BARITONE IN THE BARN

(Please read “The Refuge” if you haven't already.)

We had retreated to the barn for refuge during the violent thunder storm. Waiting for the storm to pass, we settled comfortable on a mound off hay that had been move to d the barn from the hay field. After several minutes the rain began to slacken and that iconic sound of a soft rain on the tin roof was a welcome sound. Conversations mellowed between the three adults: Dad, Uncle Troy, one of dad's employees and Wayne and me, because we didn't have to yell to be heard. We soon became silent and just sat there drinking in the now soothing sounds of the light rain and the smell of hay where we reclined.

But soon, the conversation between Dad and Uncle Troy started up again. This time it was not about the storm or the day to day activities. Their dialogue turned to yesteryear early in the twentieth century. They both were young men and their lives were so much different from the then present time. It was not about interesting subjects like World War I or the hard life in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains but instead they began to reminisce about church and the old hymns that were used in the day. Dad redirected the conversation to others of us and said, “Troy has a beautiful singing voice.” Then he continued, “Troy, sing one of the old songs for us. “Oh, Johnny, I don't know if I can, its been so long since I even tried to sing. and I probably couldn't remember enough words of a song to sing it”. Dad wouldn't give up. “Go ahead, you can.  Give it a try.” Uncle Troy sat silent for a moment or two, then he looked up to the rafters of the barn and began to hum an old tune. He cleared his voice and tried again to hit just the right note, as he looked up again. I think that the precious gift of memory carried him back, back to another day when the large mountain family went to Sunday Meeting and joined in the singing before the preacher mounted the podium. He started out in low tones at first, then slowly building volume until his rich baritone voice filled the barn and echoed off the tin roof. We were all amazed and blessed as he sang:

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said,
You, who unto Jesus for refuge have fled?

Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid;
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand
Upheld by My gracious, omnipotent hand.

When through the deep waters I cause thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to its foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never, no never, no never forsake.

The third and fourth verse are seldom ever sung today even if you are blessed to attend a church that still uses the old hymns. Take a second look at them. He sang a couple more old songs which I had never heard.

Sometimes I wonder if these old hymns will be lost forever and that sometime in the future if our now young generation will ever know what powerful source of strength and encouragement they were to past generations.

I treasure that day in the barn and the storm that drove us there. Although Uncle Troy, was not attending church at the time, I was convinced that he had had a relationship with the Lord and those hymns took him back to a special time in the past. 

THE BARN:

A REFUGE FROM THE STORM

If you haven’t read the first “barn story, please read that first. All of these stories about the buildings on the Gibby farm are true and each one teaches a “life's lesson.”

Thunderstorms coming upon the farm were often severe and unexpected. The Hiawassee river formed the western border of the farm and just beyond the river stood the Qualla Ridge.

Beyond the crest of the ridge there was no other view of the horizon to the west, from which most of our stormy weather came. Often when working in the field we would be caught by surprise and would be unable to get to a shelter before getting wet. This is exactly what happened one day as we were out there about one thousand feet from the barn, the barn being the closest building.

The five people in the group represented a broad span of years and life experiences. My sixty year-old dad being the oldest, a farmer and sawmill businessman. Then there was dad's brother, Uncle Troy, age fifty, who along with three other brothers went off to war and the “killing fields” of Europe in WWI; “the war to end all wars.” Well, so much for that idea! Their earlier years were so very much different from dad's. Dad was spared from the war so he could care for his aging parents and a house full of sisters. Third, was an employee of dad's, whose name I do not recall. Wayne who was five years my senior and getting restless on the farm and would soon be off to the Army to discover the world and find himself. I was the younger of the group and didn't know that I needed to be looking for myself. Wayne and I were experienced in little, except farm work, but we were expert at plowing, planting cultivating, and harvesting. We worked in all kinds of weather and so had the others but on this day a raging storm sweeping across Qualla Ridge would send us  running for shelter.

Younger legs always get you there quicker. Wayne and I, like a deer escaping a predator found refuge first. Then came the hired hand with dad and Uncle Troy winded and gasping for breath. We all stood in the large doorway looking out at the driving rain, the dangerous lightening bolts and the darkening sky as the thunder orchestrated nature's rage. We were glad for the refuge and retreated further into the barn and found a place to recline on the hay for warmth because our clothes were wet.

There is a “life's lesson” to learn here. This life is full of storms and they aren't all in the form of weather. If you aren't in one now, one is in your future. Job, that famous Bible character who knew suffering was familiar with this truth, “Man, that is born of woman, is of few days and full of trouble.”

When that storm comes do you have a refuge? The songwriter knew when he wrote: Rock of Ages, Cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee.” My family and I are in one of those storms and we are running to the Rock. The Rock Jesus.  If you have no refuge from the storm, meet us there.

The Barn

The main out building on our farm was the barn. It provided shelter for livestock, storage for corn, hay and other grain. You can identify it as the last building on the left in the picture.

I remember well when the barn was under construction around 1945 or 1946. By the Fall of '46 I had reached the ripe old age 11. One reason that I remember the construction so well, although I am a little cloudy on the date, is because I sustained an injury from a playful yet foolish act and I carry a reminder to this day. I will make a “life's lesson” application at the end of this post.

For Dad, the construction of our barn was a source of pride and and accomplishment. Of pride, because of his desire for the efficient operation of the farming operation. It was a big accomplishment because of it's size and the design that made it the most up to date and innovative barn in Clay County. Unknown in those days; a barn into which you could drive a large truck into the upper level and unload it. The upper level provided storage for corn, hay and a room for miscellaneous storage. Hay could be dropped to the mangers and stables below. The lower level had a large parlor for cows and stables for horses and a tack room for harnesses and oats for the horses and special feed for the cow which provided milk for our table.

The barn served the farming operation well for many years and was standing strong when I threw the hay down for the last time before leaving for Bible college and it remained there for many more years. What about that “life's lesson” and the injury that I received during construction. The reminder of that foolish act long ago is a large scar about four inches below my knee. A footer had been dug and forms were being built for the concrete foundation. Like almost any eleven year old, I was jumping over the forms and having a lot of fun. No doubt Dad warned me that I should stop jumping over the forms. My reaction was, “one more time.” It truly was the last time because my foot went down inside and my body kept going and the sharp edge of the oak board of the form cut a large gash in my leg revealing the bone. Dad had to take me to the doctor for repair. Could this expense, this work stoppage this pain and weeks of recovery been prevented. Yes, by one simple rule; obedience!

I was later in life to learn, that delayed obedience is disobedience. If you are playful child or an adult, for disobedience, there is a price, and for obedience there are blessings. God's Word says, “obedience is better than sacrifice.” By disobedience we sacrifice God's best for our lives. When you trust in Christ as your Savior you are acting in obedience to the Gospel. (see II Thessalonians 1:8)

The Smokehouse

(This is another in the series of stories of the buildings on the Gibby farm.  Let me encourage you to read all of them.)

When we moved to the farm down the river, the smokehouse was the first outbuilding to be constructed.  Almost every farm had one because it was such a necessary building in the process of curing and keeping pork grown on the farm.  Like most smoke houses, ours was not very large nor did it need to be.  We raised between three to six “fatting hogs” (as we called them) from piglets each year.  By slaughtering time, around Thanksgiving, they weighed about 350 pounds each.  By this time the weather was cold enough to allow curing of the meat.  Without going into details, the hogs were killed in a humane manner and the process of cutting began.  After the hams, the shoulders the backbone and ribs were cut away from the carcass, mom took over the process of preparing the cuts, which were to be cured.  Parts that were cooked as fresh meat were tenderloin, ribs, the head and liver.  Much of these cuts were always shared with neighbors and family.  Mom rendered the fat for lard to be used in cooking and making lye soap.  She immediately salted down the hams shoulders and side meat (bacon) and started the smoke in the smokehouse.

Mom was a genuine mountain woman.  I believe that she could have made it just fine on the frontier.  The curing of meat was truly an art.  There was a thin line between curing and spoiling and mom knew what it was.  She would inspect the cuts every day until the curing process was complete and the weather was colder and the meat would keep for the whole winter and into the next fall. 

Every morning we had meat from that smokehouse with gravy and some of mom’s home made biscuits.  All of this was part of growing up on the farm and living close to nature and I wouldn't trade that memory for the way we live today.

To accomplish all this it took everyone working together for one common goal.  This is also true in our service for the Lord.  When we work together in a spirit of harmony we can accomplish so much more for the kingdom of God  which will yield eternal results and rewards.  Lets go forward together.  Jesus is coming soon and many are not ready to meet him.  Are You?