I have only been alive three decades, but even in this short time I have seen bank barns that were once sprawled across the countryside, adding to the scenery of rural living, slowly declining in numbers or becoming completely irreparable as the years pass.  Simply put, they are vanishing before our eyes.
 
Chances are never missed when driving near or far, to scope out the landscape and enjoy the farmland, scattered with farms from various commodities.  As new barns are built everywhere, it brings a smile to my face to see that some modern day farmers still choose to keep the old barns in fine care.  Just like computers and phones change annually, agriculture has modern technology that has made farming a lot easier and production more efficient.  In some cases it makes more sense to tear it down, sell the barn board and beams to those who repurpose, and re-build out buildings that work in this day and age.  However, most farmers hold onto the past and love the aesthetic value of an old bank barn, just like I do!  If they can repair and make use of it, as well as expand their business with new buildings, they will.   In most cases, the ones we see falling down are ones that have been sold to developers or the land that was once the home of a family farm has been bought out by a farmer that just frankly needs the land.    
 
Visiting a farm that still puts an old bank barn to use brings me a tremendous amount of joy.  As soon as they stop being used (generally for livestock and crop storage) they slowly fall apart, the walls begin to cave and the stones begin to shift rapidly.  If they can be turned into event venues or on-farm markets these are often quite popular to the public.  They hold a quality that is rarely seen any longer.  The post and beam framing is historic and the buildings were handmade by groups of men local to their area.  I often stop and become a nosy passerby, snapping photos of these beautiful buildings that were built solely by teamwork, while pretending I don’t see the “No Trespassing” signs.   
 
When dining at a restaurant or perusing through local shops, I stop and look at the repurposed furniture that graces many places: the beam benches and barn board tables and wall units that have been created from past pieces of a bank barn.  I can’t help but wonder all the animals and people that have touched that wood and if it was from a barn that I once passed while driving through the province or countryside!   
 
I will be long gone, but hope that someone will stop a hundred years from now and smile at our old barn still standing with all its beauty. 
 

Every Monday morning at school we do a “Community Circle,” otherwise I have 20 plus little mouths running over to me saying “Guess what I did this weekend Ms. Bunnik…?”  I have to restrain from doing a talk to the hand gesture and rather invite them into the room, take a big breath, remind them we will have time to share soon enough and with a smile I redirect them to home reading and agendas and other necessary parts of our Period 1 morning routine.  I could resort to jamming my head in the storage closet and uttering quiet curse words, but then I feel little fingers tapping my back repeatedly and saying my name (also repeatedly, as if I did not hear the first 5 times).  I would rather take them head on! 
 
This community circle is supposed to be about them, of course, so I often try to skip my turn, but they let me know that I forgot to share (every time!).  Now, since a couple months of school have passed and we approach Christmas, they seem to know what I am going to say.  Rather than saying “What did you do Ms. Bunnik?” they now know and ask “Did you clean the barn again?”  I nod my head and tell them indeed I did, then try to add in a few other details that don’t relate to manure and dust.  They laugh and love to hear my barn stories (especially when the horse jumped the fence)!  It’s a world they will probably never know in their urban setting, so if I can bring a little agricultural knowledge to their 6 year old ears, then I will. 
 
In that moment of thunderous Monday morning footsteps I question why I became a teacher.  I love to hear their stories, but not all at once.  There are a few students that are wise beyond their years and understand to wait, but the rest bombard me like a flock of chickens wanting vegetable scraps.  The routine I thought we established in September and October disappears on those Monday mornings.   This chaos that is ever so close to giving me a heart attack is also what I treasure about the profession.  I am delighted that they want to know about my furry friends and barnyard excitement. As well, I want to know what excites them, their weekend adventures, what makes them curious and proud… but just “not yet!”      
 
They sometimes ask if I ever get sick of cleaning the barn and I joke and say with a grin that the animals don’t talk back to me.  Of course, those few students that are wise beyond their years know exactly what I am implying and giggle – trying not to look at those individuals that wreak havoc in the classroom!  This Monday morning I will be able to tell them that not only did I clean the barn, but I also cut down the Christmas tree from the back forest, turned the big 30 years young and celebrated with the horses and a large carrot cake!