Postcard from the Plains

The old barn still stands, though its paint is fading, it’s roof is sagging and the old weathervane has finally fallen. It stands in silent memory of the prize Herefords that once filled its stalls. The chicken coop, 20 feet away, has collapsed to little more than a roof lying on the ground. And the sod house, the first home to the young pioneering family that came to tame the land, humbly sits in its original spot, marking the years.

Later, a new farmhouse was built to accommodate the growing family. The children grew along with the garden behind the house, and eventually left to start families of their own. After the youngest son married, his widowed mother moved to town. And the ranch has been empty ever since. She rarely visits anymore. At 82, the abandoned homestead only brings her pain. Pain for the life that it once held. A time when the family worked together to keep the farm running. A time when her sons tinkered on cars and her daughter sewed dresses to wear to school. A time before the bats took over her family’s home.

And the old barn still stands, keeping watch, waiting on an uncertain future. Or perhaps it’s a certain one. No man-made thing dares to defy the relentless weather of the plains forever.