The landscape of rural Indiana is punctuated by hundreds, maybe thousands, of old wooden barns.

Each of these barns has a story to tell. It begins long agoin an ancient forest, where virgin timber was cut by hand, then shapedintomassive wooden beams. The story continues as those beams are lifted into place, and the barn begins to serve its noble purpose.

But all too often that purpose runs its course, and the barn is judged to be obsolete, and is abandonedto time and the unforgiving elements.

The walls collapse, the roof caves in, and that’s where its story ends. Or else we tear the barn down ourselves, and replace it with something bigger or cheaper or easier to take care of.