Our barn is not a behemoth like some of the barns I’ve seen, but its smaller size fits its humble beginnings.
When my mama and daddy moved to what is now our Poverty Ridge Farm, they were two poor kids, Daddy just back from the war and Mama the daughter of a sharecropper. The year was 1947. Those first years they grew cotton, corn and tomatoes. In April 1950, Dad decided they needed a real barn to store the few tools he had, his horse equipment and the corn for the livestock.
A couple of fellas he knew were dismantling a portable sawmill just down the road. Dad stopped to ask them what they would take for an old pile of slabs. These were the “throwaways” when they would rip the logs into crossties. One fella said, “Fifty dollars.” Dad said, “I’ll give you 25.” “Sold!” Dad doodled that huge pile home a little at a time on an old single axle trailer he had made.
In between farming, doing odd jobs and attending GI school, Dad steadily built our barn, all by himself. Mama would often take my oldest sister, only 14 months old, when she would bring Dad lunch. Sitting on a blanket, they watched the barn slowly come together. The old cast-off lumber was so hard that neighbors from miles away said they could hear Daddy pounding on those 16 penny nails. He hand cut and nailed every board, none of it uniform, but somehow, he made it all fit together. Dad said about the nails, “Back then, you didn’t waste a nail. If it got bent, you straightened it out and used it.”
Using what he had available, Dad made a concrete mix using gravel he hauled from our creek over a quarter-mile away. He loaded it on a wooden slide pulled by our plow horse, Old Tom, making many trips back and forth. He hand-mixed the concrete and using cast-off wooden nail kegs as forms, he made the foundation forms for the main beams to rest on. It’s been 74 years and the barn is still standing solid – it hasn’t settled an inch.
Through the years, our barn has withstood storms, tornadoes, winter blasts, five kids, nine grandkids and 17 great-grandkids. It has held corn, feed, hay, lumber, paint, washtubs, cow medicine, saddles and tack of all kinds, plows, dozens of kittens, a newborn calf or two, an occasional opossum and a couple of skunks. It still sits just below the house and is a prominent figure in our family portraits and our everyday lives.
In the 1980s our beloved barn was starting to show its age, so Dad decided to give it a face-lift (at the urging of my brother Joshua). He put some newer siding over the original boards and added some loft doors and an entry door, protecting it from further deterioration. This was when I found out that the whole time Dad was working on the original barn, he was very sick. Years later, he found out he was suffering from bleeding ulcers and was able to get treatment. When I think of the things the “Greatest Generation” was able to accomplish in adversity, it is a humbling experience.
When we were growing up, our barn was a magical place. We spent many happy hours in and around that old barn and when my kids began exploring it, I shared some of my stories and hinted at the secrets they could discover inside, if they spent the time looking. Now, a new generation is exploring its nooks and crannies and making their own memories.
Our barn is not only a family treasure, it is a testament to my daddy’s thriftiness and ingenuity – an enduring legacy of the fruits of hard work, perseverance and love for his family.
Almost every farm family has similar stories to share. In this ever-changing world, those barns and their stories are like beacons calling us back to what makes our families and the land we work a firm foundation we can share with a new generation. What is your “barn story”?
Barn-Raising Buttermilk Biscuits
4 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ cup shortening
2 cups buttermilk
Mix dry ingredients and cut in shortening. Add buttermilk (use a little more if it seems dry). Scrape dough out onto floured surface and gently knead three or four times, until dough is not sticky. Press out dough in a square with hand – about one inch thick. Cut with biscuit cutter and place biscuits on ungreased baking sheet. Bake at 425º for about 15 to 17 minutes. Brush tops with melted better when they come out of the oven.
