Days grow shorter; temperatures drop; the first
flurries of the season fly by … it is a time for looking back, a
time of taking stock. One hates to see the new year approach
without feeling a sense that something was accomplished in the year
One of the bigger accomplishments around here this year was
restoration of a 100-year-old barn. It is a traditional horse barn,
though it’s been years since any animal (other than the cat fleeing
from the dog) has sought shelter there. No stalls or bins remain;
no interesting nooks or crannies. The haymow is intact, though, and
is a good place to stash things you know you want to keep but don’t
need to put your hands on very often. Next spring, we’ll be up
there again, hanging a restored hay carrier under the peak.
Not only has it been years since the barn was home to animals,
it’s been years and more years since it was last painted. “That
wood’s so dry it’ll suck the paintbrush out of your hand!” crowed
And there were lots of observers. Just as Rome was not
built in a day, the barn was not painted in a weekend. The project
proceeded at a leisurely pace over the course of a year. Some
onlookers marveled at the structure’s height, a point of little
interest until you prop up a ladder and get nowhere near the eaves.
Others scoffed at technique: Why use a brush when nifty high-power
sprayers are widely available?
Because I am stubborn. Because I have more in common with
Wilford Brimley than you’d think. Because I like being nose to
wall, seeing paint soak in to bleached wood. Because I like shoving
the brush’s bristles up under the battens and making sure there are
no missed spots. Because, really, how else could you paint a barn
that turned 100 years old this summer? Does it not seem just a bit
callous, almost disrespectful, to spray something that’s stood
solid through 100 winters?
Rumor has it that the next “big” project ’round here will be
relocation and restoration of an equally aged one-room
school-house. Unlike painting the barn, which tended to be a
solitary activity, this project has already attracted interest from
a small army of men who sense the opportunity to spend a weekend
playing with heavy equipment. But I won’t be lost in the crowd.
I’ll be the one with the 5-gallon bucket of white paint and a
Leslie McManus, Editor