Beautiful Barns

I just read an article from the University of Iowa's The Daily Iowan newspaper, on the disappearing barns of the Midwest. It cites their declining usefulness and the expense of upkeep as the causes for this. I have fond memories of playing in barns, when I would ride along with my dad on his sales route to dairy farms.

Awhile ago, I wrote about "helping" my dad do his work on dairy farms. I wrote "Dad's Truck" for a class, back when I was going to the U of Iowa. Here's what I said about barns there:
"I’d lay the parts on a rag and let them dry in the sun while Dad finished the service job and I explored the farm, with a warning to stay off the fences and away from the corn bin. I listened, as I was a good girl, and would head straight for the barn to search the musky hay loft where summer swallows careened closely over nests of mewing kittens and in winter, cattle shuffled and lowed below, huffing warm puffs of visible breath from their velvet noses."

I remember being jealous when kids who lived on farms would tell stories about swinging out of the hay loft on a rope. It seemed so dangerous and exciting; I wanted to do that. For "town" kids like me, the immensity of the barn inspired an awe on par with the feeling of being in church. Not until I visited a city did I actually realize that buildings existed which could dwarf the size of a barn. That probably sounds silly, but as a child, pictures of those city structures didn't produce much of an effect.

Reading the article in The Daily Iowan made me realize, once again, that somehow I have become old enough to witnes changes in the physical, social, and economic landscape of my home state. I was in high school in the early 70's, when farm commodity prices were high, land values rose, and a relatively small farmer could make a good living. Life on the farm no longer consisted of long hours of back-breaking manual labor as tractors with enclosed, air-conditioned cabs and ergonomically cushioned seats pulled implements that plowed and fertilized wider and wider swaths of ground, and huge combines did the harvest work. Livestock feeding and watering became more mechanized and eliminated the kinds of chores that kept farm families close enough to home to get back to the farm at least twice daily to perform them. Entire generations of animals were born, raised, bred, and slaughtered without ever setting foot in the mud of a sty or feedlot.

My sister, who was nine years older, experienced a time when farm kids were teased for coming off the school bus smelling like the manure on their shoes after doing early-morning livestock chores. When I was in high school in the early 1970's, most of them arrived in better cars than the "town kids" owned, smelling like the rest of us. They could participate in after-school activities and compete for after-school jobs, as the work on the farm required fewer hands. They had more spending money and fewer restrictions, as their parents, having been raised in the previous generation, were conditioned to trust them with the adult-sized decisions required of farm kids. Their parents didn't know much about setting a curfew; in their generation you'd have to be crazy to stay out late or drink beer to excess, as the wake-up call for morning chores came at 4 a.m., and no one cared or took up your slack if you were tired or hung over. Life in rural Iowa had changed.

Things changed again, in the 80's, when prices began to fall and failure to meet the payments on large, high-interest loans was becoming a big problem. Those who had over-mortgaged to buy more land and the latest equipment had the most trouble. More and more of the wives, and eventually the farmers themselves, took jobs in town to supplement income. Those unable to meet their obligations defaulted. Kids who had previously grown up with no other intention than to work an inherited farm often went to college rather than gamble their futures on the instability of markets and the weather. Farm auctions were commonplace; those who had the means bought up land and equipment and the corporate farm was born.

I started this post writing about barns disappearing in the Midwest. Their declining numbers is a symptom of all that has changed on the farm, as their function served a way of life that no longer exists there. Even though it means I'm getting older, I feel so fortunate to have had actual barn experience. Anyone who has, knows: Barns are beautiful.