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Barn Wabi-Sabi

Thursday, November 5, 2009


Maybe on our next walk we'll ford the creek and poke around this gorgeous barn. We had miles to go, so we forged on.

The next barn was close to the road, and we dove into the detail on its old sides.


I'm not sure what this material originally was--rubberized cloth? but it had aged into a fascinating, fungal texture.

Oh, I loved this sign. You can't make a sign like this. Time has to make it. Time, and some yahoos to shoot it for you.


There were some Herefords just across the fork. Chet was all a-tremble, but at almost five years old, he knows better than to go after them.

No leash necessary, just a warning word. Good boy, Chet. Keep moving.

Mether, someday I may go round those cattle up when you are not looking. But now you are looking. And you are right. I am not a cattle dog. I am a chiptymunk dog. Until someday when you are not looking.

A field daisy defies the frost. I can't remember seeing a fall with so many blooming daisies.

Are you coming, Mether? Or are you going to crouch down by the flollers all day?


Yes, Chet Baker, but I have a few more flollers to crouch by. These milkweed pods will do nicely.



It is tricky keeping the horizon straight when you're crouching. Or maybe I'm drunk on rural beauty. Or maybe it's that these barns are all off true by more than a few degrees. Everybody's staggering here.

Not least me and Shila, at the end of the five or six miles. But there's more to come. We're only a quarter of the way up the road.

For those who are still wondering, wabi-sabi is a Japanese concept of beauty through age, weathering, imperfection, impermanence. It is a scarred and twisted bonsai, a wise and knowing face, a beat-up ballerina's foot, an old Ohio barn.

8 comments:

Someone gave me the definitive wabi-sabi book about 12 years ago -- I was so elated to finally have a word to use for all these beautiful, weathered, pieces that captivated me in the most unsuspecting ways. Thanks for the wabi-sabi post. Nothing like a trip to the greatest art gallery of them all.

This is fun. I know you've heard this before, but I feel like I'm there with you, Shila, and Chet on your hike and it's real dreamy. Then I lose it and laugh out loud:

"Mether, someday I may go round those cattle up when you are not looking. But now you are looking. And you are right. I am not a cattle dog. I am a chiptymunk dog. Until someday when you are not looking."

THAT is what I needed tonight. Thank you.

Love ya

We're in Columbus and the first thing he saw when we rolled up at our friends' house was a squirtle on the lawn. He left the car like a rocket and the squirtle just sat there, then jumped straight up in the air with a big WTF?? bubble over his head, barely making it to a nearby tree. Chet has relived that glorious moment a hundred times since then. I need to find a city park where he can educate them all in rapid order.

You said ... "...wabi-sabi is a Japanese concept of beauty through age, weathering, imperfection, impermanence. It is a scarred and twisted bonsai, a wise and knowing face, a beat-up ballerina's foot, an old Ohio barn."

Such wisdom and grace in your words.

Wonderful.

Oh I do love the concept of wabi-sabi. I think any woman of a certain age would...know what I'm saying?
Nah--you're too young. But some of us aren't and having a concept that gives tribute to what these eyes have seen and what these ears have heard, and LIVED to tell or not, that is priceless.

Thanks, Donna, but Baby Got Wabi, big time.

Oh! I had heard the term before but never knew the definition. It's perfect, somewhat titillating to my uneducated Amurrikin ears. Your photos capture everything that's wonderful about autumn and rural areas. (There's something about this season more than any other that just lends itself to exploring "age, weathering, imperfection, impermanence." I've been doing a lot of "urban spelunking" lately, too.) I'd forgotten how wonderful your blog is--I'll definitely be following it more intently from now on!

I hope that I can have a little on the wabi-sabi as I age. Julie, you always seem to know just what we need to warm the heart. Thank you.

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