CNJ+ January 2025

THE RED BARN Chapter 5 By Richard Mabey Jr.

There is something innately right and solemn about build ing things. It is a strange and bewildering blend of serious work and good-hearted fellow ship. To build a little barn is for the most part, a journey in and of itself. There is the echo of the pounding of nails into two by fours. The eerie whin ing of an electric saw. The pro cess of measuring out wood. For myself, the building of the red barn was a kind of journey from the last remaining ether of boyhood that still resided in my heart, mind and soul to finding the golden rod of manhood, exchanging itself in the deepest chambers of my heart and in the sacred crevices of the mar row of my inner being. Friday morning came. It was about eight o’clock in the morn ing. Dad and I were nailing down the tar paper on the roof of the little red barn. Uncle Ed and Aunt Joy had plans to visit Grandma Mabey. They would be leaving Monday for Nevada, to live there for good. Devon, the cute, single, 25-year-old young woman, who lived with her aunt and uncle, right across from Mabey Lane, would be taking her uncle to the dentist. So, for this Friday morning, it was just Dad and I working on the red barn.

kind of dread renting it out to a stranger. It might do you good to move in there and be out on your own a little.” Dad said to me, as we nailed the roofing tar paper onto the plywood roof of the red barn. “I think I’d like that a lot,” I quickly replied. “You know, for the past year, you’ve been talking about start ing up a little town weekly. Your Aunt Vi’s got an old copy ma chine at her kennel. It may not be perfect, but….” Dad gently suggested to me. “You’d think she let me have it?” I asked my father. “I’m sure she would. Your Aunt Vi told me the other day, that ever since she got her new copy machine for the business, the old one’s just been in the way,” Dad said to me, as he took a minute and rested from ham mering. “Wow! That would really be something,” I told my father. “You could set up the little bedroom as your room and then set up an office in the big, back bedroom,” Dad said. “I’d have my own little place. My own little newspaper,” I said with a degree of exclamatory joy, to my father. “And, it wouldn’t be so bad, with the way the little house sets along Mabey Lane. I think that little girl is kind of fond of you,” my father quietly told me.

A photo of my dear, beloved father, Richard James Mabey Sr.

“You’re not really happy, working at the toothbrush company, are you son?” Dad thoughtfully asked me. “No Dad, I’m not. It’s just that….” I replied. “I know the feeling son. I’ve been there myself,” Dad’s word brought com fort to my heart. “I’ve been thinking about looking for another job,” I told my father. “You know son, come Monday morning, the little house will be empty. I

“You think so, Dad?” I shyly asked my father. “I’m pretty sure about it,” Dad said as he grinned from ear to ear. To be continued. Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He has had two books published. He hosts a YouTube Channel titled, “Richard Mabey Presents.” He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@gmail.com.

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