I think my fog dance is busted. Maybe I added a shimmy when it should have been a shake. Or perhaps my October operating system is on the blink. It seems to be a trade off this year. My monster cereals were easily accessible and they rereleased the old ones. But soy pumpkin nog is nowhere to be found. The corn maze is saved from drought and soldiers on, but there is no fog. I have had many, many pumpkin spice lattes, but not one caramel apple. Yup, it's official, my October mojo is on the fritz. I haven't read hardly any of my October magazines. The October books I have been dying to read were not all that great. I haven't watched most of my October movies and I totally missed the 10 day countdown. Now I have to squeeze a months worth of awesomeness into six days. I've said it before and I'll say it again, October just needs to annex the worthless month of November so the fun can last longer. Whew. Glad I got that out of my system. I think it is the threat of snow and the fact that people have Christmas stuff up already that is making me cranky. But enough about all that, let's get on to the important bits.
One of my favorite October things is old stuff. Of course being a history major and curious in nature that doesn't really surprise anyone, but October old stuff is the coolest. There are old, crumbly houses, ghost towns, dilapidated barns, castles, caves, graveyards and creepy museums. I love the history of October. I love the fact that in small East coast burgs they celebrate that history and it makes me want to move there even more. I love all the old stuff, but in the interest of brevity I will only focus on one today, barns.
There is just something about barns. I love the color. I love the shape. I love it when they are shiny and new. I love them even more when they are only held up by dumb luck and duct tape. Old barns can speak volumes. They are places of work, play, rest, contemplation, imagination, life, death, warmth, shelter and community. Good barns always have a tractor in them, a hay loft, stalls for animals, a tool corner, pitchforks, thick rope, windows, big doors, and enough space to host a dance.
I think the passage of time is etched into the wood that makes up a barn. Barns have seen life go by, and been present for it in all its incarnations. I have a few pieces of art that are made out of barn wood and I can spend hours lost in contemplation about what life they have seen and been a part of. Did this owner have to get up and milk cows? Did a teenager sneak their first kiss in one? Maybe a rather adventurous soul jumped off the loft into a pile of hay. Maybe this barn was a shelter for members of the underground railroad or Jews fleeing from Nazi oppression. Perhaps this barn was part of a barn raising and not some prefab thing. There are all sorts of things to imagine.
My very favorite barns are the ones that defy gravity and logic and simply refuse to go gentle in to that good night. They lean and creak and look like one really good sneeze could send them toppling. But still they stand. They lean a little more, the wood loses more and more of its luster, but it gives me hope. It makes me want to live my life like that. Still standing no matter what life throws at it. Even burned barns leave a silhouette on the landscape. A patch where they once stood.
I know barns might not seem very October, but when you think of harvest and the sight of a barn against a backdrop of fall leaves, you might change your mind. Barns are full of possibilities and that to me is the perfect October qualification.
No comments:
Post a Comment