That Old Red Barn
I still remember that old barn so red; a center point of my youth;
Pickle barrels in the cellar; cows on the ground floor and hay stored in the loft.
I rode the John Deere a thousand times in and out of her wide, always opened doors;
Plowing fields near and far, but with her redness never out of my distant sight.
She housed the cows we milked and the tools we used throughout the long, hard day;
And, she was our playground on those summer days when chores were done by noon.
I remember her beautiful, natural smell that our city cousins abhorred;
And, I knew every nook and cranny that I could hide in to get away from their whines.
We would swing on the rope out of the loft, landing on piles of freshly cut hay;
And, just lay quietly in the night with a cool summer breeze passing through her doors.
It was in this red haven that I birthed my first calf and learned how to set a broken leg;
And, it was high in the loft with my high school sweetheart that I first became a man.
The farm that housed that wondrous red barn is now a mall parking lot;
But, the memories of lessons learned within are forever blazoned upon my mind.
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