We took many before pictures in case our memory starts to fade. We can tell the tales of cutting calves with Dad, when the black bull crashed the fence, when the red bull crushed two gates and how my miniature horses babies were weaned here.
It was like removing a member of the family. No longer can we look toward the barn and see this creation of Dad's mind and the art he applied to the construction.
Sadly, down it came. Bridge ties set by hand, farm milled timber and cedar posts.
Nothing will be wasted. Ties will be used in flower beds, hitching posts and gate posts. The lumber will be trimmed and used to repair the barn. The roof is going to be recycled into a cover for the mineral trough.
And Beverly supervised the Kubota King. We had to level the spot a little since we needed room for a forty foot round pen.
Doesn't look quite level here but it is usable and complete. Not near as pretty as Dad's pen was.
Now, I have no excuse not to work my horses.