Remembering

As Charlotte parted the last of the overgrown weeds and wildflowers, the barn came into view. It had been years since she’d seen the dusty red walls and rusted metal roof. It had been a constant feature of the landscape of the farm where she had grown up, sitting at the top of the hill, at the end of the dirt path. It somehow seemed smaller than she remembered now. Yet, despite the obvious signs of ageing and neglect, it was also strangely familiar.

She approached the giant wooden doors, and without a thought, began lifting the beam across the front. The dust and dirt were thick. She wiped her hands on her overalls before pulling one side open. It was stiff and heavy, the hinges letting out a pained moan after years of disuse.

The soft light from the overcast sky barely lit up the inside of the barn. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust. Its dusty floor still had the slightest remnants of old hay, and there was that familiar smell – a mix of so many things, but to her mind it was just the barn.

Memories flooded back into her mind - playing hide and seek with friends who came to visit, climbing up the beams into the loft (despite multiple warnings), sheltering during a storm with her favourite animals. Her eyes scanned around the empty building further. The long work bench, where her father would sometimes fix things, was quite bare now. She remembered him teaching her how to use a saw and some other tools.

Her father had caught up now and walked in to join her.

She spoke without looking up, ‘Hey dad. It’s so weird – it’s so empty!’

‘Yeah – well, it’s been a few years since it’s been used,’ he replied matter-of-factly.

‘Remember when we made that bow and arrow?’ she asked.

‘Ha – yep. That was fun. I got in trouble from mum for that though,’ he said with a smile.

She remembered the imaginary game, Warriors, she called it. Pretending to fight off the baddies together with sticks as swords and bows. It wasn’t the only game they played, but it had stuck in her mind for some reason. Maybe because he had joined in for a longer time than usual. One day it ended with him carrying her back from the woods over his shoulder as the rain pelted down, until they made it into the barn to take cover.

They spent another half hour or so there, looking around the barn and reflecting on the games they remembered playing. She wanted to go exploring in the woods too, but her father said it was time to leave.

‘Let’s get back to the car before the rain starts,’ he said. ‘Besides, your mother and brother are waiting for us at home.’

Charlotte took one more look around before picking up a wild marigold that had blown in through the door. She tucked it into her pocket, looked up at her father - and smiled.

--

He watched her walking ahead of him, her yellow jacket made her stand out like a bright wildflower amongst the dull green. She always added colour, he thought, no matter where she went.

He had grown so used to her charging ahead he wasn’t even tempted to call out and ask her to wait. There was no point, anyway. He knew how excited she was to visit this place. That’s why he’d agreed to bring her back, after weeks of endless requests. He didn’t particularly want to return here. It wasn’t that it held particularly painful memories, just a reminder of what could have been.

When they had to sell the farm, Tom felt like he had given away a part of himself. He’d had to accept it had been a somewhat unrealistic venture from the start – he wasn’t exactly cut out for the lifestyle, the early mornings, the constant labour and managing all the equipment, feed and upkeep of the property. Still, he had always liked the idea of getting away and living somewhere closer to nature. A simple life for them all. Life had been anything but simple since then – but it had been good, he admitted to himself.

His thoughts were brought back to the present as he realised his daughter had already barged inside. Moments like these made him equally nervous and proud. The protective instinct he felt as a father nearly always gave way to a sense of admiration at her strong, fearless spirit. As he jogged the last dozen metres or so, he caught himself feeling curious of how things had changed.

She was standing at the workbench, looking down at what few tools and pieces of wood had been left.

‘Remember when we made that bow and arrow?’ she asked.

‘Ha – yep. That was fun. I got in trouble from mum for that though,’ he said with a smile.

In truth it was more of an eye roll, although his wife didn’t like them playing with imaginary weapons, let alone making them more realistic. Really, though, he just liked being the type of father who let his daughter play less ‘girly’ games, or have more ‘dangerous’ fun. She had always been a mix – happy to wear fancy dresses while playing in the mud. He could try to take credit for many aspects of her personality, but he knew it was just who she was. Ever since she was born, he’d been surprised by the sense of her already being her own person. This was one of those moments where it felt surreal to behold just how much she’d grown.

They talked and reminisced about the games they used to play. He had felt ready to leave for some time, but entertained her unrelenting enthusiasm for exploring every corner of the barn. He drew the line at heading out into the woods. The sky was turning darker and the air cooler.

‘Let’s get back to the car before the rain starts,’ he said.

She picked something off the floor and then smiled up at him. He felt surprisingly peaceful, almost thankful that she had made him visit. They walked together, hand in hand, back out the doors and along the dirt path.

He wondered what new memories they were destined to make in the coming days - and years.