I love these huddles of many barns on these Ohio farms. It’s like reading a family tree in weathered form. When did they add that little child? And why that odd angle? One of cinder block but then the rest of tin? Did they have twins one year for the corn harvest?
The collection of buildings feels like a quiver of children, except the barns stayed, faithful to the land, accepting all the seasons as “I love you” rust.