A wicked wind blew through our area this past weekend, taking down many tress, and to my dismay, the big red barn at Swords.
The sound that mammoth structure must have made while coming down...well, I can't even imagine. Huge, pounding timbers and screeching metal. The wind that day sounded like a freight train through the trees; the barn coming down would have been other-worldly.
I visited Swords today to see the fallen barn. As I walked all around it, I felt my heart heavy in my chest. I'm sad to see such a landmark go. It makes me think of the life the barn once had, the purposes it served and the lives that depended on it. This barn held stories that I don't even know, and beyond that, was a permanent marker in many people's mental maps of the area. Driving through Swords now, one might not even know such a thing as a massive red barn ever stood there.
I'm reminded of the importance of telling stories - connecting with those around us who know the local history of where we live. I feel a connection to this place that I haven't felt in any other place I've lived. I think that's because of the accessibility of it's history- it's still on the surface, so to speak, and I can visit and wander in it. I am also connected to several people who can tell me stories of days gone by. That history holds an importance that goes beyond words, deep into the heart and soul of the people that have lived, worked and loved here. Beyond that, it stretches to the present and future generations.
The big red barn at Swords is just a old structure that gave way to time and the elements, sure, but to me it represents so much more.