On May 27, 2021, the Barhite family barn burned unexpectedly and quickly to the ground. My nephew, Lance, together with his wife, Kelsey, had recently restored the barn my grandpa built.
My brother Steve was the first to see flames boiling out the back of the barn. He and Lance did what they could and moved equipment out of harm’s way, but the 70-year-old barn could not be saved. Beside the barn was the family’s thriving garden. The hoop building melted away and much of the promising crop for Barhite Produce was destroyed. Two fire departments answered the call, but there was little to be done except protect the newly remodeled house. The fire, stoked by a strong wind, was so hot that some of the siding had already melted.
With deep sadness I watched the smoke billow away from the ruins of my grandpa’s barn. But I was thankful, too. There were no injuries or loss of human life. Because the family farm matters to my brother and nephew, something new will be built on old foundations. Later that evening, I wrote the following to my nephew and his wife:
Dear Lance and Kelsey,
There are a great many “growing up” stories about my grandpa’s barn. I have memories of activities inside and out with my grandparents, brother, and cousins. Lance, you have childhood stories, too. And a dream. That dream became reality as the two of you poured yourselves into restoring your great-grandpa’s barn for your own family business. The fact that you would do this brought great joy to my dad, your grandpa. Can you count how many times he drove out to see your progress? Do you realize that by wanting to bring life back into the barn his dad had built, you paid your grandpa an extraordinary compliment?
Standing next to you this morning, I said my own sad good-bye to what may have seemed an ordinary structure to most people. But the two of you saw it for what it was… a barn built by a man who had only a little money but a big respect for family, agriculture, and honest labor. Generations were blessed in the shadow of that barn.
Do you remember, Lance, what you asked my dad just a few days before he died last November? You wanted to know what he would like to see accomplished on the Barhite farm. You asked, “If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?” His thoughts mattered to you. But your thoughts–and what you will do with those thoughts–mattered to him. Your grandpa was content knowing that his grandson would do right.
I’m thankful that your grandpa didn’t have to watch the barn burn today. But if he would have been there with you, I think I know what he would have done. He would have turned to you, his dear grandson, and with just the hint of a quivering voice, he would have said something like this: “It was a fine building. But only a building. It is gone now, but the character of my dad who built that barn lives on in you.”
Lance and Kelsey, you will look out where that white barn stood and mourn its loss. You wanted your sons to grow up in the shadow of that barn. But who knows the plans of the Lord? Who can imagine what He has in store? My grandpa never intended to move away from the farmstead of his dad and grandpa. But a Depression hit hard. And a war followed. Doing what was necessary, your great-grandpa settled his family in a new place. In time, with a small inheritance from his mom, he built a barn.
Life is like that. Settling… and unsettling. Building… and rebuilding. Adjusting… and readjusting. I am thankful the two of your want to raise your sons on the family farm. And I have every reason to trust that God will continue to show you how.
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