The Little Rainbow Barn

The first thing the little barn knew was the sound of the fiddle. As the sharp clear notes glided through the rafters the barn began to awaken and creak as dancers skipped gaily across its floors and the sounds of laughter reverberated off its walls.

The night was dark and chilly but inside was warm with the heat of happy woman chattering in the corners, of men smoking their pipes, and of children weaving their way through the crowds and stealing food from the well stocked tables. Slowly the little barn began to settle down as it listened contentedly to the sounds of the party.

Soon the little barn found the that life does not only consist of celebrations: there are cows to milk, chickens to feed, machines to fix, a farmer to do it, and a barn to protect them.

There was also the farmer’s wife who seemed to take care of the farmer and sometimes the little barn as well. Some days she would come to sweep the floor and  hum the songs from the barns first night. He loved to feel the bristles of the broom as they scratched across his floor and her humming as it vibrated off his walls.

Everyday was new and exiting for the barn. Little animals came and examined this new structure, staring inquisitively and cocking their head to one side in wonder. Soon the leaves on the trees started to change into reds and oranges until the barn’s rough coat of red paint seemed to fit right in. But even more exiting was the snow when it began to show its crystalline face.  The farmer and his wife sealed themselves in into their little house, only coming out to feed the animals.

And so started the little barns first long winter and the snow fell and formed waves piling up around the barn, the wind blowing it up into the windows and dancing around the house like the wildcats who’s golden eyes glowed at the edge of the forest as they thought hungrily of the animals sealed safe and warm inside the barn cuddled together in the hay giving the little barn their warmth and companionship.

Some nights the barn would see people coming to visit, carrying lanterns and wearing so many coats they hardly looked like people. On those nights he heard snippets of chatter and occasional bursts of laughter from the little house. Sometimes even hearing the notes from a piano or the sound of voices singing.

Eventually the snow began to melt and the birds began to flock to the trees loudly proclaiming the coming of spring even before it seemed to remember its duty to arrive. Mud was soon replaced by grass, wind, by a pushy little breeze that helpfully plucked the last few stubborn icicles that hung from the little barn’s roof.

The farmer and his wife were out and about again, only this time, they weren't alone; there was a baby girl now. She was small, so small it made the barn feel awkward and clumsy. Only than she gurgled up at his wooden beams and began stretching her fingers musingly up at them with a look of the greatest interest on her face. And the little barn knew that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and that they would be good friends.

That summer he watched her grow as he watched the farmer plow his fields. Soon summer changed to fall and the little barn buckled down for another long winter. When spring finally appeared, so did the little girl for she was walking now and soon she was running exploring the little barn’s nooks in which she fit perfectly.

Summers were filled with daisy chains. Autumns found her gleefully catching falling leaves. Winter, expeditions into the deep snow followed by a cold but dedicated mother. Eventually it was time for her to learn to read and the little girl and her mother sat on the barn floor in the late summer shadows and carefully worked through the ABCs. And so the little barn learned the magic and power of words.

Early that winter some men came in a car and took the farmers wife away and she didn’t come back for a long time. She returned as the spring was starting to shake the snow off it’s back. She seemed sad and no matter how the little girl pleaded she refused to come outside. It seemed there had been another baby only this time he hadn’t made it. Nothing could to induce her to leave the house.

It stayed like this for weeks until one day the little girl and her father left and when they came back they had many cans, cans that soon revealed their contents to be many colors of paint. The next morning they started bright and early and painted through the whole day and by the time they both completely covered in it they stood back to admire craftsmanship. And now the little barn was officially the colors of a rainbow and when the farmer’s wife saw it she smiled and came out onto the lawn.

Now the little girl could read all on her own and as the years past chilly Autumn afternoons became the little barns favorite time of all because it was the time she would read him stories. Ann of Green Gables, Luisa May Alcott, and Treasure Island led to Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Bronte, and Milton. The little barn now discovered the power of stories; happy stories, sad stories, stories of adventure, and stories of loss and loneliness.

Those were the days the barn sat, mesmerized, as he listed to the sound of the girls voice weaving a tapestry of human history with her words.

Some days the girl would tire of reading and would take out her violin to play. When she had started scratching out baby tunes on the strings the barn barely recognized the sound of the instrument he had heard the first night, but as she grew so did her music, the violin’s voice becoming pure and strong and the little barn loved these quiet times more than anything.

One day the little girl left and when she didn’t come back the little barn was left alone with only walls filled with stories and beams seeped in music to amuse himself as the years wore on.

One summer the crop wouldn’t grow and the farmer began to sell the cows. The farmer’s wife looked tired and worried and the only sounds that floated from the kitchen window were the noise of arguments and fighting.

The next spring the farmer cut down the apple tree. His wife begged him not to. She tried to stop him but there was nothing she could do and the whole thing was cut to pieces and men came and took them away and payed the farmer for them.

Soon after things started getting a little better; the farmer bought the cows back and the farmer’s wife started selling butter at the market.

And finally the girl came back, only this time she had a little girl of her own. Eventually some woods were cleared and a little house built and a new apple tree planted. And as the apple tree grew bigger each years so did the little family. Now there were two children, now four, now five. The farmer’s wife now had babies to rock and cuddle and coo at and there were daisy chains and tea parties for the little barn again.

But one night the little house began to spark and it burned as the girl and her children sat on the barn floor and watched the men try to put it out with buckets.

And the little barn remembered that good things never last forever as the girl and her family got in their car and drove away. And then he knew it when men came with a big black car and took a coffin from the house and the farmer came out and put his head on the apple tree for a long time. And then, placing his pipe squarely between his teeth, he got in his care drove away and never came back.

Slowly the house began to crumble, as did the old barn. Years of wind and rain and sun beat down on his roof and his paint began to peel and fall to the ground in dusty piles. Even his stories seemed to leak out of him and he could not remember the sound of the little girls voice. Now he ached and creaked and waited, for what, he could not tell.

But one day, it came. She was wearing an old back coat and her hair was silver, her hands wrinkled and worn bur nevertheless strong. Slowly she stepped into the decaying barn and put a violin to her chin and played.

The barn’s little girl played of dancing and laughter, of daisy chains and rainbows. She played of summer nights and cold Christmas days, of feet in the mud, of fireflies and innocence. She played of warmth and friendship and of a sky full of stars; she played of home.

Slowly the little barn forgot his aching wood and remembered how happy he had been, and he was grateful.

And so as a blanket of snow muffled the woods and the clear, sharp notes of a violin glided up to the diamond stars sparkling in the deep night sky; the little rainbow barn fell asleep.