Barns

My love for barns originated on my grandfather's farm ten miles south of Woodston, Kansas where I grew up.  Long before I was old enough to saddle the horses or milk the cows, I would play in the barn.  The hay loft was an especially cozy place on a wintery Sunday afternoon when there was too much snow outdoors to allow any playing in the yard.  Later, I worked hard in this  barn feeding the  calves, mucking out the stalls and milking the cows by hand, but it was an enjoyable effort because the barn was dry when it rained, quiet when it stormed, cool in the summer and warm in the winter.  To my young mind, the barn has always been a haven where one could work out one's problems as he prayed by talking to the animals; an island of security and order in a life in turmoil. 

In my 6th, 7th, and 8th grades, I rode a horse to school, so my day started with saddling up the horse, riding to school, stabling  the horse there, in school all day, and riding home in the evening.   The ride home often entailed a quarter mile race with a friend who also rode his horse.  Upon arrivng home, I took care of the horse, fed the stock, milked the cow, and battened down the doors for the evening.  I liked the barn.

Ever since, I have enjoyed  exploring barns.  When I retired, I toured the countryside taking pictures of barns, and preparing such albums as Barns of My Youth, Barns or the San Juan Valley, Barns of the Central Coast, and Barns of the West.  Now, it my hope that I can share some of my barns with you and let you experience some of the peace and order of a bygone era.