A friend of mine is in the planning stages of building a new horse barn. After several “can’t you see it?’s” of the different layouts, my friend has taken her plans, along with my suggested changes, and run. So, when her barn is unorganized and only fits five of her six horses comfortably, I will not be offering an extra stall in my neat and tidy barn, no sir!
Dreaming of building the “perfect horse barn” my entire life, I started with tinker toys, gradually tapered into an erector set, and in the sixth grade received the blue ribbon in art class, not for etched flowers, but for an impressive drawing of a red barn with a three-rail white fence as far as the eye could see (or to the edge of the paper).
When it looked like my dream would finally materialize, I purchased a thick drafting tablet and no one in the house ate or had clean clothes for a month until the perfect horse barn plan was completed.
Using about five cans of white spray paint on the grass, I sprayed out the actual size of the barn foot by foot, complete with doors and hay storage areas. I didn’t realize the particular brand of paint I was using was waterproof and soil proof, so, to this day, there’s a big square of un-built barn in faded white on the north edge of our property.
Bringing my budget and plans to the builder, I soon sank very low in the chair. The automatic water spigots would have to be erased, along with each horse’s personal turnout area. The builder shredded my page of connecting hay storage and penciled over the private skylights above each stall. Asking the fellow if flowers planted in front of the barn were allowed in my budget, I sarcastically drew a square box on the back of the tablet and handed over my check.
With just a few days to go until the engineers arrived to erect the world’s most perfect horse barn, the site had to be cleared and leveled. As a “non-horse person,” Ed argued with me long into the night about taking out an oak tree that I was sure could stay and he was sure had to be chopped down as it would interfere with the front sliding door. Saying goodbye to the image of brushing my horse in the shade, I saw that all that was left of the tree the next morning was a three-inch stump. Now, if the tree would interfere with the sliding door, wouldn’t a big fat stump be just a tish problematic as well?
Seeing the huge truck coming down the road loaded with barn materials, I grabbed the camera to record in history forever and ever Emily’s barn-raising.
When the workers introduced themselves as Tom and Joe while asking where to place the building, I asked right back where the heck the rest of my barn was! On a flatbed truck totaling a foot high was the entire barn package, resembling a bed-in-a-bag from Target. Producing the receipt, I showed Boss Tom the total on the bottom while pointing to the total load on the truck and asked him if he could add. The stare-down that followed was a little uncomfortable, but both fellows backed down to take a little break, sitting on what was left of my oak tree.
Assured by the builder on the phone that all paid-for materials had been delivered and my barn would soon be raised, I hesitantly gave Boss Tom the go-ahead to start.
Watching from the back window of the house, I could see right away that worker Joe was not in his element as the first post sagged to the right and then toppled over onto the oak stump that should have been a tree. Looking for Tom to crack him one, I sprained my neck, ducking as Tom walked right by outside my secret viewing window and tinkled! How dare he!
The barn was taking shape by the next afternoon. The posts were in and, from what I could measure with the level at midnight, they were straight. Using binoculars the next morning, I counted the times Joe missed a nail, denting the roof, which raised my blood pressure to new heights. When Ed suddenly asked from the doorway behind me what I was doing, I jumped and cracked my look-out window with the spy glasses, which, in turn, about put me in the emergency room with a heart attack.
Four days later, Tom tapped on the glass of my peeping window and asked for a final inspection before they left. Crawling on my hands and knees to the front door, I sheepishly looked out while pretending to dry my hands with a dish towel.
As I viewed the barn up close in the daylight, Joe shook his head and kicked the stump that should have been a tree as I hugged the closest corner.
With the delightful engineers finally out of the way, it was time to open and close the front door to show Ed how wrong he was to chop down the mighty oak. Catching the stump corner by just a tenth of an inch, the door worked fine as far as I was concerned, and we argued until the cows came home over the tree removal.
I went out at midnight with a flashlight and an ax so Ed would see the next morning that removing a tree against Emily’s wishes required removing the stump as well.
It was a really, really tough phone call the next morning asking Tom to please come and repair my damage to the front barn door…