It’s gone now; the barn torn down a few years ago and sold for scrap.
My sister and I snagged some awesome doors and barn wood before it was all sold and taken, so we have some physical memories as well.
On one side, there was a lean-to and giant doors between the silos, since the barn was built into the side of a small incline. The elevator to get the hay in during the summer seemed to reach up to the sky though, going through the highest window at the front end of the barn.
It was where my Bestemor and Bestefar stored hay and straw for the cows they raised when they moved from Norway to Wisconsin to farm.
It’s where an OLD plow sat, all metal and rust, with stories only it knew.
It was where I learned, at a young age, that what I thought was a giant rat is really called an opossum.
It was where I learned that opossums will not ALWAYS play dead if scared. It was where I learned what a Dad will do to make sure his daughter is safe.
It was where I learned chores from a very young age, probably around 8 to 10 years old. I learned to climb the ladder into the haymow from the barn below, learning to overcome my fear of heights in some situations.
I learned to confidently go fully into the dark level of the haymow before I could turn on the lights. I learned a dislike for electricity as I got shocked when using that light switch. I learned how a wooden stick was not a conductor, and was the best way to turn on the light without getting shocked.
I learned how to throw bales of hay and straw down to the barn below, using the chutes. I learned how to clear the chute safely if a bale got stuck and didn’t make it all the way down. I learned how to tell my friends about the dangers of the chutes and how to stay away from them when they came to visit.
It’s where my cousins and I would play house on a rainy day, climbing a long wooden ladder set at a 45 degree angle from the Wisconsin mud and grass outside into a warm cozy pile of golden dry straw. We would hang up our wet jackets to dry while we played house in our giant private playhouse.
It was where I got in trouble (I think I was the ringleader) for one of my favorite haymow memories. I think it was friends and my sister and brother. My cousins may have been there too. We made a “pool” out of straw. There was still a decent amount of rows, but there was a good distance from the rafters to that level of straw. The hay was higher and we could climb to the rafters from climbing up the rows of hay. We made a box or walls out of straw bales and used most of the bales that had already broken their strings by accident to fill up our “pool” with nice soft straw. We may have had to break one or two extra ones to help with cushioning, and that was definitely wrong to do, because broken bales in the haymow were harder to get down the chute and to the places in the barn they are needed. But man, did we have fun. We jumped off the rafters into the straw pit we’d made. I’m sure there were lots of giggles and squeals that alerted my Dad there was something odd going on in the haymow. I just remember getting in trouble for doing it. It definitely wasn’t safe to be jumping off rafters, but there are definitely worse things on the farm! Who needs a trampoline park when you have a haymow?
It’s where I graduated from unloading the hay from the wagons outside and sending it up the elevator to being inside the hot haymow, stacking the hay expertly in rows up to the highest points of the roof. We would take breaks in between each load, jumping into the pool to cool off, then struggling wet bodies back into sweaty jeans as we heard the tractor coming up the driveway with another load of hay. The chaff would stick to my wet swimsuit and skin, but it would be rinsed off again after the next load.
It’s where our dog “Puppy” kept her new litter.
It’s where I worked on my fear of heights when I would have to fix the giant mixer I was in charge of. We mixed the feed for the cows in a giant drum in special proportions of nutrients and that became my job. I had to stay up there and watch it all in case the silo stopped working or something clogged. While I waited, I would do mini workouts meant to enhance my soccer skills – step ups on a stump of wood were my favorites.
It helped me learn, gave me great stories to tell, and made me stronger.
It’s gone now, the haymow and the barn, but the memories are left, and what amazing memories they are!
I honestly, deep down, feel like I lead a normal life, but I also realize there are some interesting things I do. I remember very much disliking my chores that I would have to do every night (and mornings and nights on the weekends) while growing up on a dairy farm. To be fair I didn’t despise them all the time. But I do remember not ALWAYS enjoying them! My first clue into the whole “things that other people do are awesome” thing came from my friends and cousins when they would visit or stay overnight. They would come to the barn with me and help with chores. And they were always pumped to help. Like they thought it was the coolest thing ever! At first, I’d wonder if they were a little crazy, but then I would realize, yeah this is pretty neat and nothing like what they are used to. It seemed to always give me a new view of my mundane farm chores, and made me feel like the boring and tedious chores I had to do were actually something special.
So because of that, I want to share with you. I want to share my journey. Partly because I’m in an interesting place – not just my location being deployed, but also in my life. I’m close to retirement, newly married, and learning how to be a step-mom and integrate into a family dynamic that’s already established. I’ll very soon be working to pick up my derby skills after a year off, working to figure out how to combine two complete households into one, and continuing to work on a long distance relationship during our new marriage as I continue active duty service while my husband and kids are established where I grew up. Another part of me enjoys writing and sharing and I figure that even if no one reads this, I’ll have a record for myself and my family. I absolutely love heritage and family history and I feel like this is a great place to capture that.
I would love it if you all to get involved too. If you have questions, please feel free to ask. I have a comments section and you can contact me via email as well through the “Contact” form. Maybe your question will become the topic of a new blog post! You are free to disagree with me about what I post and share – that’s completely normal and I expect everyone to have their own opinions on different topics. I do have a rule though. I expect everyone to treat each other with respect on my blog. I will not tolerate name calling or personal attacks.