I've tried to write this post 4 different times over the course of this week. And countless times in my head. For some reason I just couldn't quite feel what I needed to say. It wasn't coming out right. I kept doing something with the words and the story that made it feel differently than it should. So on the fifth try, I'm just going to say what happened.
On Sunday Tom took me to an old barn.
It's a small thing, driving up to the crackled boards of a deserted building, but I have been squirming to get my hands behind the lens of a camera on an old farm forever.
Jessica is a writer and amateur photographer in Lincoln, Nebraska. She began writing after the birth of her second child when she found she needed an outlet for her creative energy. Soon after she began taking pictures, and since has used her blog as a "canvas" for pairing her unique photos with poetic writing. She finds inspiration for her writing through her husband and their two boys.
Sometimes I build these things up in my head into grand endeavors, and they fizzle out into disasters. But not this time.
I was running on pure adrenaline, just breathing in the time warp of oldness that this farm was, and breathing out the brilliance of now, and this is my life right now, and I get to live it.
And I say this a lot, but seriously, what more could I ask for.
We were there for less than twenty minutes because regardless of how placid that smooth look on Teebs' face appears, it was cold. And the wind was gusting with a realness that wasn't driving me off, but reminding me that I was in a place that was sacred with history and it wasn't really mine.
And I knew that while these things were old now, there were boys just like mine here, among new barns and sheds standing crisp and tall with pride.
These old things were new. And there were people here living and loving that life. The power of that was almost eery.
But Bub wasn't necessarily gurgling with the same enthusiasm I was, my adrenaline was firing my insides with passion, keeping me warm. Bub was just content to watch his mommy running wild with passion from the warmth of the truck.
Teebs played along for a few minutes.
Partially stunned by the cold, and partially just curious what mommy was up to this time.
I know it seems silly. But it was a moment. A strong strike of a pen making a bold mark across a line on my bucket list:
Take Photos at an Old Barn
These are Tom's work boots. Inside the shell of a shed splitting apart at every seam. The frame was laying, with a tiny fate beacon exploding down on it, in the corner. That mix of old and new, past and present, history and right now----it just tears me apart with wonder.
Wonder and inspiration and appreciation. And wonder. Lots and lots of wonder.
I wanted to go inside the barn, but the eeriness was overwhelming for this city girl. Critters and creatures and things with more legs than I do make my skin crawl. And I was positively convinced that a huge, rabid barn owl was going to screech down to rip my face with his ferocious talons. But I had to know what it felt like in there. After a few walks around the outside, and a step in, and a leap out, and a slow peer inside with my feet firmly outside but my waist bent and my head poking inside---I went in.
It was instant silence, and instant beauty. Instant old and instant past. There were no words, no sound, no wind, but still gentle movements of ropes swaying and old hay squiggling in small twitches on the ground. For just an instant, a silent moment of clarity.
Just a second of braveness and calmness inside an old barn. And I let that confidence seep into my skin down through to my soul before turning around to leave.
And that's the story. That is the day we went to the barn. When for 20 minutes I breathed in the time warp of oldness, and breathed out the brilliance of now, and this is my life right now, and I get to live it.
What more could I possibly ask for.
Read more from Jessica at bubandteebs.com