Rudy's story reminds me of my final year in architecture school. I was 
studying the idea of a memorial to Pruitt Igoe and was over-fascinated with 
ruined architecture. Being in the midwest I was surrounded by barns in 
various states of disrepair. I asked my mother why farmers let their 
buildings get so close to ruin without actually pushing them in. Although 
she was a thoughtful farm-raised woman, she ran to San Francisco as soon as 
she could take leave of her parentals. The city gal in her simply said 
"economics". She was willing, however, to ask the older farmers in our 
family and made a point of approaching them at a family wedding later that 
year. She gave me answers as varied as "don't have the time" to "I'm sure 
it's still good for something."

Each day now I drive past a beautifully kept farmstead between my house and 
work. Although the house is boarded up, I have no doubt each of the 
outbuildings looks like it did 75 to 100 years ago when they were built. 
Sound roofs, bright red paint, and white trim. Right across the highway is a 
clay tile silo at a precarious angle. It has been that way for as long as my 
husband remembers. After each wind storm, I expect to see it in pieces, and 
every day I see it standing into the wind, I am reminded that each of those 
old farmers outlived my mother, and that their farmsteads--even though 
falling close to ruin--outlasted them.

Thanks for another perspective, Rudy.

bamh.

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