barn revival

a few befores and afters

view from the top We're often referred to as "lucky" that we can do all the work ourselves.

I strongly disagree.

Lucky would be having such deep pockets that we could hire the most exorbitant, extravagant contractor from Dubai.

Thou...even if I were the wealthy love child of Donald Trump or Bill Gates...I still wouldn't change a thing.

There is nothing as satisfying as seeing your hard efforts and lofty ideas take a permanent form.

To look at the stones and know that my hands were the very ones to press them together.

Gawk at the hardy beams and know your shoulder pressed against them until they were fixed in place.

Poor hubby is the unsung hero...like the writer of a song sitting silently in the wings as someone else gives it voice. All his tiresome work lies behind the walls or under the earth. He sets the footings, structures the walls.....all his toils entombed behind the aesthetics of paint and stone.

On numerous occasion I did notice him archiving his name and date in pencil in hidden nooks...I suppose in high hopes to someday be revealed again on the next centuries restoration.

Dedicated we were.

Aching backs and all....even if it meant one held the chainsaw down as the other pulled the starter cord....a sad yet, humorous sight.

And no room scardy-cats here. You quickly learn to master your fear of heights. White-knuckeled, no-nonsense , dizzying, drunken heights.

So stone for walls and floors was delivered from Champlain ...or plucked and from the yard...old beams recyled...discarded telephone poles hoarded...new doors constructed..windows replaced...paint slathered by the gallon...the icing on the country cake.

So enough of the fanfare and ode to me.

The real warriors are the ones who grew this relic out of real sweat. No electric tools, no hardware stores no cheating. Real craftmen.

There names and stories are lost in the dirt and shavings.

We are just a couple of Johnny-come-latelys. The least we can do is maintain and honor what they started... if not for our own selfish love of barns...