The sun has just come up and now I can see the spot where I shot my first squirrel over 40 years ago.  It’s my third morning bow hunting for deer on the farm that I grew up on.   The landscape is much different here than my home in the south.  I’ve have been coming back every month now to help my mom.  To be honest at 82 she does not appear to need help, but dad has been dead over 10 years, and I think at times she needs to see younger life.

The last few months I have been able to clean things up around the property.  Dad was sick for 13 years before he died and lots of things had to be looked over to take care of him.  I can say coming in behind a person you love, and respect is a hard task.  As a son it’s bittersweet to touch things your father was the last to touch.

I posted several months ago how many of us store things in a box.  Things we keep to remember, things we are not ready to let go of yet.  On many farms anywhere in the world an outbuilding is where we keep the bigger things we are not ready to let go of yet.    Our barn was built in 1979 and so was our house.  Since then, the barn has seen many seasons.  It was originally built to store equipment and those things we are not ready to let go of yet.  There are those things we have big plans for one day when we get more time but for the most part a barn is built to cover and protect the things we cherish.

Since dad died, I walk in the barn and see his disorganized work bench, his rusted tools, and those things our family was not ready to let go of yet.  The barn has a dirt floor so dad would wire things to the rafters and walls to protect them from the sometimes-damp dirt. 

Two days ago, I pushed open the two large barn doors and gave the old barn some fresh air and light.  By mid-morning the roll off dumpster was delivered, and the task began.  Before I started, I looked in front of the barn where dads’ ashes lay and said, “sorry for what I’m about to do but I promise when I’m done your barn will be organized once again.”

Most of the task was not that bad.  Even though the barn is enclosed, many things inside had started to breakdown due to not being used or just lack of routine maintenance.  Once dad was sick, many different hands were hired to keep things up on the farm, but those many hands were not his hands.

I would work on the ground floor then climb the ladder and cut down the various things he had hung. I encountered the old rope wrapped around the rafters that I used to climb, between two heavy bags where I had made a homemade gym, where I would practice karate and lift weights.

I put a large stereo system in the barn and even though I was at that age where louder was better, dad never complained. As long as I played Phantom of the Opera.  I’m not sure where that music came from, but I remember him smiling when I put it on.

By the first day I had filled the first dumpster, so the dumpster guy brought me another.  My mom did not come up to the barn until the second day.  Though I thought that was odd at first, I started to understand her choice to stay away.  She walked in the barn and said she was looking for her dog.  I said, “she is over there trying to dig up that ground hog.”   She looked around and had very little to say.  I pointed to an old pink wooden highchair hanging from a rafter.   I asked, “do you know who that belonged to?“ She said, “that was mine when I was a baby.”  I said, “I know those are the wooden stirrers dad made when we used to make homemade apple butter over an open flame in those copper kettles.”  She smiled.

As the need to protect more things from the elements grew, we added a lean-to to each side of the barn.  By day two I started cleaning out the lean-tos.  They were open on one side, so they were never used to protect the things that really mattered.  By the end of day two the second dumpster was almost full, and I was almost done.

The sun is on me now.  The sun always feels good to me even on a hot day.   As I typed these words to you, I had a few deer come within shooting range of my bow.  For many of us hunters it’s not about killing.   It’s about finding a place where you fit in, or at least that’s what brings me here.  I enjoy the food that God provides, and I enjoy the work it takes to receive it.  There are days I’m content with putting blood on the ground but then there are days like today that tell me that I have seen enough blood. 

I take mom to church in a few hours, but I know when I sit there, my soul will be here where this place accepts me for the simple man I am. 

We all have barns to protect the things that matter.  We all have lean-tos for the things that don’t need to be fully protected.   It’s important for those things we have stored to receive the necessary attention and maintenance to remain functional.  It does not matter if it’s an object or just a memory.   We hold onto things because they matter.  Our family barn looks much different now.  I’ve prepared it for the next set of hands to store those things they are not ready to get rid of yet.  As I closed the doors and turned out the light, I observed the cleaned off work bench.  The tools oiled and put away.  I looked up at the clean rafters and saw the pink wooden highchair and the wooden stirrers.  Also on another rafter was the climbing rope.   There are just some things we are not ready to let go of yet, and it will be the task of the next set of hands to put them in a dumpster. -Josey