Do you see what these two photos have in common?
The cabinet below was made from the very barn siding you see above. We have the most amazing cabinets thanks to many people: Blake Sander, my mother, my husband, Pat Zabinski, Erik Kemp, Kenny Bradley, and Mitch Porter. In 2006 my mom was talking to her friend Blake Sander, who mentioned he was looking for someone to deconstruct his family's 130 year old barn in Ohio in trade for the wood. So, Scott and I traveled to Ohio to meet Pat, Eric and Kenny to perform a HUGE job. This year, our friend Mitch built these pieces of art for our home.
In 2008 I wrote an article for Homelink Magazine that tells the story best:
Barn StoriesBy Megan Moore-Kemp
We cannot predict where some things will end up. Once I am finished with that sweater, bike, or casserole dish and pass it on, I imagine myself casting it from dormancy back into life.
The second life of wood-or third, rather, because it was a tree first-isn't something I thought much about before I met my husband. He is a carpenter, so providing a future for unused wood is one of his callings. Currently, our community is surrounded by unused wood. As we embark on the challenge of finding a second life for the beetle-killed pines around us, it is exciting to imagine the future this wood may have. As an illustration, I'll tell the tale of Blake Sander's Ohio barn as a lovely example of the unanticipated ways old wood can be put back to use.
Blake Sander's Grandfather, Ed Sander Sr., took ownership of the family barn in the 1890s, ten years after it was built. He ran a farm and housed dairy cows under its massive timber-frame shell. Three generations worked and forged a life beneath the huge hand-hewn timber. Mr. Sander may have predicted farming would fade as a way of life for his family, but I don't believe he ever could have predicted the future of his hard working barn.
The second life of wood-or third, rather, because it was a tree first-isn't something I thought much about before I met my husband. He is a carpenter, so providing a future for unused wood is one of his callings. Currently, our community is surrounded by unused wood. As we embark on the challenge of finding a second life for the beetle-killed pines around us, it is exciting to imagine the future this wood may have. As an illustration, I'll tell the tale of Blake Sander's Ohio barn as a lovely example of the unanticipated ways old wood can be put back to use.
Blake Sander's Grandfather, Ed Sander Sr., took ownership of the family barn in the 1890s, ten years after it was built. He ran a farm and housed dairy cows under its massive timber-frame shell. Three generations worked and forged a life beneath the huge hand-hewn timber. Mr. Sander may have predicted farming would fade as a way of life for his family, but I don't believe he ever could have predicted the future of his hard working barn.
When Blake assumed responsibility for his family's farm, he learned that a barn that isn't working doesn't work. After years of spending money to maintain the roof, siding and grounds, the old structure was becoming dangerous to both his savings and curious by-passers. Some neighbors-folks he grew up with-dealt with their family barns by knocking them over and burning them. Blake's vision was different; he wanted the land and barn to have a legacy. He wanted the land to become wildlife habitat and the building to pass into someone else's vision. So-he set out to find someone who cared about wood.
When Blake mentioned his quest to my mother, she called me right away. “He's looking for someone who loves wood. And I said, 'my son-in-law is passionate about wood!'” After many phone calls, several reconnaissance trips, a visit to our bank, and a long drive, we stood in front of the behemoth we agreed to deconstruct-more than a bit daunted by the task before us.
We set up camp near by, grabbed our gloves, nail pullers, and pry bars and got to work. In addition to a month of sweat, dirt, blood, bug bites, danger and discovery, it took hands-on help from family and friends, a man-lift, a forklift, an excavator, a dump truck, a semi, and some money to bring 40,000 pounds of century-old timber to our home in Colorado.
Now, the wood is living up to Blake Sander's vision. The maple from the granary is window and door trim; the pine siding, a bookcase; the oak knee braces, a table; and the oak and birch beams will be worked back into a residential timber frame. If most products in our lives go from the cradle to the grave, this wood has avoided its fate and hopped right back into the cradle.
The first time I stepped into the barn it spoke to me. It told me of its history as huge trees brought down by men and horses, then worked by hand into a frame and raised-a home for dairy cows, hay, and plows. I learned of the times the Sanders had need of more space; additions were put on after things like concrete and lumber mills were invented. Both in construction and deconstruction, the barn's stories prove that legacies are a collective effort and take time. As it turns out, we have many to thank for the unexpected beauty which comes our way. I find it exciting the way the barn keeps telling its stories in ways Ed Sander never would have imagined. And, I'm looking forward to the stories our own beetle-killed pines have to tell in the future.
We set up camp near by, grabbed our gloves, nail pullers, and pry bars and got to work. In addition to a month of sweat, dirt, blood, bug bites, danger and discovery, it took hands-on help from family and friends, a man-lift, a forklift, an excavator, a dump truck, a semi, and some money to bring 40,000 pounds of century-old timber to our home in Colorado.
Now, the wood is living up to Blake Sander's vision. The maple from the granary is window and door trim; the pine siding, a bookcase; the oak knee braces, a table; and the oak and birch beams will be worked back into a residential timber frame. If most products in our lives go from the cradle to the grave, this wood has avoided its fate and hopped right back into the cradle.
The first time I stepped into the barn it spoke to me. It told me of its history as huge trees brought down by men and horses, then worked by hand into a frame and raised-a home for dairy cows, hay, and plows. I learned of the times the Sanders had need of more space; additions were put on after things like concrete and lumber mills were invented. Both in construction and deconstruction, the barn's stories prove that legacies are a collective effort and take time. As it turns out, we have many to thank for the unexpected beauty which comes our way. I find it exciting the way the barn keeps telling its stories in ways Ed Sander never would have imagined. And, I'm looking forward to the stories our own beetle-killed pines have to tell in the future.
© 2008 HomeLink Magazine | Park Range Publications All Rights Reserved.
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