On the top of a small hill stands an old barn. It once stood proud, made from oak with a shiny new tin roof. Rotted and rusty, it now only gives a glimpse of its busy past.
Once the neglected barn knew much activity. The Old Farmer was up every morning before sunrise to milk and feed the cows.
Here, calves were weaned from their mother. Feed was kept in the grain containers for the pigs, horses, and chickens. In the summer, hay was stored upstairs.
The old corral that once held cows waiting to go to market is now only filled with half grown trees and a trough that waits to be filled.
Inside the barn door hangs the coat of the Old Farmer who hung it there in his last winter of 1983.
In a nearby stall, the horse collar hangs on the wall, waiting to be placed on Bessie or Maude for a ride into town.



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