The generation was good in its beginning, but many lost the way to sloth and, face it, self preservation. Job, car, house, children...It may improve.
I moved here thirty years ago, from a suburb where I lived next door to the farmer who sold his land to the developer who built my house. I loved Gus. He took care of his wife until she died. He moved to Tennessee, to live with a son. I got one post card from him, in pencil, in old man writing: I miss you. Love, Gus. I never wrote back.
When I moved here, I was in the middle of farms, or golf courses that once were farms. And I worked, and paid for a house and a cargo van. When I retired that weaving job I took up as township fiscal officer. I began to pay attention to my township, once farms to its corners, with a tiny village in the middle.
I noticed most the barns. We had cow barns and horse barns. I think more horse barns than cow barns, because there were many gentlemen farmers and summer residents here, with ponies for the children. Between two large industrial cities.
Even as I noticed them, the barns were deteriorating. I began taking pictures, because I knew what was happening. I've posted enough barn pictures to bore every one of you to two deaths; that's not today's purpose.
Today Laura and Kay are out hiking the last trail to earn the staff and badge. When they get back, Laura and I are going to a play at the Weathervane Playhouse. Afterwards, supper somewhere with spaghetti and meatballs.
In the meantime, I went down the road and took a picture of the fate of one of my favorite barns. This barn was in Northampton, annexed by and now part of Cuyahoga Falls, the city creeping up the road.
I don't know Northampton's history as well as Boston's, so I don't know the farm. I do know it became a clay pigeon range, and that development was stalled for about ten years of picture taking while the soil was remediated from lead shot.
People must have somewhere to live, I remind myself often. The Preserve at Salt Creek. Now, that is ostentatious, unless they're accounting for all the saltpeter in the soil.