The barn door faces the west. It faces every radiant sunset, every oncoming thunderstorm, day after day after day. In the winter, although drafty, it holds in the heat and holds out the cold. Every guest that walks through the west door is greeted by the whitewashed frame of the barn and the musty funk in the air.
The west door greeted each cow every morning and evening, then bid them goodbye after their work was done. After the cows left their master looked on. He stood in the doorway reflecting on the current day, planning for the next. Doing his best to ensure their wellbeing. And in taking care of theirs he took care of his own.
Walking through the west door as a kid was walking into a classroom of life. Lessons taught both by the animals: cows, farm cats, the occasional stray rooster, and their master.
Life and death were both present. Both taught lessons in a way that can be learned in few other environments. Some areas were an interactive playground which fostered imagination. Some areas gave stern warnings of caution and being present in the moment.
Nothing was done without purpose. This was a place where every action must lead to the wellbeing of the community, the farm. Lack of action could have devastating effects. Laziness or poor planning could mean the downfall of all that walked through the west door.
Joy was also present. It was found when rain fell on a dry day. It was found watching wildlife roam through the pasture. When a batch of kittens was found, nested under a bale of hay. In practical jokes and appreciation for days when everything went right. Days when the harvest of crops, calves, and kids was plentiful.
Today the cows are gone, never to return. Their work is done, and their master has moved on to meet his own. Yet the barn door still stands open. It no longer holds out the rain and snow but greets all guests the same. Birds, curious critters, wanderers reminiscing about a childhood spent staring out the barn door with the master of the cows. Time passes without consequence of inaction.
One day the barn will fall, and the west door will close one final time. Though its watchful eye will be shut, the lessons learned by the travelers that passed through it will continue on, passed through generations by story and memory.