This post is contributed by Barnaby Porter from his archives. Read the previous post here.
If I were not what I am, a man with expectations of a measure of civilized amenities, warm meals and running water, a roof and four walls and a heated space within, a lamp to read by and, perhaps, the means to record my thoughts, I do feel I could find comfort and contentment in the winter barn.
It has much to do with the whispering of hay, the fragrant stems and flowers of last summer’s fields, laid down by the sickle bar and brought in mountainous wagonloads to lie under the barn’s beams and rafters and eaves heavy with snow. Such a sweet-smelling abundance of sustenance – a winter’s nourishment and bedding, layered deep and mounded high in the loft – is the womb of contentment… and fodder for months of quiet rumination.
A barn looking south and east, with windows for sunlight to pour in, a plenty of fresh air, a tight roof and shingled walls, is what I have in mind. It should require, of course, an attentive husband to open the wide door in the morning and to shut it again at night against the cold and the blast of winter’s wind. His chores must also include lugging pails of warm water, doling out scoops of grain, refreshing bedding and, all-important, pitching fragrant forkfuls of hay down from the loft to the waiting beasts below.
And they are those furry and woolly and feathered creatures who live in barns everywhere, who chew their cuds and breathe steamy breaths, who munch shaggy mouthfuls of the hay torn from cribs, who scratch at its seeds under their feet, who shuffle through its knee-deep softness – make it whisper – and who luxuriate in its aromatic abundance. They are content with the whispering of hay, the warmth it offers, its promise of sleep.
If I were not what I am and were happy to stand in a sunny doorway by day, slow-witted and content to be so, I do believe all my requirements for comfort and quiet enjoyment of life would be met by this winter barn… just so long as someone came from the house each day to pitch down more fresh hay. It could snow all it wanted; let the cold night blow; no one need ever utter a word… just so long as there was hay and it whispered.
Artist and author Barnaby Porter has had a varied career in marine research, aquaculture, and woodworking, among others. Most recently he partnered with his wife Susan as co-owners of the Maine Coast Book Shop & Cafe in downtown Damariscotta. In October 2021, Barnaby completed his tenure on Coastal Rivers’ Board of Trustees after six years of service.
