Dear Editor:
By Nancy Mills
There’s a knot in my stomach
And a hole in my heart
In too few minutes, a neighbor’s barn,
An icon of the community, of an era
Was consumed by flames
The morning light revealed the blackened
ribs
The charred remains of a time now past.
So fragile is our existence.
A family’s inheritance
The symbol of three generations
Farming the land,
Of lives well lived
Growing corn, wheat and hay,
Raising horses, cows and sheep.
Where will the brood of hens,
Who cross the road to peck at bugs,
Where will they roost tonight?
So fragile is our existence.
A community’s identity
Standing proud on Jossman Road
Growing up,
The gathering place for 4-H meetings
Watching the daring ones
Climb the haymow to swing
From the rafters toward the open door
On a heavy rope knotted at the end
Gone are those carefree days
Do today’s children know such days?
So fragile is our existence.
An extension of Mt. Bethel Church,
For thirty years, the barn doors opened
To welcome neighbors and friends
To the Christmas Barn Services,
A live Nativity
Transporting us close to the stable
Where Jesus was born.
Where will they go this year?
So fragile is our existence.
A visual treasure of an era gone by
Traditional barns with gabled roofs
Or straight like this one
Once neighbors gathered to raise a barn
Guided by craftsmen
To build these aging barns
Now disappearing from the countryside
‘They can build another,?
said the insurance man,
A city man with no ties to the loss.
Sure, a pole barn can replace the space
But never recapture the life of 100 years,
How can we preserve the history?
So fragile is our existence.
So we’ll treasure the memory
We’ll savor the stories
We’ll share the pictures
Of a countryside once known
By the barn on Jossman Road
And the old folks will know
What we’ve lost can’t be reclaimed
By the new pole barn that will be built
So fragile is our existence.