I joke a lot about burn piles, especially suggesting I make them too big and they might be visible from the moon -- or at least the neighboring towns. This weekend, I had one that -- despite its spectacular flames -- was steeped in some sadness.
Much of the contents of the pile were the siding and parts of the old brooder house my grandfather and great grandfather built out of a granite shed being demolished. It was 1946, my grandfather had just bought the farm with my grandmother, and they were starting a chicken farm. They needed a place for the chicks, so the two men -- a city boy from the Bronx (my grandfather) and an engineering professor (Charlie) -- assembled a one-story, flat-roofed barn that was about 40 feet across and 95 feet long. It looks like a runway from the air.
Flat-roofed barn? Yes, but it has lasted for more than 50 years -- or most of it has. The back end finally started to rot away, and rather than tear the whole thing down, I made a strategic cut in the roof, reinforced the walls, and salvaged a large part of it. The rest is being disassembled and discarded.
It burned too well. And it made me more than sad. I felt a bit guilty, but glad that the barn will sustain another generation with me.
