-Farm News photo by Lori Berglund
Phil Berglund was in his mid-80s and still tossing bales of hay to fill the barn for winter in this photo of the stately barn at the home he long shared with his wife, Lila.

What is it about a barn? Long, uneven boards with fading red paint, sometimes white, weathered until it’s gray.

‘I think that I

shall never see

A poem lovely

as a tree.’

Has there ever been a poem as lovely as a barn? May Joyce Kilmer forgive me, but I do believe barns and trees have a lot in common when it comes to beauty. And you really can’t have a good barn without more than a few good trees. Why, some barns even have entire tree trunks as part of their structure.

‘A tree whose hungry

mouth is prest

Against the earth’s

sweet flowing breast;’

In barns, anxious farmers are known to watch quietly, waiting for a newborn calf to learn to suck. It’s always a worry in our house until those calves get the hang of nursing from their mama. Those are hungry mouths that really must be fed.

‘A tree that looks at

God all day

And lifts her leafy arms

to pray;’

A good, quiet barn is a great place to do a little thinking, a little praying, whether it be for cows, kids, or the price of corn. Perhaps there would be more faith in this world again if we all spent a little more time in barns or walking quietly among trees.

I think of my grandfathers and the many quiet hours they would have spent in their respective barns. They never had cell phones and for much of their lives never had even a landline. They knew the meaning of quiet. They learned to work and to think for themselves. The quiet of a barn is a good thing for the soul, I believe.

‘A tree that may

in Summer wear

A nest of robins

in her hair;’

Trees and barns are certainly places of abundant life. Nests of birds of every kind; a place where barn cats grow fat preying on all sorts of critter nests in a barn. In the barn on my home farm, I recall with delight finding where our dog had hidden her litter of newborn puppies.

I also remember the day when I was about 18 and the dog I had grown up with was not doing so well. He found a quiet place in the barn to rest, and I bade him a tearful farewell. My dad buried him later that day. I still know exactly the spot near the well and think of my friend whenever I pass by; on some days, tears still come.

‘Upon whose bosom

snow has lain;

Who intimately lives

with rain.’

A good barn can weather some snow, but rain seeping in can slowly destroy it. About the time my husband and I started dating, his dad put a new metal roof on their barn. It was fun to watch the transformation and know that the new roof would give that old barn decades more of life. That was more than 20 years ago, and it’s still a working barn in good repair.

My husband and I now live about three miles down the road from his parents; Phil and Lila Berglund. Other than the barn on my home farm, their barn is the one I know best. It’s home base for the small cow/calf herd my husband has long shared with his dad. There are many rooms within the barn, each assigned a different task. Calves are born on the east and as they grow stronger are moved to the west before being turned outside.

As calving time nears each year, Phil would walk among the herd, looking for a heifer getting close to delivery of her first calf, or an old cow who deserves a little extra warmth. Mud, I have learned, is an enemy to calves, far worse than cold and snow. Better to drop on frozen ground than cold, wet mud.

In his 91 years of life, Phil pulled countless calves and carried many of them into the warmth of the basement to warm up when needed. He even had a recipe for milk replacement. I have the recipe somewhere. You can buy milk replacement, of course, but the recipe seemed to do the job. Phil was good at figuring things out for himself; how things worked, what a calf needed.

As recently as last winter, Phil would go out in the middle of a cold winter’s night to check on the animals in his care. He was at home in the barn. As recently as this summer, he was driving the tractor, helping to bale hay.

Phil was happiest when he was working. He loved being a farmer, loved caring for God’s creatures. He knew the meaning of “in sickness and in health” better than most — and honored those words until the very end. I think going before his wife of more than 68 years was perhaps the hardest part of all for him. He was a caretaker, a worker, a friend.

When Phil passed away on Oct. 27, I think the very rafters of the barn must have heaved a bit in grief. There will be newborn calves in a few months and they will find a warm home in the barn that Phil maintained so beautifully all those years. Phil taught his son well and the calves will be well cared-for, but it won’t be quite the same.

‘Poems are made

by fools like me,

But only God

can make a tree.’

And only God can know the lessons learned in the quiet of a barn.

_________________________

Note: With appreciation to Joyce Kilmer, who wrote this poem, “Trees,” now in public domain, in 1913.