I love barns. There’s just something about them that makes me feel warm and safe and calm. I think it might be because it brings about an idealized scene in my head that represents a simpler existence. A simpler way of being.
There was a period of time when I was dead set on being a farmer. I was a little kid, and my family was on our yearly vacation. We were driving through, I believe, Virginia, and I noticed a solitary barn in the distance, set a ways back from a beautiful farmhouse.
I announced that I’d love to be a farmer and live all the way out in the country. No one really took me seriously. Continue reading
The Procrastinating Writer 