There was a tornado in Michigan the other night.
We went on a country-drive to check for any possible damages to my uncle's house- an old farm house passed down to my mom and uncle from my late great aunt Margaret. Someday it will be passed on to my brother and I.
The farmhouse didn't appear to be touched by the tornado, so we ventured into the barn. When I was a kid I had always wanted to go into the ol' barn, but was never allowed due to it's inherent instability. The shingles blew off in a storm awhile back, leaving the rafters bare, and allowing the rain free-reign in the rotting arena. Groundhogs have rigged up a booby-trapped, tunnel-infused floor, perfect for unsuspecting, clumsy-folk like me. Barn swallows swoop through broken windows to reach their nests, nature's hodge-podge equivalent to paper-mache. Light seeps in, revealing old doors, abandoned milking stations, and an old cookstove, among other things. I hate to see it decay.
I think this is my next project. We shall see what comes of it, if anything.
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