Connections: Goodbye to All That
A lithe, strong man drove a Mack truck into the backyard on Tuesday, delivering a 30-yard Dumpster. I didn’t have a notion about what a 30-yard Dumpster was or how it would look, although we have had what I think is a 2-yard version in the yard for quite some time.
Wishing my youngest grandchildren were around to see the driver maneuver, I stood watching and smiling as he got out of the truck, threw some detritus out of the way, and then turned the behemoth this way and that until he could lower the Dumpster to the ground. He was so efficient that he drove off before I could say thank you.
Stalwart Star readers may recall that we had a big yard sale not terribly long ago, with the objective of emptying the oldest part of our family barn so that it could be taken down, restored, and reassembled on the Mulford Farm — just across Main Street — by the East Hampton Historical Society. We’ve been anticipating this for some five years now, and are relieved that the time has finally come. The workmen say the barn will be gone by mid-October.
The barn has been the backdrop to our lives for as long as we can remember. It’s where we stored our old iceboats, ice skates, and hand-me-down antique wooden sleds; bicycles by the dozen, and the huge, stage-set holiday-parade floats that were built for The East Hampton Star over the years. More than one generation of teenager has hidden in the hayloft to do the secret things that teenagers do. Under the floorboards, long ago, my children found ancient marbles, lost by other children in the 1930s. Once, a horse lived in the lone stall, but nothing’s lived there in at least 50 years (unless you count castoff yard furniture).
There must be an axiom to the effect that empty spaces always fill up. It’s entropy, I guess: Not everything went at the barn sale, and some of the clumsiest and heaviest things — including an old wood and coal-burning Kalamazoo kitchen stove, last used in the 1970s by my late mother-in-law, and some huge old barrels — haven’t yet found a home. In the meantime, various other bits and bobs of furniture have drifted in.
The barn is said to be the only one left in the village that not only has its original huge beams but has not been reconfigured in any way. Its time is now or never: The roof has a swayback, and the shingles are a disgrace. My daughter has vaguely suggested that perhaps we should throw a goodbye square dance in the barn, for sentimental reasons, but I’m not at all sure the floor is sound enough for that. The family is delighted that it will be preserved, of course, but I have to admit I hadn’t quite come to grips with how much work bidding it goodbye would take on our end.
The historians at the society call it “the Hedges barn,” because it was built by that family, although it has been in the Edwards-Rattray family for around a century, as far as I know. E.J. Edwards, my grandchildren’s great-great-grandfather, opened Edwards Lane — a narrow drive that runs between the library and the Star office building — in the early 20th century and moved the barn from its site near Main Street to where it sits today. Another, newer section of the barn was constructed in the decades that followed, but the historical society isn’t taking that (and I am rather hoping it will be able to absorb some of the remaining items that will now need a new home).
Over the next two weeks, various family members will haul out what remains, and cart the best of it to new homes: a 1950s linoleum-topped kitchen table, a glass-front cabinet with peeling veneer, various huge trunks, fishing tackle. . . . Maybe we can convince the historical society to take a barrel or farm implement or two.
Does anyone know anyone who would want to restore a wood-and-coal stove? It’s yours, if you can cart it.