you looking for those handprints will stay with me. Seeing the photo, it is amazing that the nearby buildings were untouched during the fire (or at least it looks that way).
And then the rebirth...! Certainly bringing a new life into the world and nurturing it along demands emotional and physical shifting, so that word is just right here.
The fire took the adjacent pole building, associated sheds and contents, but I guess wind direction, or perhaps lack of it, helped protect others. The cottage (visible in that one image) where we and our successors lived is maybe 200' from the barn. It could definitely have been worse.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, Amy. You are often present in mine.
So much history and now the building of a new barn , it continues still. A sad but uplifting story. Thank you.
Thank you, Monica. Hope is interesting that way, isn't it?
Indeed. Excellent writing in your part.
😊
Oh Elizabeth, such a tragic story, but one with such deep acknowledgement and gratitude for the what the barn had meant, and a story that contains so much hope.
"Fire cares nothing for legacies. But neither can it devour spirit. The pulse of a place is not so easily destroyed. Emerging from the promise of possibility, there is resolve. There is hope."
You write so very beautifully. x
Much gratitude, Rebecca. I know you are a student of history, too, and being a Brit, you have access to places that make everything in America seem newly born. Still, attachment is attachment. Thank you for the kind words.
I think similarly, Betsy, that my loss has been a tragic one also... It did not happen 10 years ago... But about 10 months ago.... The church where I served for 40 years as minister to youth ...and the youth to whom I served included you and your brother Don... chose to disaffiliate.... It was not my choice and never would have been my choice.. For me to have joined the group of disaffiliation it would have meant to me that some people would have to be rejected and I would have to make judgments on people's worth and I was not about to do that.... The youth program that you and your brother and hundreds ..actually thousands came to was one of total acceptance of everyone regardless of lifestyle, sexuality. or theology.. We tried to reflect the words of Jesus for all children to come unto us and to come unto Jesus through us.. In the blinking of an eye.... In the sweat of a late afternoon political vote... 175 years of church history was lost and smudged.... Youth ministry as we knew it left in the dust.. The 2400 youth that I had in our program was my church then and will continue to be my church now... However the place where I and you and your parents and many many others found safety ...acceptance... and love...... Well let's say..... Without a sarcastic tongue and cheek.... went up in flames.. I have moved on, but I'll always hear echoes from a distance in the halls where youth gathered, saying I love you and thank you for loving me.....
Oh, Barry. I felt such betrayal when that vote came through, and the rending of so many tender connections: the choir, the friendships, my wedding, children's baptisms, my parents' inurnments, and of course the transformational, unparalleled youth program. I can't let myself spend too much time with it; I don't need to breed resentment. Yes, it is an even more painful loss, somehow, because while the space remains, the heart has changed. Perhaps, one day, it will be returned to what you and I and so many others know to be its true purpose.
Thank you so much for being here and for being a lifelong mentor and friend. 🧡
Such a beautiful recollection. It's reassuring to know that memories can never be whitewashed, that they are there to sustain us and give us joy (and perhaps, sometimes sadness.)
It's wonderful that a new home has emerged from the ashes and I think that the essence, the soul, of what was before, has now found an anchor-point once again and that future lives will be imbued with the past.
I also love the appearance of the new house and its position is sublime. There's absolutely no question that what went before will be a part of all that is now and into the future.
I have places from my life that give me joy (and sadness that I'm no longer a part of that location's life) and the memories are the bricks that created the structure of 'Me', and for that I'll always be grateful.
I love the idea of us being built from the bricks of our memories, Prue! And how fortunate we are to have so many happy ones to offset those that are more painful. The new barn has, I think, a bit less grit to it, but it is no less functional for the needs it now fulfills. I hope, somehow, we can keep a thread of connection going with the new owners (whom we've not yet met), but if not, I know for sure that we left pieces of ourselves rooted in that place.
When we moved from our Hillcrest drive house, the Busby family bought it. They renovated everything. Necessarily. 🤪 I became their regular babysitter - I had a million emotions. But what a cool opportunity for me to get to still be a part of our HOME and come home to our new condo to tell mom about it. That wonderful house still peeks into our dreams at night - those of my sisters and me. It symbolized so much.
Oh, now how amazing is that!? A little like you got to finish growing up there. Do your house dreams (or your sisters') ever follow a theme? I totally get the attachment, and I also get why new families want to change things to fit their own visions. Who knows, maybe the buildings want that, too?
Thanks so much for making time to read and comment, Courtney. Sounds like life is full!
I remember the fire and the sadness I felt. Living just around the corner, it was a touchstone of coming home along with the red roofed schoolhouse and the "flowerbeds".
I also have strong memories of A barn. My grandmother's was a world all its own to my young self to explore and hide in, away from adults talking and talking. It was a place to nestle in the hayloft, climb on the old buggy and carriage, find Bantam eggs and the occasional black snake. I can still see the hay motes sunlit in the open door and smell the warm scent of hay, dust, old leather, and the horses that once lived there.
THAT's the energy we experienced, too, Susan. I'm convinced it's more than just "happy memories" at work. If it's not too weird to say out loud, it's like the buildings (or the land on which they're built) are communicating, forming relationships, making friends.
Also, I need to ask forgiveness. I'm having a hard time placing you in my Maryland past. Clearly we were neighbors, or nearly so, but my brain has let go of the details. Could you remind me, please?
From 2009 until 2019 I lived on New Rd. We kept our workboat at the Wittman Dock, the Ms Susan. I returned to Ohio after a failed marriage, sorrowfully leaving behind my beloved Bay and my beautiful tribe of women friends, one of whom was the feisty soul sister of mine Mary Robinson. I worked at Aquacare for 16 years and met amazing people who shared their extraordinary stories with me. I endured 2 rounds of breast cancer and my colleagues and my women surrounded me with their love and strength. I miss them fiercely but am now in a place of health and peace.
Quite the journey you've been on, Susan, and I'm glad to have a better sense of your connections to this part of the world. Mary is such a gem! And to you -- continued health and peace! Thank you so very much for being part of the Scratch community.
I deeply appreciate the extended metaphor of this piece. It was a balm I needed after the fires of the past week, especially today.
These words, when I went back for a re-read, felt especially poignant: "It was our daughters' first home, where their earliest aspirations took shape. They appreciated every bump and tumble place, every high and mighty place, every cool and silent place. We all knew the barn so well that any one of us could navigate it in the dark. Sometimes I'd play a little game with myself and do just that, even when I could have turned on a light, because it reminded me that there was nothing to fear."
I'm so sorry for the loss of your barn, which took even your daughters' handprints. I appreciated, too, this passage: "It didn’t replace the original—nothing could—but its walls now gather in their own stories. Rehabilitation is a process and, when it comes, notable. To rebuild is to rise and, to once again, make way."
Oh, Rita -- it must be so scary living in proximity to fires like that. I'm really sorry for the angst that must bring to everyone's lives each summer (and beyond), and I'm honored that this essay might help a little. I appreciate how carefully you read and consider words and ideas. You always add another layer of depth in your comments. Thank you.