"Barns of Southwest Oklahoma"

It was late in the evening; the sun had already sank below the infinitely broad western horizon of Kiowa County.  Earlier in the day I had taken Hwy. 54 north to 152, then west to Cordell, and finally north on 183 into Clinton, OK.  I enjoyed the drive; I always do.  However, it’s not uncommon for me to return a different route.  Late in the afternoon, as I began my return trip, I decided to continue on 183 south out of Cordell then turn east on Hwy. 9, a couple miles south of Rocky.  This would take me to the intersection of Hwy. 9 & 54, at Gotebo.  Though several miles away, I could faintly see the lights of Gotebo ahead where Hwy. 9 intersects with Hwy. 54.  I had never traveled this eleven miles before and it was not out of the way, so what the heck?  I questioned my decision just south of Cordell as I came upon some extensive road construction.  The flagman had us stopped waiting our turn to go for so long I turned off the engine.  There was nothing else to do since I was hemmed-in, both front and rear.  After what seemed like twenty minutes, but was probably much less, the lead car came to lead us, slowly, to the other end of the construction, just a few short miles north of Rocky.Rocky is small farming community.  Highway 183 runs right through the middle of town, as do most highways in most communities in Southwest Oklahoma.  The grain elevators dominate the horizon and a railroad parallels the highway.  I’m curious, as I pass through, to know more about Rocky, it’s origins, it’s namesake, it’s past highlights.  Perhaps on a another day I’ll stop, visit the post office and ask some questions.

Six miles south of Rocky, Highway 9, joins Highway 183,  and continues south to Hobart where it then continues it’s westward until finally, at Madge, exiting Oklahoma and entering the Texas Panhandle.  I’ll be turning east at the junction with 183.  This is eleven miles of highway that wavers not to the right, nor to the left, but bears due east to Gotebo, Oklahoma, where it intersects with Hwy. 54:  I passed through Gotebo headed north earlier in the day.  This time I’ll enter from the west and turn south at the intersection.  It’s eleven miles of road I’ve never traveled before.  The sun is setting behind me as I turn east with wide-open eyes hoping to see everything and trying to miss nothing, for it’s all brand new to me.

Several miles pass without anything really standing out.  The country is beautifully mystic in the warm orange glow of the setting sun.  The sky is cloudless but the atmosphere is painted with varying hues of orange, blue, and pink.  I immediately saw it as the flat road beneath me began to descend leaving bluffs on both my left and right.  But there in front, just off the highway to the south it stood; the last rays of the setting sun shooting across the top of the bluff, illuminating it’s rust red roof like glowing red embers.  Even at first glance I can see this is no ordinary barn.  This is split level construction, taking advantage of the natural wash of the land with a stone retaining wall built to create the inside wall of the lower level.

It was only a half mile away and the sunlight hitting it directly would be gone in only a few minutes, but there are no shoulders on this highway so I can’t pull over.  I’m forced to drive all the way to the gate that provides access into the pasture and the barn itself.  Finally reaching the gate area, I pull off the highway and onto the protected shoulder parallel to the gate and protected from the surprisingly high number of vehicles traveling this road.  Rushed by the rapidly failing sunlight, I unpack my camera, attach the 70-200 G, grab my tripod, and head back up the highway via the bar ditch.  Soon into this trek I realize a few disappointing facts.  The arthritis in my knees won’t allow me to move at the pace I need to move and the light will be gone before I ever reach the point of perspective I want, anyway.  Recognizing that, I stop, set up my tripod, and take a few desperation shots knowing they are a distant second best.  I only take a few because the barn is so large, I’m not very far away, and the 70-200 G is not the lens I need from this position.  Disappointed, I gather up my tripod, lay it over my shoulder, and walk back to the car thankful for having the opportunity to see this grand old barn, a sweet fresh air, and beautiful sunset.

Back at the car, I prepare to put everything away, and have already detached the lens and placed it in the car, when I turn toward the barn and see this wonderful old barn from a totally different perspective.  Quickly I reach in my bag, grab the 16-80, attach it, and mount the camera on the tripod.  I rush to the gate and set up just outside but a close to the gate as I can get.  Even now it’s hard to put into words the moments that follow as I try to capture the light, the mood, the emotion, the barn.  The window is open for only a few brief minutes, but sometimes that’s enough.  This time was enough for me.  I am peaceful, open, and unrestrained like the landscape that surrounds me.  I take deep breaths, the air is cold but I’m warm inside.  The drive home will be better, now.