It's not my best shot of the little barn. It was the easiest to pull up when I wanted to write this post.
I can't tell you how many times I came down my road, slowed down at the curve and pulled over to the side of the road to take a picture of this barn.
Not the one on the right of the shot but the little one in the center. Sometimes the wind would have blown a shutter open on the right side and I would get such a great shot, a great contrast of the deep brown against the blue sky or morning mist and fog.
It wasn't falling down. It was actually in pretty good condition I thought. Apparently, the owner of the land hasn't had any interest in his attempts to sell the land and buildings. Maybe he thought if he removed one of the outbuildings it would sell better?
One Monday morning it was standing and by the end of the day it was gone. I drove by, looked over at it like I always do, stopped the car, backed up and sat there dumbfounded. I now know how a person actually looks when they use that word.
I don't take pictures of bright, shiny, well kept barns.
I'm glad they are loved. I'm happy for them. I need to take pictures of the barns that are disappearing, falling down, neglected, unloved and for what ever reason are speaking to me. I'm not alone. I know there are other people out there taking the types of pictures.
The barn is gone. I don't know it's history. I do know that I have a file folder of the most beautiful pictures of this barn. I know that when it was built it was needed for the economics of that particular farm. It had a purpose.
I'll be putting my photographs of it to a new purpose, in my art.
I'm still sad that it is no longer standing.