Posts Tagged With: old barns


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It rained most of yesterday, pleasantly. Jim and I took a walk between raindrops, but mostly I worked on my picture file. After having tossed all of my pictures and getting most of them back, I’m disaster shy and decided maybe I’d like to publish some of my blogs in a book like they advertise on Lulu or Blurb or half-a-dozen other outfits. The save-to-disk feature was difficult and having one of those outfits print your blog for you is a somewhat complicated organizing task. I ended up buying, online, a new laser printer instead. It  will print my stuff out very professionally for less than the publisher could do it.  All of this explanation to get to a bunch of barn pictures that had been lost, now found. The ivy covered silo above caught my eye on a rainy day, somewhere in the east in 2010.

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Eastern barns, because of winter weather, are much more substantially made. These were taken with my old camera, and I notice it very much when I prowl around old files.

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In fact, most of them were taken through the window while moving down the road.

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I continue to think of barns as endangered species, so I expect I’ll keep getting as many pictures of them as I can in my travels. There is a website I used to visit often of a woman who chose barns, gas stations, bridges, signs, I can’t even remember all of the subjects she chose. She would say, “…oh, don’t get me started on another subject!”  She would travel around the U.S. with one subject in mind to preserve them in photos. Her photos will probably be famous some day. That is not my aim, but I think it is a fun idea.  She actually pinpointed where each barn or beach or sign was located and gave the exact date she was there.

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If I went back and read my blog for March 2nd or 3rd  in 2010, I’d probably know where I was. Does that make sense?

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This barn resembles a California barn and may be a picture I stuck in the same file. I think I’ll  go back to my project and call it a day.





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Rolling down Michigan’s interstate Highway 75, you don’t see much. This scene is what passes for a mountain in the flat, Great Lakes State rubbed flat by a glacier millions of years ago.

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At a rest stop I photographed what I believed to be poisonous sumac. I remember it as a child when I grew up in the Upper Peninsula. I made pink frosting with the berries with my mother’s warning ringing in my ears. “Don’t taste it, remember, it is poisonous.” I looked it up on the internet and  found out it is a harmless relative of poison sumac. It can cause a rash, and that’s it.

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I saw several old barns and managed to catch two of them. By the time I get my lens cap off, open the window and aim, with the motor home on cruise control, I usually miss.

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I call them endangered species. What I missed, a truck with 22 tires, eleven dullies per side, racing  down the road. The second item I missed:  a sign on a tiny building, about 4 feet tall and 3 feet square with a satellite dish attached to the roof and this sign:  My Wife Wanted To Come Home and I told her I’d build her a Place Of Her Own.  Third: we’ve seen two WORKING drive in movie places. Also endangered species.

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We reached Indian River and had the good luck to pull into Post #7439. We were just about to have a cocktail when Dave, Leo and Ray pulled in and invited us in for a beer. Dave is 60, Navy, Viet Nam era. Leo, 85 years young, WWII. Ray, age 80, a veteran of the Korean War. A super friendly bunch of guys who welcomed us and traded stories with us for a couple of hours.  In fact Ray taught me about a place in California I’d never heard of. We were pointed to a better road than the Interstate for tomorrow, and reminded of a number of sites to see.  Vets! It doesn’t get better than this bunch of Brothers. Thanks, guys.

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We crossed into Kentucky on Highway 79/68  at Guthrie where we were greeted by a huge spotted cow with sunglasses on. There was a time I would have asked Jim to stop so I could take a picture of such and unusual sight. Before I could think twice we were looking at a life-sized pink elephant. Nope, didn’t stop for it, either. This is green, green grass of home country.

We hope to see some bluegrass before we leave the state, and a race horse would be nice. Currently, we are in Bowling Green, a name that intrigues. and  is catchy enough to excite a song about it. Remember the lovely Bowling Green by the Everly Brothers? Named for other places called Bowling Green, possibly. It’s origin is uncertain. But, what is certain is it sits on the Barren River, the area is lush and an 1830’s  report about agriculture mentions a turnip 32 inches around, and a beet weighing nine and one half pounds. Zounds!!

I saw enough barns to remind me of barn photos I’ve taken, all from the window of the car or motor home and unedited.

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A barn and a real cow, too.

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There is something honest and endearing about an old barn, this one with a brand new roof is going to last for a while. And, they are getting scarcer then hen’s teeth. I should yell stop when I spot the next one. Maybe make it a point to photograph a barn from every state we pass through.

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Switching directions, we turned north on the west side of Lake Erie headed for an island in the Detroit River, Grosse Ile about 90 miles from Sandusky. We had chores to do, washing, dump and water on the way to Art and Sue Lambart’s home, friends of Jim’s since 1974. Jim and Art worked in the same power plant at one time.

Generally on the lookout for interesting stuff from my window, I was reading an intensely gripping novel called The Juror, by George Green, and kept my nose in my book. Somehow,  managed to catch this old Mail Pouch Tobacco ad on the side of a barn. Saw one unrestored a couple days earlier but missed it as we whizzed by.

An interesting sign on this building, but  I didn’t retain what type of business it was boosting.

I’m glad I didn’t miss this bridge. Jim alerted me and from a distance it looked like a gigantic sail. A beauty.

It changes perspective as you cross over.

This bridge to the island is locally called the free bridge. To the right you can see a garden in the middle of the river before arriving on the mainland shore. People who live here can commute to Detroit for work.
Sue had a great dinner for us and we chatted over some 12 year old scotch until bedtime, outlining our activities for the next couple days.
For a history of Grosse Ile click the link below.,_Michigan

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From Mary’s Desk:

Traveling as much as my partner and I do is an art. Finding a dump station precisely when needed, getting your vehicle needs attended to, planning events during hours and on days facilities are actually open. Finding recycling centers is particularly challenging. Then, you assume the weather man is correct and that Google Earth maps are accurate…Yes, its much like being a detailed travel agent, except its done on the fly day by day.

For instance, Friday night we sat at the table above, in the Great Smokies National Park, sweltering in the heat, with a cool wash cloth across our shoulders and a beer wrapped in a foam holder wishing it would cool down. Our plan was to hike the Roaring Fork nature trail Saturday with a cooler weather prediction and only a 20% chance of rain. Except, it poured during the night, our campsite was lush and wet, the grasses and bushes as high as our chest. Neighbors hung out their ground cloths and tent to dry.

We decided to move on and get the oil changed in the motor home in nearby Newport before getting up on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

We never did figure out what went wrong and why the route set by Google led us astray from 321 to 70, or maybe it was the highway department. But, the rolling hills of the Tennessee countryside were green and peaceful with little traffic on a Saturday, and I just took pictures of old barns as Jim trustfully kept driving and driving and driving.

It was definitely the long way around. But, we reached green, green, Greenville. Its also Green County, TN. It was late and we didn’t get to see the Andrew Johnson home or museum. He was President after Lincoln, a southerner who didn’t exactly settle things after the Civil War as equally as Lincoln had planned to.
The barns ARE lovely. I couldn’t always get them in passing, but they were numerous and different.

Of course, its Jim who finds us a safe place to stay at the end of the day and unhooks the Bronco and sets us up on  level ground. He knows where to shop and what stations he can get into and out of for petrol.  He researches the way before us and  gets us ready for the next destination or activities if there are interesting things to do and see on the way.  He never moves without checking his tires and considering our safety. Its an art. So, I salute Jimmy the Artist along with my three daughters this Mother’s Day.
(I know he’ll laugh loudly when he learns I consider him and artist.)

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