Yet I love barns, particularly old barns sitting dormant retired. There may be a rusty tractor parked outside, it to retired. The scene gets me to wondering what took place, when some family rose early in the morning to milk the cows, to tend to their chores, to give animals comfort and shelter."

Is it the old paint that brings me back to the time when it shined bright and caught the moonlight down its slats like a wave breaking on the shore? Standing stalwart and tall and defiant in a pounding relentless rain I can hear the wonderful sound of the raindrops on the roof, inside a concert of pings, drips and splats. Or looking majestic in a blizzard as it accepts nature’s new winter coat. And what about the people who built the barn? Who worked in the barn? For whom the barn became so much a part of their daily lives that they took it for granted. Who moved away or passed away and left the barn on its own. What connections did they make in there as they went about their daily chores? How many of them had a roll in the hay? Played games? Worked their butts off? Gave birth to new life? Tended to sick and to dying animals?
Took refuge from disappointment, from deep sorrow, from a disagreeable relative or neighbor? Or maybe to hide out and think? Or to chew on a piece of straw and not think? Did Norman Rockwell ever paint a barn?
If not, he should have.

As I said,  I have no idea what goes on in barns, but every time I see one

it gets me thinking.

" Tell us about your barn experiences."