so....it's a long entry today...for those that venture in, and for those that understand, no explanation is necessary....for those that can't find their way through, or don't understand, no explanation is possible...

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
     About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
       The night above the dingle starry,
         Time let me hail and climb
       Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
     And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
     And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
         Trail with daisies and barley
       Down the rivers of the windfall light.

The first building on the place was the "claim shanty," which is

visible behind the horses. It had been on the riverbank and was moved to the west of the house

and used as a "summer kitchen." It was small and probably put up shortly after the farm was claimed......

about 1882/3. After the garage went up (1925), it became the blacksmith shop.

It expired sometime in the 50s.

The house as i grew up knowing it.....where i spent many a new year's eve as a child, where i 

would find the fascinating tin toys to play with, where i actually helped butcher chickens, 

snowmobiled, sledded down the hill, talked on a party line (or listened, actually...)looked at 

the bottles in the porch filled with colored water, learned bits and pieces of german, 

ate many mashed potatoes and gravy surrounded by family, took my children to run, play, 

swing, build a treehouse, and where i finally spent a quite hour this past fall in each

room remembering everything.

end of the day, march 28th, 2008

the last room to come down, was the one i knew as my grandfather's room as a child - 

the grandfather for whom my son is named after - arthur john.  i have the salvaged 

door to this room, which i will have made into a wardrobe/armoire for my son.

  
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
     About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
       In the sun that is young once only,
         Time let me play and be
       Golden in the mercy of his means,
     And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
     Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
         And the sabbath rang slowly
       In the pebbles of the holy streams.

     All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
     Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
       And playing, lovely and watery
         And fire green as grass.
       And nightly under the simple stars
     As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
     All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
       Flying with the ricks, and the horses
         Flashing into the dark.

The original barn was built in that same time period and burned down 
in 1930. It was replaced the same year and while it was maintained 

all the while the farm was active, once it began to deteriorate, 

it seemed to go quite fast. 

many of my memories of this barn are from when i was older.  i didn't spend as much time 

here as a child.  my time was spent on top of the hill...however, in recent years, i 

have done several photoshoots here, taken my first self portraits inside, watched the dust

float on the light from hay last touched in the 80's, only disturbed by birds, and in my 

mind, this barn was the defining building of this homestead.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
     With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
       Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
         The sky gathered again
       And the sun grew round that very day.
     So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
     In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
       Out of the whinnying green stable
         On to the fields of praise.

     And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
     Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
       In the sun born over and over,
         I ran my heedless ways,
       My wishes raced through the house high hay
     And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
     In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
       Before the children green and golden
         Follow him out of grace. 

 The granary was put up sometime in the 1890s also and has always been 
one of my favorites. As it came down, I was surprised to see that it had been 

wired for electricity...... I don't recall ever seeing a light on in it. 

the granary was probably my favorite building in the last few years. it sits right in front 

of the new treehouse that was incidently built out of the smokehouse that was taken down

last year.  there is a beautiful charm about this building.  the front being weathered

and worn from time, and as i saw it this past winter, the backside still wearing it's

red coat, protected from the sun by tree growth.  i always found this building fascinating

and unknown.  i was never allowed inside to play in the grain...although one summer, my 

cousin john and myself wandered in....i can still smell the grain.  this is the building

that my studio will be patterned after.  i loved the angle of this building, and how the 

path around the corner gave way to a view of the meadow, and a lighted way into the field 

beyond.  it came to be my favorite location for shooting for it's texture, color, and the 

way the light fell on it.  it was the first to come down.

 Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
     Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
       In the moon that is always rising,
         Nor that riding to sleep
       I should hear him fly with the high fields
     And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
     Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
         Time held me green and dying
       Though I sang in my chains like the sea.  

So, the day is done.  as my uncle wrote in his letter to my family, 

"When Mark first told me that they were all coming down, there was a 
brief moment to come to the realization that it was best to put them out 

of their misery and have since been looking forward to this final day. 

Prepared or not, there was some emotion in the reality of all of them gone. 

In the next year or so, the sites will have grassed over, the trees will have 
been cleaned up, and it will look a lot like it did some 120 years ago...."

so we begin anew.  a replica of the barn is all ready to begin the building 

stage at the top of the hill later this spring.  it will be safe from the 

spring flooding of the river below.  several gardens have been in full swing

for a few years, and yield a giant crop of tomatoes, corn, carrots, beans,

peas, sunflowers, and all of the summer delights that i have come to know

as "home".  my uncle has the old corn crib in the process of renovation, 

and has moved it farther out into the field.  it's his personal "quiet" 

space, and serves as the only "original" building left behind.  we will begin

plans this summer for the location and building of my photography studio/house

that i just may retire to one day.  my aunt and uncle mark have plans to build

their house on top of the hill, overlooking the meadow where the barn once stood.

the treehouse still remains, and anxiously awaits my kids to arrive to swing and 

climb this summer.  my guess is that it's a lot like it was 120 years ago when my 

great grandparents stood looking at their land, dreaming of their own house, barn, 

and life that their family would have in this place.  and it's in this, that i find

comfort.

*poem - "fern hill" by dylan thomas - this will be the first thing i hang in my new studio, 

framed in salvaged wood from the barn. 

*excerpts of the farm report 1 - '08 courtesy of my uncle bill  :)