That Old Barn
That old barn sat a’top the hill.
Through the years a sentry it stood,
against summer heat and winter chill.
Built with sweat and made of wood,
it sheltered hay from stormy rain
and stood barricade to the wind.
How it lasted a mystery to explain;
standing straight, it did not bend.
~~~~~
Below the house a hundred yards away,
the rooster crows and starts the day.
Out of bed, to the hearth, a fire to stoke;
uncovered coals finally lit begin to smoke.
To the stove with kindling carefully laid,
a match is struck another fire is made.
Biscuit batter rolled and patted in the pan;
another day at Mullin’s farm they began.
Around Nora’s waist an apron was tied
and Luck stretched, then moved outside.
~~~~~
Out on the porch beside the well
a wash pan filled from the water pail;
a mirror hung where Luck took a glance.
Then to the sky – any rain by chance?
Back in the kitchen the biscuits baked;
the gravy warmed, the coffee makes.
~~~~~
East above the crib, the sun did burn.
Cows need milking and butter to churn.
Up the hill, pail in hand, Nora did go.
It mattered not - wind, rain or snow.
Scarf on head upon her stool she sat-
rhythm of milking. Splat, splat Splat.
~~~~~
Down the hill Nora carefully walked
all alone so no one talked.
Warm milk went from pail to jar
to go across the road a little far.
There in the spring house it did lay
cooled and kept throughout the day.
~~~~~
Meanwhile chores called to old man Luck
mules to feed, fields to plow, corn to shuck,
winter wood and hay to cut, fences to mend
the tasks stood like soldiers end to end.
Constant was the toil; but now and then
a drink of water, a passing cloud of shade.
”Don’t be a fretting much less afraid.”
~~~~
He wiped the sweat from neck and brow.
Another year to go only God knew how.
The sun was setting; to the house he trudged -
a prince of land and labor, but not begrudged.
~~~~
For Nora, the day’s chores not yet done
a whole lot of work and certainly not fun.
Supper to cook and socks to mend;
on top of that eleven children to tend.
By the kerosene lamp the only light
they studied hard and dared not fight.
Food on the table, on the bench their place;
heads bowed low while Luck said grace.
~~~~
Food all eaten, they could talk and laugh,
not for long, twenty two feet needed a bath.
Gathered in by Luck as he was like to say,
”Best get on to bed; comin’ a brand new day.”
And while all through the night they slept
up on the hill where hay and mules were kept,
a wise old owl looked out over land of toil
and all was good till the rooster crowed,
”Get up, get up, up, up; got’a tend that soil.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John Mullinax, 2006
