Barn raising, barn razing, barn reminiscing.

While 2012 winds down, I'm pulling back my focus to look at the big picture (more details upcoming...). But I'd be remiss if I didn't comment upon a recent event that meant a great deal to me - both as in the lead up to and after the fact.

If you've ever admired the old Swedish barn in the background of this blog's old-timey template, you might appreciate a bit more detail. It was built in 1890, primarily by Simon Danielson who was my father's mother's uncle - Granduncle or maybe Great Granduncle...I might be missing a generation in there and I'm not entirely sure of the term to use. Nonetheless, I spent countless hours working and playing in that barn as a kid. From the house I grew up in from the age of 10, that barn was within view. Whenever anyone looked toward the western horizon, there she stood watch - massive, weathered, grayish-yellow-and-brown. I don't know anything about architectural physics, but the weight of the upper levels seems to have tested the lower structure's integrity greatly. It was obvious to anyone who saw her in the last few years that the sideways lean toward the town road had become precarious. To hold the inevitable in check, she was strung through by five load-bearing cables. For a while, the epic, virgin-timber bones of this grand childhood neighbor had moved to a shifted but stayed position.

Well, that is until last week.

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