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It wasn't an old red barn, but actually an old white one. The paint looked faded and worn through, but then it wasn't paint at all, but really a thing called white wash, and it was very weathered. You could see the raised wood grain through the white pigment. And some of the boards were warped a bit, but those huge timbers that held up the roof were a foot thick, and they weren't going anywhere soon. They built them well back at the turn of the last century, cause they didn't know any other way to do it.

The barn was built into a slope, so the bottom floor opened out onto level ground, and the big door on the opposite side of the second floor, the hayloft, also was a ground level floor. The cattle lived on the bottom floor, which was surrounded on two sides by mother earth, so they stayed cool in the summer and warm in the winter. And that cavernous hayloft, which was big enough to swallow your house, along with the Winnebago and the yacht, and still leave room for your pool table, was used to store hay. My summer job, in addition to some shoveling of shit and sweeping of floors, was to fill most of that space with hay bales, stacked twenty some feet high.

Flatbed semi-trucks arrived almost daily through the heat of the summer, packed high with tons of sweet smelling hay bales. The elevator, a sloping contraption of a conveyor belt carried the bales from the truck up to a large window high on the barn wall, and dumped them into the loft. The bales weighed 80-100 pounds each, so you avoided standing ...

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