The Barn Collective

Barns. Dad loved them. He loved the farm and all things related to it. As a young man he dreamed of having a farm of his own.

Not long after Mom and Dad got married they moved to what in later years was referred to as "the farm," but it wasn't theirs. They were just the hired help. After a couple of years on the farm, their savings had been spent and they were tired of living in the drafty old tenant house with little to no hope of ever getting ahead. They moved back to Rochester and Dad took a job in the city.

As a child I never knew life on the farm, not really. But I did catch a bit of the bug from my dad who had all kinds of wonderful stories and Ideal Magazines. And it was Dad who would take us to visit the farms of his relatives scattered across the southern tier of NY state. As a very little girl I fed a little lamb with a baby bottle, searched for kittens in the hay loft with Dad's cousins, and witnessed the birth of a calf in the milking barn at Uncle Joe's. I learned to love the smell of manure, fresh hay, and sweet corn on the stove. I tucked the memories away and every once in a while I pull them back out to savor.

In adulthood my husband and I bought a little farm tucked int he apple orchards of Wayne County NY where we finished raising our seven children, grew a vegetable garden, kept a few cats and dogs, and tended a dwindling flock of chickens. One season we had a tractor in the barn, and one spring a few ducks a friend had incubated as a school project. Mostly I chased children, my own and the children of others. We enjoyed long orchard walks, dark starlit nights, and camp outs in the back yard. A little dream come true.

I'm not out on the farm today, but I am forever grateful for the time I had there. More memories tucked away. Memories that can make me sad if I let them, but should really make me smile because they are so very wonderful.

It looks like it might rain today. Come on over and take cover at Tom's and add your own barn photos to the collection.