These barns are good. . . .
good for carrying on important business,
good for storing things,
good for being the fragrant strongbox
of our memories. . . .
places where we played,
growing up forever.
(Our first born son, whom we call Tresy, has given me permission to reprint a card sent to us. He is the true poet in the family. A photo of a barn on the card had me ferreting out materials for the wall hanging. The trips back to The Farm when they were young had them thinking they were Farmers at heart. And we are. Whenever we feed body or soul of an Other, actually or by example, we are Farmers.)