Page 61 of Campaign Season
“JD, it’s a barn. It’s been nothing but storage for as long as I can remember. No horses, no wagons, no plows. Not in a century.”
Jameson’s smile was almost wistful. “But they were here once. That matters. It’s part of the landscape.”
“It’ll be a lot of work,” Jonah pressed.
Jameson shrugged. A challenge never deterred her. Jonah was right—she could sketch a guesthouse that looked period-authentic, designed to match the farmhouse perfectly. But it would be a lie. It would lack memory, and memory was what gave a space its soul. She wanted to keep the story of this barn alive, even if it meant reshaping it.
Dust swirled in the shafts of morning light filtering through the weathered siding. For a moment, she could almost imagine the ghosts of farmhands moving through the shadows. Her palm slid across a massive support post, the rough wood warm beneath her touch. The grain ran deep and true, a record of storms and seasons endured.
“Look at this craftsmanship,” she mused, tracing the mortise and tenon joints with her fingertip. “No nails. Just wood, locked in place by hand. It’s held for more than a hundred years. Modern construction couldn’t promise that.”
“Mom!” Cooper’s voice rang from the far corner. “There’s a whole set of horseshoes in here!”
Jameson turned, smiling. “See? That’s what I mean, Jonah. Those horseshoes, this wood, the way the light falls through the slats—you can’t manufacture authenticity.”
She stepped into the center of the barn, floorboards creaking under her weight. In her mind, she could already see it: soaring beams exposed to the ceiling, a loft tucked into the old hayloft, the great sliding door opening onto a wide deck with a view ofthe meadow and trees that rested beyond the yard. The gaps in the siding filled with reclaimed wood, not erased but preserved. An outer shell to preserve the treasure within. It would be a new space that carried the weight of its story.
Jonah leaned against one of the posts, arms crossed, watching her with an expression halfway between doubt and amusement. “You make it sound like a cathedral instead of a barn.”
Jameson grinned. “Maybe it is. A cathedral of horses and hay bales.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “You know, most people would look at sagging boards, a leaky roof, and a foundation that needs shoring up. You see a palace.”
“Most people don’t have any imagination,” Jameson teased. "And I don't see a palace. That would be less charming."
“Charming?” Jonah chuckled. "Or dusty. Maybe people just like working with straight lines and square corners,” he countered.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Jonah laughed softly, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed. You still see possibility where the rest of us see a headache. I’ll admit, though—there’s a kind of poetry in it."
Jameson’s hand rested on the beam, her voice quieter. “Something new doesn’t have to destroy the past, Jonah. It can carry the best of it forward. That’s what makes it worth doing.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess that’s why people follow your lead, JD. You don’t just build walls or rooms. You build meaning into them. Even if it’s a barn full of old horseshoes.”
“Especially if it’s a barn full of old horseshoes,” she corrected with a wink. "How many times did you play out here when you were a kid?"
"After Mom caught me with the matches, I stayed away. Shell had a few parties out here, though. Mom found the beer cans she forgot to pick up when she was in high school."
Jameson laughed. "That's what I mean. Think about the stories you can tell your kids when they stay here."
“Well, if you’re serious, you know Mel and I will help. But I should warn you—if Mel finds raccoons in the rafters, she'll probably hand in her notice.”
Jameson laughed, the sound filling the dusty space. “There's a story behind that I need to hear.”
"Let's just say that raccoons scare Mel more than bears or snakes."
Jameson's eyes twinkled. "Raccoons?"
"Mm-hm. I guess she went on a camping trip with her church once, and a raccoon ate a hole through her tent. She woke up in the night with it staring at her."
"In the tent?"
"Yep. She told me that story when we were getting my old tent out last year. Shell said that the real reason Mel doesn't like raccoons is that the raccoon ate her entire package of Oreos."
Jameson burst out laughing.
"You're going to use that as ammunition one day, aren't you?" he asked.
