Just up, inside and past the gate, the barn stands, upon its last legs, staring its wanting stare, on ground so precious to its heart. Built by Dad and Grandad it captured the work around us.
The purple wild flowers cover the land, in solemn yet bright remembrance of the working barn, the working fields, of the working Meadows.
With cattle around the barn staring out at forever , and sheep to be sheared, horses inside, bridled and stalled, a roost of chickens bouncing their necks and feet, pecking for corn and you could find the two peacocks, one who could change the look of the world by displaying all of his long feathers in a royal flourish.
The road was still there from the gate. Constantly leveled out and the weeds swept down, by the tires of tractors and pickups, and trailers being parked, and then moved and moved again.
Shearing the sheep seemed to be fun work, with Grandpa and Dad snatching them up and cutting, to my little brother and I, climbing in the shear sacks, and packing that fresh hair down to get more in the cleaned bag and the sheep ending up looking naked, but smaller and cooler from the work just done.
The road is grown with those purple flowers, sitting in perfect silence, and remembering that barn of old.
Ralph Peck
Photography by
Eileen Meadows
Outside of Grove, Oklahoma
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