Work on the Barn

We started building our barn 3½ years ago with a nice, tidy plan: finish one-third each year for three years. We just finished the second third, so technically… we’re crushing it. Based on how things go around here, I’d say we’re even a little ahead. We run this place on what I like to call the “pioneer productivity scale”—we’re not behind, we’re just historically accurate.

Meanwhile, we’re on year 9 of our 5-year house-building plan. So now we have the rare and magical combo of an unfinished barn to match our unfinished house. That’s not poor planning—that’s commitment to theme.

The barn will eventually be 36'x36', but my husband had this brilliant idea to build it in thirds. First, a 12'x36' section. Then another 12'x36' section facing the first, leaving a nice 12' aisle in the middle. Then we’ll connect the roof and tear out the temporary walls. You know, eventually. Someday. Before we die, hopefully.

Anyway, we just finished enclosing the second section—in the middle of a north country winter, because obviously. We've had a pretty tame winter so far, but the day after we got the walls up? Bam. Snow. Because the weather has a sixth sense for when you finally put your tools away and go inside for hot cocoa.

Good thing we finished in time—nobody wants to be up on a snowy metal roof. That stuff’s slicker than a greased pig at a county fair. Snow slides off that thing like butter off a hot pancake—and so would the person standing on it. In this case, it would’ve been my grandson Nate, who was up there climbing around like a caffeinated spider monkey. Jim and I? Oh, no. We’re well past our roofing days. These bones are more “gentle rocking chair” than “leap onto scaffolding.” We leave the high-wire acts to the young folks who bounce instead of break.

The sheep and goats, meanwhile, will be thrilled come baby season. They’ll finally have a nice new maternity suite, and I won’t have to move 87 bins, six totes, and a suspicious pile of mystery parts from the old section to make room. That alone is worth its weight in aspirin.

And yes, I am fully aware that this pristine, empty new barn space is just a ticking time bomb. It won’t stay clean or organized for long. By next year, I’ll be standing in the middle of it, arms crossed, trying to sweet-talk Jim into connecting the two roof sections. “Just a little more space for the babies,” I’ll say.

And he’ll know full well I mean the goats… but also the rakes, the hoses, the feed bags, the wheelbarrow that lost a wheel in 2005, and that antique chicken feeder I swear I’m going to refurbish someday.

But for now, I’m just going to bask in the glory of a half-finished barn that smells like fresh pine and promise. And try not to trip over Nate’s monkey gear.