It was there when Dad was young and he said it was over a hundred years old then. You can see the marks the hand axes made as they cut the log into a square timber for the barn. Each piece was cut to fit together like a puzzle, no nails needed because each added weight held it together more tightly.
It is sad to see it dying though it has taken more than a hundred years, there are only a few pieces left from the ravages of time.
The barn was used when he was a child but as long as I can remember it has only been a shadow of what had been. With Daddy's stories, I can hear the axes and the shouts of men as they raised the barn, timber by timber.
It is sad to see it go, now covered with mosses and lichen with insects eating the meal within the last logs. It is good to know, it shall feed the earth again from where the first tree was cut.
