Hanging on my wall is an oil painting of an old barn. The uneven edges of the warn wood side planks used for walls and slanted red-brick coloured roof beckons my imagination. What would it be like to walk inside? Are the weathered wall boards as loose as they appear to be? I have looked at this painting a thousand times but today I stand at a proper distance to take in the essence the artist intended to communicate. I take my time to see every detail and to imagine the painting is speaking to me, telling me its story. The trees are clearly elms and the split-rail fence is dark in colour and it’s crooked and worn. It has rained as there are puddles in the dips of the path and it is a North Carolina winter scene as the dry brush is golden in colour and that only happens here in winter. It is a clear day and I imagine that the air is chilly but not too chilly. The painting has depth and interest without being overly busy. It is a very good painting of an old barn not too far from our house on Yank Road. I recognize it but the artist took liberties by not including the vines holding up the original. In the Carolinas we have a lot of these old barns being held up by winding vines which allow them to stand for years without a hint of faling collapsing in upon themselves. To some they look tattered and disgusting but to me they are beautiful and a tribute to the history of something that has worn out its use but refuses to disappear into a pile of rubble. I am glad they dot our landscape. And, I am especially glad this treasured painting is hanging on my wall.