One of the saddest sights on a prairie landscape—next to seeing Calgary Flames pennants waving in the wind-- is the state of so many neglected wooden out-buildings. The sadness is because of what they once were, as well as what they could be.
Re-stated: past usefulness and present potential. All quite possibly lost.
These buildings are Exhibit A when it comes to the Second Law of Thermodynamics (= things left to themselves will deteriorate and wear down). Be they farmhouses or granaries, or other sheds of any description, they are finished, having been replaced by newer, more time (and weather)-resistant buildings.
Check out any homesite in your neck of the, uh, grassland: If a family is living there, they are probably in the new house, with the old one just sitting there, like an old person waiting to die. Sometimes, though, they get fixed up and used for the hired hand.
That's the past. For the present, and for a number of reasons, I would like to see them torn down completely. They are fire hazards, eyesores, and useless—at least in their present condition. I personally obtained five from my neighbour Claude years ago that were in great shape, and they re-invented themselves into five distinctive and useful buildings on my Foremost acreage. To date I believe they are still standing, still functional.
You might say I was too dumb to build these myself, but too smart to not use them somehow.
Essentially, everything that was wood—I suppose that would be all of it—could be put to use. If the buildings are still in good shape, they could become tool sheds and chicken houses; even a creative carpenter could convert one or two into a guest house or two. If I had the skill, that's what I would do.
Would that be “Little Granary on the Prairie” Bed and Breakfast? Just wondering.
For those buildings that are no longer intact, the parts of the whole could be very functional as used lumber. Anyone who has ever been inside these granaries is well aware of the great shape this wood is in. Taken apart, very carefully, of course, they could become part of a used lumber inventory--or material for the start of another shed. And most of that wood has never seen the light of day, only adding to its durability.
Furthermore, there are pieces of wood that are too short for construction, yet too good for destruction. I suggest—drum roll, please—material for picture frames. Not a new idea, I'm sure, but one I haven't read about or seen implemented much. “Useless” pieces of wood that may not be more than two to three feet would be perfect specimens.
It could be pitched as authentic “prairified” (no such word, Maurice—that's why I have to use those squiggly things), for the simple fact that there's a lot of history in those frames. It would look good, and give a nice pioneer feel to, say, a Robert Duncan or Norman Rockwell picture.
I think there would be no problem presenting this concept to art shops and framing stores in the big cities. People in Calgary and Edmonton, Vancouver and Victoria, for starters, would pay wonderful money for this western iconic wood.
Got any old buildings you want torn down? Getting them razed (not “raised,” Maurice; that's going the other way) is half the battle. Few can be bothered with such grunt work, so that actually might be the toughest part of this vision.
But once they're gone, your homesite is a whole lot prettier (and neater), and said buildings have found new life, even if it's fragmented, cut down, and shipped away.
Old lumber lying around? That's no longer good-bye—it's good buy.
No comments:
Post a Comment