The Modern Barn Raising

Musings on community connection in these unstable times

By Alexander W. Galbraith - This image is available from the City of Toronto Archives, listed under the archival citation Fonds 1568, Item 177

On the Western edge of our front yard is an enormous laurel bush that serves as a fence/border between us and our neighbors. Over the years, we have shared maintenance duties with our neighbors, each of us dutifully pruning and cutting down “our side” of the bush when it gets too big, usually striving for some sense of uniformity between our sides. The success of this has waxed and waned over the years, broadly based on available time and interest on both parties’ parts.

This past week, my anchor partner Matt (who has inherited most landscaping duties in our household based on my pure lack of interest) was doing some major work on the bush when a neighbor from down the street, who we’d never met before, walked by and started talking to Matt. It was clear that our municipal compost bin was already overflowing with the yard waste and yet there were still huge piles of branches that we would slowly need to dispose of as space allowed. The neighbor mentioned a dump that took plant and tree trimmings for a price, and that he even had a truck and would be happy to take our yard waste there if we wanted. Matt kindly thanked the man but mentioned that both of us are unemployed right now (see: the total dismantling of the foreign aid sector in the US) and that we couldn’t afford that luxury and would instead just slowly chip away at it with municipal composting. The man, then without much hesitation, offered to pay the fee for us anyways.

So, here was this man, who we’d never met before, offering not only his time and resources by hauling all of our yard waste to a dump, but also offering money to pay for the fees. I was flabbergasted and immediately suspicious of ulterior motives. As the man parked his truck in front of our house and left it for us to fill with yard waste, I inspected the bumper stickers (confusingly: a “I’d rather be paddling” sticker advertising a local kayak store, a Portland Timbers sticker, and a Calvin & Hobbes sticker with Calvin holding up a giant cross) to try and ascertain these hidden ulterior motives. I kept asking Matt questions about their interactions, trying to figure out the secret.

The secret, as far as I’ve been able to figure out, is this man saw a neighbor in need and had resources available to help. That’s it. How novel. And also, how sad at how novel I find that to be.

This past month, I’ve been thinking a lot about connections in all of its various forms - the way we connect with friends and loved ones (and the loneliness epidemic in our country), the way we connect on work teams and the importance of spending time deepening those connections, and the ways we connect as a community to help support each other, especially in the face of a new administration that wants to take away so many of the safety nets and structures the government had previously provided.

In these musings, I focused in on the pastime of barn raising. This old, American practice, made popular in Amish and Mennonite communities, involved neighbors and community members coming together to help build or rebuild a structure (often a barn) of a community member who needed it. There often wasn’t any money exchanged and instead it was just a given that your community would be there for you when you needed it, and you would be there for them. Max Borders, of Advocates for Self Government, writes: “In America, people once self-organized to become a social safety net. And in such events, they knew the right thing to do. They practiced compassion daily and knew what to do in practice.”

I know, in my bones, that community is going to be what gets us through this unstable time. It is indispensable to the future I want to see. This simple act of our neighbor was such a lovely reminder to me on what that could look like in daily practice. I lovingly challenge all of us to find a way to strengthen or even start a tiny new tendril of community where you are. Find a simple way to practice compassion with a friend, neighbor, stranger this week.

Pennsylvania Barn Raising, by Robert Charles Howard

They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.

They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.

Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.

Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.

In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.

Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.

Then one by one they steered their wagons home
gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
that we are more together than we are apart

Listen up, America! This is the music of community.
We are more together than we are apart.