What is it about barns, especially old, run down, paint-gone, forsaken ones?  Why, when I’m in the middle of too-much, too-loud, too-busy, do I long for an old, quiet, isolated, musty barn in a huge, painful way?

Photo by Alon Eshel

Is it because they seem like a beloved grandparent with enough time, focus and peace to wrap an arm around me and just let me “be;” no rush, no worry–with the perspective of a long life well-lived that makes my present, temporary pressures melt away?

Even as I just click through images of old barns from around the world, the barn-magic works.  I feel my pulse slow, my focus realign to the more solid, steady pace of a simpler day-gone-by.

Reminds me of the barn where we kept our horses when I was a kid–burned down long ago

I have a feeling my mansion in heaven will be a salvaged barn with sunlight shining down through sparkling dust motes and ancient rope loops hanging from rusty nails in faded, work-scarred walls—perhaps with the occasional barn owl flapping through a high, open door and a gray-striped tabby kitten chasing hallucinations across the floor.

Similar to the barn I hung out in when growing up–it’s now fenced in–grrr.Heavy sigh.


Click the link at the top of the page to order your copy of Chana’s novel, The Rapha Chronicles, Book 1: THE FALL

Only $10 now!  (Help her clear out the first printing from the defunct publisher and start fresh!)


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