We interrupt the regularly scheduled snarkiness of this blog to bring you a tale of hope, talent, and accomplishment. Okay, okay, I’ll let that settle in for a moment.

It’s really quite “straight” forward. You see, we owned a leaning barn that desperately needed to be straightened, one that used to stand tall and proud just outside of the Worcester village. And, thanks to the neighborliness and friendliness of my immensely talented pal, Chris Eaton, we got it done. But let’s also be honest, the use of the “we” pronoun is quite presumptuous of me. Because, of course, I was mostly a “gofer” – and marveler – as Chris took on the Herculean task of running chains, cables and synthetic straps to various come-alongs and –viola! – torque that old heifer barn of ours right back to the upright and straight position. Amazing. All in a one good, long day’s worth of work.

This old heifer barn of ours was once the “little” addition to the monster barn that once graced the Ladd Farm, Worcester’s one-time pride of a farm that sits across the North Branch from the village itself. But, as we all know, the farm economy bit the dust and the farm began its decades-long decline into neglect. About ten years ago, thanks to previous owners, the neglected main barn was dismantled and – mostly – buried in what is now the back yard. What remained was the 20 x 50 heifer barn, a one-time “add-on” that now stood – or leaned — with the kind of tenacity that defied the logic of the engineering wisdom that certainly said: You will fall soon.

Ah, but Chris came to the rescue – just in time. And it’s not like “barn straightening” is on his resume, either. Nope. Sure, he’s a master carpenter and welder to boot, with more than a short stop caretaking – with his wife, Neha — for the Scott and Helen Nearing homestead in Maine. But barn-straightening? Nope. And that’s what’s fascinating to me: watching someone take on such an immense task with the kind of patience, perseverance and skill that would make you bet a whole hell of a lot of money on the fact that it was not his first time doing it. I guess that’s what they call “skill.”

To give you an idea of the task at hand, we started by attaching a nail to the top of the barn and then running a weighted-string down the side to determine just how much this old barn was leaning. According to the trusty tape measure, the barn was nearly 12 inches out of whack. Yep, the little weighted string dangled nearly a foot out of plumb. In other words, just a good storm – or draft horse scratch – away from becoming yet another giant pile of barn refuse.

But “we” attached the cables, hooked up the come-alongs, and gently ratcheted up the pressure as we heard the cracking and moaning of the barn. Disclaimer: This is the point in the project whereby I decided that my job should be to make sure the doors were open (a la “escape routes”), to “monitor” the dangling string (outside), and to otherwise pace with a palpable sense of nervousness that was otherwise no use to the “team.” Chris – being Chris – remained calm, convinced, of course, that a little forethought and a belief in a plan made more sense than my nervous ninniness.

The barn’s sway slowly began to abate – 10 inches, then 8, then 6, and then 4. Then the hardware gave way to the immense pressure of it all (Ha! Before me!). Specifically, one of the giant eyebolts attached to the top plate of the barn’s second story completely opened up and released the mighty pressure in one, big moment of “I quit.”

I thought we’d call it quits, too. Silly me. But Chris being Chris didn’t blink at the new challenge in front of us. “I know,” he said, “ I will…” I wish I could be more specific here. But, for all I know, he was speaking in the equivalent of carpenter-tongue, with words and phrases that I could almost make sense out of. You know something like: “We (oh-no, I thought, there goes that “we” thing again) need to weld plates…reattach the bolts…set the glue…correct the angle…and try it again.” Yeah, sure.

And that’s when Chris disappeared back to his shop and I took a nap, only to be awoken with his knock and his happy news that he’d welded the new pieces, already attached one of them, and – lo and behold – it looked like it was going to work.

“Great,” I replied, “want some coffee?” Nervousness and incompetence is always more tiring than accomplishment, you know.

But off we went with the new welded pieces, the new plan and the renewed creaking and torquing of the barn that seemed hell-bent on kissing the ground.

It all worked, of course. The barn’s lean was ultimately reduced to a mere couple of inches, cabled and secured into place. “We” did it! A barn was saved. An ever-so-small but yet important piece of Worcester’s heritage was given a new lease on life. As one of the few remaining old pieces of Worcester’s rural and farm heritage, it gets to stand – straight! – with the pride and reminder of perseverance. And, better yet (for me, at least), it gets to be filled with a thousand bales of hay to feed the horses that now call it home so that they can also call this farm their home.

Indeed, it was a good day. And I feel blessed. Thanks, Chris. One day, one barn straightened: You ‘da man.