The Old Barn

A sad sight is our old barn, sitting empty now and going downhill . The empty stanchions where tall Jupiter, with her sharply defined black and white patterned sides stood, third place down on the right, Anne with her big, soft eyes, and June, solid black and endlessly patient with my girls doctoring of her hooves and udder. The empty mangers once filled with sweet hayledge and grain and soft, fragrant hay. More hours spent here than in my home, for sure, endless cups of coffee and conversations with Dan, planning the day during morning milking, reliving the day at night milking. Tricycles raced up and down and calves learned to lead. Hours were spent finding the longest piece of grain and hoeing the cows. The finest preschool and playground. And look up that silo. The greatest place to yell “Hello!” and hear the echo. No unloader here, climbing up to the top and forking down frozen corn by hand, every day, door by door.

The frozen concrete smells of an empty barn.

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