I saw a painting of a old barn while broadcasting our Faribault Coaches show at Faribault Interiors last high school year and purchased the painting for KDHL Farm Director Jerry Groskreutz.  I gave it to him yesterday and he said he never had a red barn on the present farm site.  His grandfather had one down the road.

I did not grow up on a farm but visited many when I was younger.  My Dad would let me ride along on his milk route once and awhile and we would stop by many farms.  He would let me have some milk from the tank and promise not to tell my Mom.  Frankly I don't think Mom would have cared.  Maybe it was his way of seeing if I could keep a secret.

I don't know why old barns are fascinating to me.  They don't have to be red either but admittedly red is my favorite color.  Here is a quick poem I put together about barn memories.

I remember as a teen playing basketball on the floor of a barn hayloft.

We played in below zero temperatures, I know to some it may be daft.

We didn't have any concept of time and only went in the house when called for a meal.

Then it was right back to the barn for more shots, rebounds and maybe a steal.

I was Doctor J. and my friends were other famous players.

When we played football there would always be a Gale Sayers.

On another friend's farm we played army in his barn or pretended to be cowboys.

This was all imagination work with no specific toys.

A stick might be a gun or possibly a knife,

It was fantasy imitating what we thought was real life.

I can close my eyes and still smell those old barns.

Imagine if they could speak how they would spin some yarn.

There would be some cow manure smell but it never bothered us.

Unless you would mistakenly step in it and then probably cuss.

The wood provided a smell that's hard to describe.

I recall the building had it's own vibe.

Maybe long ago somewhere far away.

I had a barn and did more than play.

That may be why I love seeing old barns in the countryside.

My mind wanders when they are falling apart with nothing inside.

I think of all the life inside those walls in the time they were used.

Not always serious either, often bemused.

Barn Painting I Gave Jerry. Photo by Gordy Kosfeld