Complimentary Story
Barns... you smell that? Ain’t nothin’ like the smell of an old wood barn! So go ahead and get ya a big Ol’ lung full of that…Man o man, ain’t nothin’ smells as sweet as an old wood barn! Hay in the loft, cattle in their stalls, feed in the pans, corn in the crib, leather in a tack room, tobacco in a stripping room. Man that smells good, smells like…“Farm living is the life for me!” Come-on you know that old praise tune!A barn never sleeps. Field mouse in the corner, king snake a slippin’ in, ol’ tomcat over there on the prowl, rooster a crowing, barn owl up in the rafters, jersey cow chewing her cud, wasps on a nest, Charlotte on her web, early morning sunlight filterin’ in through the cracks. Ever seen that? Man, just look at all that dust!
Barns... built to last, made to stand longer than most houses. Now my grandpa had three barns. A cow barn, a tool barn for his implements, and his big barn. Boy, that’s the barn that I liked, that I remember the best, growing up in Kentucky. For it had big shutters on the sides that opened and closed for curing tobacco that was hung inside it. The big barn had a little bit of everything in it, but mostly housed the good stuff. It was always the center of activity on the farm, and where my grandfather kept the good stuff…his favorite and most prized possessions. Like his “Farmall, an old red International Super A McCormick” tractor and a green GMC flatbed truck, complete with cattle racks that my Uncle Bill, who worked at a Chevrolet dealership, had restored for him.
He kept some old leather harnesses and tack around too, from what he called the “old days,” that had been passed down to him from his father, when they’d worked the fields behind a mule. And yes, a twist or two of his own home grown Kentucky burley tobacco that he’d occasionally chew, that dripped down the side of his cheek…good Baptist deacon that he was!
Barns… I miss those old wood barns, they’re disappearing you know!
And when I die…don’t scatter my ashes to the four winds or bury me in some out of the way forgotten graveyard and write some fancy words about me on my tombstone. Just put my ashes in an old blue mason jar with a new lid on it, and set me up on some dusty shelf in an old wood barn amongst the rustin’ Velvet and Prince Albert cans, filled with nails and screws, skeleton keys, glass doorknobs and ol’ lost tractor parts — so that when some other curious and adventurous youngster is exploring his grandpa’s barn, he’ll pick me up and say to himself… “Now, I wonder what this is?” And then proceed to pour me out and use the jar to catch fireflies in!
“So honor the Lord with all your substance and with the first fruits of all your increase,” and folks if you’ll do this, then you can count on the promise…
“So that your barns will be filled with plenty, and your wine presses will burst out with new wonderful tasting wine,” ...or Welch’s…according to your denominational preference!
