Old Barns and Memories

October 1st, 2010 at 3:04 pm by under Mark Allen's Journal, WTHI Blog

I love old barns.

I’ve been noticing them more lately, maybe because I’m watching them disappear from our Wabash valley landscape.

For those of us who grew up in rural America barns hold some special memories.

Here’s a brief list of some of mine.

  1. I spent countless hours in our old barn with my most prized ever Christmas present, a horse.
  2. It was out behind the barn that I smoked my first cigarette.
  3. Stacking hay bales in a barn was when I knew for sure what suffering and hell must be like.
  4. A fond memory I must not talk about here.


Barns were the heart of every farm.

Now they’re victims of age, too old to maintain, and honestly just not needed for farming as they once were.

A while back I did a story about old Wabash valley barns.

You can check it out on our website or click here.

By the way, if you have a special ‘barn memory’, I hope you’ll share it with us.


2 Responses to “Old Barns and Memories”

  1. Angela says:

    I too have great barn memories. As soon as I old enough to feed that cows I was playing in the barn. It was built by my grandparents when they were first married and until 7 years ago still stood. I loved to play among the stacks of hay, it was warm and cozy in the winter and the cows would eat and listen to my problems. They never judged they just listened! I watched my cat have kittens there, I learned about the circle of life from that same cat. She would catch the mice and make sure she brought me one when I fed the cows. A gift for me I guess and she never seemed upset when I told thanks but no thanks. She always took it back. So I too love to look at old barns, they each have a story to tell. Of families working hard and kids often doing the things kids do in them good(and bad). The barns these days have memories but they don’t weather as gracefully as those old barns.

  2. Melanie says:

    Some of my favorite childhood memories are from my grandparents old barns. Growing up, I spent a lot of time at their farm on the weekends while my mom worked. They had a huge old corn crib with tongue and groove flooring and walls. They also had a large hog farrowing house and barn. The hay loft above the farrowing house was my favorite place to play. I can’t begin to count how many litters of kittens were born in that hay loft. The old hay hiker hook on the long rope made the best swing. My grandpa would probably be mad if he knew I used it for that. LOL I vividly remember my grandpa in the farrowing house, numbering the new litters of pigs. He’d ask me what number I thought the piglet should have, and he’d pretend to write it down. And then there were the days he’d castrate the piglets. 2 slits, and some blue balm. I didn’t stay in the farrowing house long on castration day, and I definitely did not let the dog lick my face that day. LOL! My favorite day was when the feed truck would come. The feed man would back up to the fence and pour a HUGE pile of feed into the feed bin. It was always a fun thing to play in that new pile of feed. I learned so much from my grandpa out in the barn.