I love barns. I can't help it. My attraction may be found in my heritage. I come from a long line of farmers. My home town is still rural and full of wonderful reminders of a pre-revolutionary farming community. Most of the barns there are weathered wood or classic red and white.
Here, in southeastern Pennsylvania, the barns tend to be built out of field stone. Beautiful and quirky from time to time, but always rooted and solid.
The other day, as I was on my way home from a shoot, I decided to take a different route home. I came over a ridge and there she was, nestled into a gentle hill. A barn that by all rights should have been snuggled into a fairy tale countryside. I pulled over and, for a while, I just stood at the fenceline and smiled.