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When I see an old barn, I feel a sense of nostalgia. It’s as if I’m coming home. I imagine the day when neighbors, family, and friends gathered together. They worked to build the barn which was integral to the survival of a farming family. Like a swarm of bees, they used their cooperative energy to "raise the roof ". A barn raising was an important community ritual. When you stand in front of a barn, this beautiful maternal structure welcomes you through her doors and underneath her protective roof.
A barn is a temple of sorts; a haven in times of war, a comfort in times of sorrow, and a warm place during winter storms and pounding rains. A barn is a place of birth and of death, a place to make love, a place to lay down one’s weary head in a bed of straw. Through generations, the barn still stands.
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