Old Barns 1992

Old barns – nostalgic, stately and intriguing, are one of my favorite country things to enjoy.  If I were an artist, barns would be one of my subjects.  As we ride along the countryside and come into sight of one of these old structures, my mind goes into action – what treasures remain hidden within its walls?  What secrets and/or joys does it hold – or did it hold?

The Windy Knoll no longer has an “old” barn.  It was gone before we bought the property, but I have fond memories of Daddy’s barn.  Growing up alone here (without electricity and television), I remember whiling away many hours playing/lolling, with the cats, in the barn loft among the bales of hay and bundles of fodder.

One room in that barn contained the farm tools – plows, a planter, a distributor, a scythe, a cradle  (used for gathering grain) and various other tools of the trade.  Pick sacks used for picking cotton were stored there in the months of non-use, too.

Another room on the south side of that barn contained a sweet potato hill.  What pleasure it was to dig in that hill and bring out the juicy, red, sweet potatoes to be baked, or otherwise prepared for our meal.  It was on the side of this room that a hog shed had been built and it was here that the sow and her family lived.

The front shed protected the two-horse wagon from the weather.  Then to enter the “hall of the barn” opened up yet another world.  The various stalls were designated for the mules and the milk cow – and each animal knew which stall belonged to him/her.

I remember Old Queen – that slow-gated old mule that Daddy plowed for so long – resided in the first stall on the right.  She had gnawed most of one side off her trough.  I never understood how, as she had few teeth.

The stall across the hall was for our one milk cow.  When that cow was very young and inexperienced, and after her calf was born, she was mean.  My daddy built what he called a “break” – sort of a gate – behind which her feed trough sat.  At  milking time she was fastened in with the “break” to prevent the person doing the milking from being kicked.

I have never been a milk drinker, but my  niece, Bobbie, is and was.  When she would come to visit, she would go to the barn with Daddy to milk and he would twist that teat so that the milk went directly into Bobbie’s mouth! Gross!

At the front of the barn was the feed room and I can still smell the cottonseed stored there to be used for cow feed.  It was here that Daddy kept his dehorners – used for just that purpose.  Just inside the door was the large, dark-colored bottle with a long neck he used for “drenching” (giving medicine to) a sick cow.

How sad it is to see these old structures of history rot away and fall down, but such is country living.