April 2021--Weathered, crumbling, and beautiful just the same
A barn is one of the true pieces of Americana that means something different to so many. And its true beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To some, a crumbling, deteriorating barn is nothing to look at, let alone save. To others, it's the keeper of a time gone by and it's beautiful.
To a farmer in North America, it’s a place to house livestock and equipment, or serve as storage for grains and hay. It’s also where farmers could complete their work protected from the elements. To the animals, it’s shelter from pending storms and a place to lay their heads at night. To the tobacco growers in North Carolina, and elsewhere, these barns represented an income as they used the flue-cured barns to cure their harvest.
To me, and the many who are as equally obsessed, barns represent a time and place in North America when life was much simpler. Well, simpler compared to today’s standards. With each year that passes, more and more old barns are torn down--either making room for a new, stronger structure or for a parking lot to meet the demands of the latest shopping center.
With each barn I come across, I visualize people plowing their land and heading back into the barn at day’s end, early mornings milking the cows or baling hay. I envision large gatherings of people laughing and having a good time as those barns probably were the local hot spot for square dances and other social events. If those walls could talk, oh the stories they would tell. There’s so much history in those old barns.
So many have deteriorated and now only are housing run-down equipment and an assortment of debris with exteriors hardly visible as the vines are all encompassing. But there still are many standing on what are considered working farms. I’ve curiously read a lot of articles about barns only to be bummed about the inevitable: pre-1960s barns are disappearing at an alarming rate.
They are an endangered species. According to an article by Danae Peckler, an architectural historian from Fredericksburg, Virginia, less than a quarter of America’s working farms have a pre-1960 barn. To quote Peckler: “Historic or not, it is well past time that we started bending over backward to thoughtfully record and catalog the old barns and outbuildings that dot our farms from sea to shining see.” As for the North Carolina tobacco barns, these historic structures that represented a bygone culture, at one time exceeded a half million across the state. Now it’s maybe 50,000. Probably less.
I have sporadically photographed barns as part of my obsession with history and as part of my fascination with these structures. I haven’t done anything more than that and I haven’t done anything overly productive with my photographs. I guess in my own little corner of the world, I feel like I’m doing my part to preserve this dwindling piece of Americana. At least in my head.
I know I haven't done what so many other across the country are doing and that's documenting and cataloging these barns for posterity. And many belong to the
National Barn Alliance. Read what they're doing. To me, it's fascinating.
My new neighbor, Nancy--a wonderful woman--put together a great route and joined me on the trek to find new barns to photograph. We spent hours driving the back roads of western North Carolina stopping whenever one of these beautiful structures caught our eye. First to take photographs of the warped and weathered wood, the shapes, the sizes, the doors—some opened with a pull; some with a slide, and the tattered roofs—some sloped on both sides; some provided an evenly, flat covering.
I’d just stand and stare in awe. I’d wonder how this structure was used, who it belonged to and what happened inside this barn. I’d think about the people who gathered there and imagine the joy it brought to the owners on the day the building was complete. I picture these people brimming with pride as the fruit of their long labor produced a functioning, necessary component of their life—their trade. I'd admire their craftsmanship--tested with each plank nailed to another.
Now it stands vacant and home to nothing more than field mice, snakes, insects and birds. That makes me think about how these owners felt-- the emotions going through their minds and hearts as they left the premise taking a final look at the structure that played an important role in their life—in providing for their family.
There is some solace in knowing that for many of these old buildings, their wood is being repurposed into new tables, desks, benches and other furniture, wall hangings and miscellaneous décor. So, in a sense, the life of the barn is being extended. Not wholly as before but in pieces that delight their new owners. Part of me hopes their excitement is brought on by knowing they own a piece of the past—a treasure. Part of me realizes that isn’t the case for all.
But as each barn crumbles, so too does a part of Americana. And I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before there are none to be found.
Take it one day at a time...
jodi marneris
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