When the world was feeling settled, and the skies were clear, and the grass shone purely green, each board, each one, was laid upon this vessel, for its ride upon the earth.
With blue skies, a cool breeze, hammers at the will, and nails made of iron in leather sacks about the waist, the frame work made its way to touch the airy blue.
Laid almost horizontal, the roofing boards were placed , in quiet sixteen inches, from bottom to the top, a perfect span, with perfect wood, the length of this barns top. On four by fours, and six by sixes, and cross beams that made the stack a whole, to shiny and dull galvanized panels to keep the rain out from above.
The numbers of trees was great, with one by eights and two by eights, vertically challenging the weather, with tiny gaps, and steel roller frames to make the doors roll better.
It kept almost a century, proudly, clearly, and with only small fails.
When it died, it’s not so luxurious death, when it failed to keep the wind and the water free from inside, and when the boards began to split, and curl, trying to remove themselves from the nails of yesteryear, til rot and sun and wind began to eat at its stalwart manner, the men moved the equipment, they removed the ropes and ladders and buckets of steel repairs, and walked away, from this hulked mass, lying there, weeping at itself.
Ralph E. Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Chouteau, Oklahoma
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