Imagining the past through commuter rail
While I’m thankfully not subjected to the Montreal commute regularly, when I am caught in traffic on the Mercier, I think about how nice it would be to take the train.
There’s something magical about barns that have stood the test of time.
One of Ormstown’s beautiful barns, being repaired by a Mr. Meloche.
For as long as I have been obsessed with horses, I have been taken by the charm of old barns.
It’s more than the beauty they possess—one that modern barns seem to be short on. They loom bigger than the homes that they oversee, their massive walls and notable roofs commanding attention, like over-the-hill sentries that can’t help but stand guard over their charges. I’m currently in the middle of trying to map out a barn of my own, and while we have no old barn to build off of, I’m desperately trying to gift our own would-be building with the grace of these old monuments.
Which brings me to my next point—nothing new, save for a baby, compares to the beauty of the old. Most houses are built today without personality, aiming more for functionality, similar to automobiles. Things are built to break, to be replaced, to be rebuilt, but not for beauty, and in most cases, not to last. It seems a shame, doesn’t it? But the other day, I drove past a barn that made me smile—it was an old building, being lovingly repaired to its former glory. A small gesture, yes, but it gives me hope that all that was so beautiful is not quite ready to be replaced.