Some days I’m reminded I come from a long line of cheapskates.
This morning was one of those days.
I was out doing chores in a blustery wind and rain when a new sound caught my ear. That hollow clack-clack you don’t ignore. I looked up and there it was — the familiar sight of a sheet of tin on the barn roof lifting up and settling back down with every gust.
That tin roof is original. I’d guess the late 1940's. That’s just a guess though. Dad was born in ’46, and I don’t ever remember him saying how old he was when his dad built the barn. Well… what eventually became the barn. It started life as a machinery shed.
Years ago — probably 10 or 15 — I ran into a fellow in town. Don’t remember his name, but he told me his dad was the carpenter who built that shed that’s now our sheep barn. And I will say, he built it well.
Now, back to the tin.
I know it’s the original roof tin because of conversations we used to have about the wall tin. When I was around 25 and starting to take over the care of the building — doors blown off, general state of neglect — I remember standing inside and noticing thousands of tiny holes in the wall sheets.
It finally clicked.
That wasn’t factory damage.
That was used tin.
I asked Dad about it, and sure enough — when his dad built the shed, he bought new tin for the roof… and used tin from who-knows-where for the walls. Nail holes and all.
Over the years, Dad, Mom, Anne, the kids, and I have all helped keep that very normal, uninspiring shed standing out in the middle of a barren field. Never really knowing why — until we did the full renovation in 2020 for the sheep. That’s when I finally replaced that wall tin, paper-thin and falling apart after decades of service.
So now here I am.
Heading out to pound a few nails back into a roof sheet my grandfather paid for over 70 years ago.
And honestly?
That makes me pretty happy.
Farmer Rod
