Built in 1858, give or take, this is the barn at my grandparents' house, the center wall of which finally gave way during one of our numerous high wind warnings as the endless transition from sort-of-winter to sort-of-spring unfurls.

Fond memories of playing in its even-then collapsing structures and hidden spaces throughout my youth, the misadventures created and had, through the rafters and among the subletting racoons, of leaping from haybails, etc etc.

Assuming it doesn't totally collapse in the meantime, controlled demolition is scheduled for the end of September. Racoons will have to find a new home.

In the interim: scavenging for bottles and antique glass and pieces and parts for various projects and assorted dusty mementos of my youth, of connection long on the fritz but in the process of rewiring.

As is the wont of memories and connections had and returned.