We have an old barn at our Mountain Farm.
The agent had said, "Look at that old barn. Isn't that charming?
Can't you see it painted red? Wouldn't it be neat to fix that up?
What do you see in there? Horses? Alpacas?"
The first night we stayed at our farmhouse
after the purchase,
We woke in the middle of the night to a mighty, thunderous boom.
We walked through the house, attic, basement trying to find the source of the loud noise.
We went outside.
Nothing.
"I guess somebody shot somebody."
"Or maybe a bear."
We went back to sleep.
The boom had been the sound of an ancient enormous oak falling on the top of the old barn.
A neighbor stopped by the next day,
"When did the tree fall on your chicken house?"
"What tree?" we asked.
"What chicken house?" we added, confused.
Turns out our old "barn" was an old chicken house.
Not a barn.
We walked down to the chicken house.
The oak had
Smashed half of it.
How sad.
That chicken house stood there for 50 years.
Until we bought it.
Omen? I wondered at the time.
Five years later I know
it was neither a sign nor an omen.
It didn't mean that the farm hated us
or that we were making a mistake.
Now we call it "The Chicken Barn."
And we do dream of painting it red
And fixing it up.
And making music in it.
Yes, a chicken music barn.
Everyone will be invited to come over and jam.
Every Saturday night.
And dance.
But no drinking or smoking.
Just bluegrass and country and the Avett Brothers.
And James Taylor.
I can't wait to make a trip back up to the Farm to spend some time
contemplating banjos, chicken barns, trees, creeks, rocks, skies, birds, apple trees, meadows, grasses, autumn, and omens.
And the unsmashed half of The Chicken Barn.
