Uncle Fred was my grandfather’s (Henry Frerichs)
brother. My grandfather died of the flu during the flu epidemic of 1919.
So, as I was growing up, I came to call Uncle Fred, grandpa or Grandpa
Fred.
The barn in this painting was built in 1906 and was the first barn in the
area designed to drive both horse and wagon into it and unhitch them
inside. If you see the barn today, the date on the cupola reads 1909.
Apparently, the last painter to paint it used stick-on numerals and put
the last number “six” on upside down so it read as a nine by mistake. When
I went to make a painting of the barn in the summer of 2003, Uncle Bud and
Aunt Doris (whom I stay with when I return to Nebraska) wanted me to make
sure I corrected the date. It was always a sore spot to Uncle Fred that it
was incorrect.
As a child, this barn was an endless source of adventure and mystery to
me. The loft often served as a personal kingdom where many battles were
won or lost. In a later year it was the place I kissed my first girl. My
earliest memories of the building include the giant Dutch Elm that
stretched clear across the barnyard from the house to the barn.
Unfortunately, on a visit in my mid twenties, the tree had succumb to
Dutch Elm disease and had been cut down. The Barn itself had shrunk in
majesty, too. I think perhaps just because I was taller.
But in the summer of 2003, I returned to find it one morning as majestic
and inviting as ever!
There is a grand story to go with this barn. One winter Uncle Fred had
gone into town with the horse and wagon to get supplies. On the way back
he was caught in a formidable blizzard that created a “white-out” as the
plains farmers referred to them. He became lost and either passed out or
fell asleep in the wagon. The next thing he remembered was he woke up in
the barn. Apparently the horse had known its way home on its own. This is
a good bit of knowledge to know about horses and people. We get lost a lot
easier!
