Barn Owls

Barn Owls: 'The scientific name comes from the Greek word tyto, which refers to an owl, and alba, the Latin word for white. The common name refers to the owl’s use of man-made structures, like barns, as roosts and nest sites'



I wouldn't describe myself as particularly materialistic person, for example I have yet to conform to the i-pod generation or the bombardment of blackberry's, my dress sense always compromises between what I think looks good to my target audience but an equal consideration to what I find comfortable, rather than what is fashionable. I do not shop at M&S and my weekly food shopping generally IS just 'that any food' that M&S likes to shoot down as inferior to their own. My car [barely] gets me from A to B, its not german, nor does it have vorsprung technik (and I am blissfully naive in the fact I have no idea what that means), nor does it have any je ne se quoi or va va voom. This blog is about something for all intents and purposes would be seen as materialistic, but it is my intention to argue quiet the opposite, and hopefully by the time we are done writing and you reading this blog you will be convinced that this is not a case of materialism, but something far more meaningful, something touching, something beautiful and a quinessential example of the beauty of life. I will talk to you about something very personal and profound to me and my family, im sure for many generations to come, and as the title suggests, I am writing about my beautiful beautiful abobe, the Oldfield Farm Barn.

Throughout my life I have always been fortunate enough to even have a roof under my head (something we all massively take for granted in life). I have constantly moved back and forth within the Cambridgeshire area. I have moved over 6 times already, which is 5 more than most people will ever do in their lifetime. On the other hand I am sure there are those who move far more frequently that I have. But the feeling is still the same, if you move, or even have the mentality of someone who moves, finding somewhere or more precisely someplace you actually call 'home' is very hard. I have always seen home as somewhere you put your head down, somewhere you keep all your junk, somewhere you recover and go out and crack on with the rest of your life. I have lived many shape and size bedrooms, some enough to place band practice and some barely big enough to fit your guitar. 'Home' to me traditonally been a fluid concept that moves as much as I did. This is not to say that this is a bad thing, in fact I rather appreciated the change of scenery, I liked moving, it allowed for new starts, new ideas, new places, new running routes, new cycling routes, new shops, and ultimately new places to explore. But the con is that happiness you feel when you just feel entirely...well, settled. Your actual 'somewhere' you can just go to relax and feel 'yesss...uuuuuuh'. That is a feeling like is priceless and amazing.


Moving houses was a game of often a akin to a game of monopoly for my family and a way of developing, and moving up the property ladder, so to speak. Of course driven entirely by the banker, my mother. My mother is a very intelligent women, of whom I have the up most love and respect for, in addition she is also I very shrewd business woman ( a trait I am learning...slowly). It was then my mother decided that she wanted to built her dream. A dream that I took a long time to understand and am only just beginning to understand to be honest. Over two years ago she saw an 100 year old, run down, barn which was used by a farm for storage and cattle and saw something truly beautiful. Through a series of not so fun family issues, my auntie (mums sister) divorced her then husband and wanted to move out. They say that when one door closes another opens, and this holds perfectly here. A perfect opportunity presented itself, and my mother and aunt started building a new life...in perfect parallel, together. Over the two years you could see the walls coming down and the two of them getting on better than they ever have done, and they understood one another always with the others best interests at heart. When the barns construction began, my mother and auntie oversaw the whole thing. My uncle and his son (my cousin) would so coincidentally happen to be builders and so took on the project guaranteeing at least two years of work, they did most of the construction work, with anything specific such as electrics or roofing done through specialists. The first summer, nearly two years ago now, during the first phase: demolition. I was fortunate enough to spend the whole summer working on the barn. I spent the first week with my younger cousin pull off roofing slates, and the subsequent weeks, we pulled down the double layered white bricks of the barn and restored them and 'cleaned' them with a a rock hammer (the male version of cleaning it seems).



My cousin and I with molegrips in hand -------------------------------------------->
(taking off the roof slates)



These bricks were then used to built the barn once more...just better than it was before (basically). I came back the following spring to build the giant GIANT oak framework, that made up the skeleton of the barn. The days were hot and the sun was beaming, whilst myself, my uncle and my two cousins heaved tonnes of oak beams horizontally and vertically and slotted them into place like a giant jigsaw puzzle. It was strangely a beautiful time in my life and one I shall never forget. I have never worked so physically hard in my life. Coming back that summer I felt amazing, never felt as physically good than after that summer. I found the whole experience as something so detached from the posed pens between my fingers and the second home of the library, it was so liberating to just flip the coin in life for a while, and take a 'break' from my everyday life. I found it so incredibly amazing thing to know you helped in some small way in building your own house. You just appreciate it so so much more, even if is in the most insignificant way in comparison to others. I look around now as I sit and type and I think to myself I know how we built that. I know how that was made. For example, one particular day that springs to mind was the great 'concrete' day'. In one day we entirely concreted the floor of the main barn.I did a lot of wheelbarrowing that day, it was approx 16 tonnes of concrete wheelbarred by hand to provide the underpinning for the tiles my feet are perched on.Amazing to think about, its was an amazing feet to do that those summers ago.



Me lending a hand on the main barn roof ------------------------------------------>



So the barn progressed, and progressed. I had the rather privileged stand point as I would go to university and see the barn perhaps every 5 weeks or so. Progression for me was very obvious and apparent. I felt for my cousins, auntie and mother who saw everything quite literally every day, everything for them was in real time, and I watched the highlights so to speak. Mother took pictures of the whole thing, day by day. We finally moved in once we had sold our old house, moving boxes in and around builders, made cereal amidst the dust and tried to revise to the rhythmic sound of hammers and angle grinders. Now things move even slowly than they ever did, with a picture frame up here, and a plant pot there. But for the first time... I sit and look around me with a content feeling, a feeling that I have never really felt before, the feeling of ....home. My mother, brother and I often joke about this house being what we call the 'forever house'. The house of all houses. Its an amazing feeling to be apart of something so much bigger than yourself. I am but one of many who now live here, and I am a part-timer, but we are all family, and we are all together. There is something truly beautiful and comforting in the fact that you know people who genuinely care for you, are a literally a step away. For those who have not seen this place, its an incredible feeling, you look around and see a house not built for the sake of being built, but something built with emotion. Built with more than just necessity, more than minimal limitation.The beautiful texture of the oak, the lighting, the showers, the fireplaces, the space....this place has little in the way of limitation and more in the form of personality and creativity. It has tasteful modernization with something houses often lack, a sense of belonging, history and tradition. What I sit in now is something that will last generations. I cant think of any place more beautiful to raise my children, and my children's children. To me that is the most beautiful and heartfelt compliment I can ever say.


I know that my life will soon me something far far detached from what it is today, and Canada will be a whole new world, a new culture, a new life. I will make alberta my new home. The thought of it makes me so excited. Yet I know that I shall and can never detach myself from here. From what really constitutes home. I love cambridge, and I am forever attached like a barn owl to this place. For those who know me well and/or have seen this place I hope this gives you a small snapshot how it makes me feel and why I talk about it so fondly. For those who don't, I wanted to share something I find truly beautiful and something that truly makes me happy, for so many reasons other than the bricks and mortar. Its a great and beautiful story and I feel privileged to have the opportunity to share it...

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