I headed out to the barn the other morning to feed Pumpkin the Goat, Smokey the Sheep, and our three hens and one rooster (the feathered creatures do not have names.) It was foggy out, and still. Even Pumpkin and Smokey, who usually bleat or baah when they see me coming -- they want to encourage me to get a move on and serve up their grain, pronto -- respected the quiet.
As I approached the barn, I noticed the elements of the photograph you see above. There is an external post that is part of the support structure for the sliding barn door, and we’ve hung an old bike from that post, creating what I guess might be considered a funky piece of decorative “art.” I pulled out the small camera that is nearly always in my jeans pocket and, as is my habit, made a visual note of the foggy scene.
I was reminded of a couple of images I shot several months ago when I was back home in Ohio visiting my mother.
Mom and I were driving through a rural part of the state, on our way to eat at a plain little Amish lunch counter that my mom enjoys very much. For about $3.95 there, one can get a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of soup, but it’s not an inexpensive meal that makes the lunch counter a favorite for us. Rather, we’re drawn by the place’s unpretentious, country simplicity. That lunch counter is a good place for Mom and me to reminisce, and to retell the sweet, often-repeated family stories that we share every time I visit.
There is also serious barn art to be found in Ohio and, when I drive my mother around, I pull over often to photograph perfectly maintained, new-ish Amish barns with clean and straight architectural lines and fresh white paint; or, more often, I take pictures of barns and farmhouses whose better days are past.
Mom is always good-natured about the stops I make, and, in fact, I suspect she’d be a little disappointed if I did not see things in my old home state that I’m moved to photograph.
Barn bling: I admit that I’m a sucker for it.
