As a woodshed.
How is it that barnwood weathers the passing of time with such grace and beauty? Such integrity it has, though more of it is philosophical than structural at this point. Perhaps it is just ordinary weathered wood turned sublime through the romance of the barn and the vitality held within. Rumor has it that stray bullets are also held within the grain, remnants from the era of gun hunters out back.
It stands as a fitting tribute to the structures that stood these grounds before, barn included, owing to the hard work of Andrew. The meager piling of wood within will last no more than a winter heartbeat; much more splitting and stacking awaits. But for now, the wood that we do have ready will be kept dry. That is no small victory.