The Barn. A Retrospective.


Am I the only one who finds solace in the warm comforts of a barn? There’s something about the way the sun filters through the roof slats that makes the magic waltz of dust motes seem another world entirely. True, some would turn their noses at the smell, but for those I feel pity. What a shame it must be to let a trifle thing such as acres of shit stop one from seeking the other, less smelly treasures that farms, and particularly barns have to offer. In fact, my barn is a place I find it hard to stay out of. During farrowing season, I’ve even been found curled up next to the warmth of a half ton hog, blatantly snoring, and my husband takes a great deal of offense to this. Maybe that’s the point? Just kidding. (I’m not really.)
Anyway, I think my problem is that I genuinely prefer the company of animals to that of people. No offense. (Really. Most of my friends have been categorized as at LEAST 1/8 animal, which explains everything.)
While others find the crow of the rooster intensely annoying, I find just the opposite. When the angry, intimidating, red numbers of the bedside clock smugly announce that I am the absolute last human alive on the face of the planet and that I will forever be ensconced in the prison that is my mind,  my dear friend Rudy (the rooster) proves 3am wrong with his own announcement. I am not alone. The haunting, lonely cry of my rooster in the middle of the night just may be the most pasifying sound I’ve ever heard. As long as the cock is singing it’s midnight melody, everything is taken care of. (Thought I’d pass up that opportunity,  didn’t you?)
And it’s not just the feathered fowl that make me feel at home. When the world has let you down, and “assholes” is the only word that accurately describes the human race, my advice is simple. Go and sing to your swine. They truly appreciate it, even if no one else does.
It is a liberating feeling to gain the trust of an animal that, frankly, could easily take your life. Even my boys are too grown up now to show the elation that my presence creates in the barnyard. Nowhere else am I that joyously received. ( Cocks excluded, of course. )
A warm muzzle nuzzle in the neck is just the thing to remedy a bad case of the winter blues.
So, when life gives you a swift kick, limp outside to the healing sanctuary of your barn. Take a book with you, a cup of tea perhaps. Snuggle into the warm embrace of the hay pile and take a deep breath in (through your nose. I dare you.)

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