I stopped in my tracks quite literally, as the ancient wooden monster made itself known. Although I was into double digits on a timed run, I took a moment to take in the eerie sight and capture an image as well. It loomed to the right as its ragged silhouette stood harshly against the vanishing sunlight. I stared for a while, then jolted back to the task at hand as I ran along pondering the structure that had brought me pause.
It was a barn that I assumed had its first birthday long before I had my first. The rusted mangled sheet iron and exposed decaying oak planks held themselves upright with sheer will power alone. Most of the nails are rusted away as the years of nonexistent maintenance demands its toll. One would suspect that a good wind would send it to the ruble pile of its unavoidable destiny. But still it stands.
No portion of the exposed planes offered a respite from either wind or rain. It no longer served a purpose for the angus cattle around it or the farm that lay beyond it. Useless. Worthless. No longer an asset, but now a liability. An enormous edifice that had long ago served its final benefit to its numerous proprietors.
With the image emblazoned in my mind as my steps drummed a steady cadence into the night, I realized that someday. sooner than I care to admit, I too will be an old barn. No longer able to provide a service to mankind, some younger lad will probably run by and make similar observations. He will see only the frail and failing structure and the gaping holes in the gray matter of my roof.
No longer an asset, I will be viewed as a liability also. Not even capable of caring for myself much less providing for others. Wasting precious resources with no return. Useless. Worthless. Just an old broke down, way-past-his-prime, barn.
But this runner has a vivid imagination and thoughts were my only company this night save a few stray dogs that took a bit too much interest. Was the old barn worthless? My mind traveled back in time to a conjured tale of its origin. Maybe families for miles around had hitched up teams of mules to carry farm families to this location on the date of the barn raising. (Without modern equipment, barn building was a community affair).
In my mind they began at daylight with man and beast laboring together as the rough materials became more than their parts. At high noon they broke for a picnic style lunch under the shade of the timbers currently erected. At the end of the day, they gathered inside, tired, and dirty, but accomplished. In my version of these events, a fiddle was retrieved from a wagon and a dance or two christened the project.
Commerce then took place as calves were welcomed, equipment was stored, and hay was stacked. It was tidied up from time to time to host a wedding or family event. Children played in the hay until the dinner bell summoned them. The old barn must have stories, and odds are they are better than mine.
So, the old barn isn’t worthless after all. It will stand for something even after it falls. Peer past the current dilapidation and see the ripple effect of the lives changed, the crops gathered, the livestock tended. The value travels much farther than the shadows cast by this weary friend.
I trudge along towards the tipping point where my service to this world is outweighed by my needs. Until then, I will impact everyone I can. On that day, maybe there will be a few seasoned farm hands who look beyond the battered exterior and remember a deed of kindness that reaches beyond the second date on my stone. “He made a difference” they will say.
That is at least, the hope and mission, of this old barn.
