62 NEBRASKAland • MAY 2016
rooster at all – it went to an antique
store and was sold.
Some barns, when they were beyond
saving, were burned – cremated –
the remains pushed into a hole and
covered. Some were burned by small-
town fire departments for practice.
Structural lumber was salvaged from
the best of them – better quality lumber
than sold today. Was wood harder then,
denser, more pounds per two-by-eight,
not fast-grown lumber from tree farms?
Or did it harden with age?
Why are photographers drawn to
deteriorating, rusting, rotting and
decaying old buildings? Are they
a metaphor for our own lives? Our
inevitable decline? I've known old
couples who saw they could make
it to the end without painting their
house one more time. Perhaps it was
a new house when they moved in.
They were so proud to own it, along
with the bank. Perhaps it was their
first house. Where they raised their
children. Where babies were born and
old people died. Where once it was
"home." Where grown children and
their families returned for large and
raucous Fourth of July and Christmas
celebrations. Where there were more
places to hide Easter eggs than the
grandchildren had who lived in town.
Now the hinges on the screen door to
the mud-porch are rusted and squeak
because no one has oiled them for
years. The door handles children once
kept polished by their constant comings
and goings are dull.
