I grew up in a house across the highway from a dairy barn.
Actually I grew up in a house across the highway from THIS dairy barn.
For the first 23 years of my life, this was the view from our front porch.
And if you’ve ever been near a dairy barn, I don’t have to tell you about the “aromas” that often wafted across that highway to our house.
The barn is in the background in this picture of me with my doll baby stroller.
When I was growing up, an older couple lived in the house on the farm; the man worked at the dairy. I remember many afternoons riding on the tractor with him when he went out in the pasture to round up the cows for milking. The sweet, innocent summers of our childhood…..
On a recent trip to the mountains to see the fall foliage, I said to Motor Man: “Ooh, look at that barn!” more than a few times. Each time, he’d pull over to the side of the road, so I could take a picture. He’s such a good husband.
And we have plenty of barns in our area. Of course, we don’t have these mountains for a backdrop.
Yes, this affection I have for barns must have something to do with my childhood. It must be the memory of those summer afternoons.
It certainly isn’t the memory of the wafting aromas.