Variation on a theme

I've told you how much I love barns, right?

I do. I love them!

I always love barns. It doesn't matter where I see them - on the side of the freeway, driving through a small town in Utah, in period/retro pieces of art and/or puzzles. (All true examples of where I've seen and loved barns.)

But my favorite barns are the barns from my childhood.

Check this out. It's in my Top 5 Favorite Barns of All Time. Why? Because I totally used to sneak into it and play for hours on end when I was little.



Yup, I said "sneak into it". I was totally not allowed to play in this barn. My mom didn't know I was there, and the owners didn't know I was there, either. Do you see the little door, on the right side, about a third of the way up the wall? Yeah, that was on hinges, and I'd totally open it (with a nail or a sharp stick, if memory serves), throw my school bag into the hay and then crawl/shimmy my way up the wall of the barn, then I'd throw myself into the barn and disappear from sight.

The day that the Pearce girls caught me in there was one of the worst days of my life.

It's true. In fact, I may even go so far as to say it's on the list of The Top 5 Worst Days of My Childhood. It was super traumatic. The oldest sister was wearing beaded/braided barrettes in her hair. I remember, because her hair was long and dark and shiny, and with those beaded barrettes, I was afraid she was gonna go crazy on me and scalp me or something, like her Indian ancestors. (The irony? She was caucasian. I don't think she had an ounce of Navajo blood in her. But her hair was long and dark and shiny, and her barrettes were of a south western motif and I had a pretty powerful imagination - as I'm sure you can imagine.)

Anyway, I had to stop playing in the barn after that day. (The thought of possibly being scalped is a scary and motivating thing for a girl who freaks out over the sight of blood.) But I never stopped loving the barn.

Here's another pic from a different angle.



Ahhh... Weathered barn wood with ivy crawling up the side. Does it get better than that? I think not.

Home. Barns. Memories of the day that I literally (okay, figuratively) escaped with the hair on my head. ... I love them all.