"When You See the Big Red Barn..."
“When You See the Big Red Barn…”
updated and revised 11-5-09
On an April morning in 2004, my husband and I were headed “Up North” on M-66 and as always, when we neared Ionia I looked off to the left for the big red barn, very near the airport. It was a landmark on the horizon and anyone who knew the area knew to look for it and to tell others, “You know when you’re nearly to Ionia when you see the big red barn.”
But on this morning, it was a big sign piercing the yard near the stately farmhouse that quickly pierced my heart as well. It was a developer’s sign. The farm was for sale.
“If you plan to photograph that barn,” my husband wisely advised, “you’d better do it now.” We stopped at one of two newer homes on the property where we found the owner, Keith Benedict. As I asked for permission to photograph the barn I also asked what would happen to it when the farm sold. He shrugged and said sadly, that the barn built by his father in 1922, would likely be torn down. Like so many farmers he had succumbed to the pressure to sell the land he loved because, as he put it, “One way or another developers will get it anyway.” Other farmers across this state and nation have stood firm only to find skyrocketing taxes and sudden new regulations squeezing the life out of their ability to farm. Sadly, the Benedict situation was also fraught with twists and turns of political deception. For three years, Mr. Benedict had refused offers to sell but urban sprawl was advancing like an oil-slick on water, suffocating farmland as it went.
Looking back, I now believe I was supposed to pass the farm on that day. Keith Benedict showed me around the farm with its huge barn, century-old corn crib, old family farmhouse, wood-frame machine shed, pole building, and two additional homes. The farmstead area of the 197-acre farm , besides the buildings, featured tall evergreens, catalpa trees, and flower gardens. Behind the barn stretched a soybean field and across the road to the south were more open, flat fields and beyond them, more farms. It was when you looked to the north toward Ionia that you knew change was coming. K-Mart, Meijers, and gas stations as well as a McDonalds were a stone’s throw from the farm. Farms between the Benedict place and the City of Ionia had been erased completely.
Mr. Benedict explained that WalMart already was involved in negotiations to purchase a little more than 30 acres of the farm on the corners of M-66 and Sprague Road. It was too late, he said, to add a “condition of sale” clause to an agreement which would require the purchaser to save designated buildings. WalMart intended to build a megastore on the farm and, because years of advance wheeling-dealing go into these projects, it wasn’t only WalMart that was coming to the country but there would be other box stores, restaurants, gas stations, and more. Cool fields and night sky would become hot pavement and bright lights.
Bit by bit the wheels began turning, beginning with a phone call to the Ionia newspaper to bring to the attention of the Ionia community, the impending destruction of this wonderful barn – and all other farm buildings – hoping to encourage action to save what could be saved. My focus was the barn.
What ensued were four years of what I must describe as one of the most valuable learning experiences of my life. It was a journey into community politics, corporate practices, and collaborative perseverance. But it was also a journey into self discovery and the certainty that people working together can make a difference. There were times of great hope, as in when John Bisio from WalMart called me at home, September 8, 2004 and promised that the company would save the barn for whoever wanted it – a private citizen or a nonprofit entity – and pay the entire cost of dismantling, moving and rebuilding it. But there were times of deep discouragement, as in when he and the company went back on that promise and relationships had to be built and rebuilt with three successive company officials to continue a dialogue.
Sometimes on weekends, I would pack a picnic lunch and a few things into the trunk of my car – a broom, yellow trash bags, leather gloves, a dust mask – and head for Ionia, a 40-some mile drive. My dog and I would spend a day working in the barn, watching its beauty emerge from under mounds of old hay and miscellaneous discarded farm items. Mr. Benedict would stop by to tell me about the farm and his family. I learned that there had been another big red barn where this one now stood that had just been finished in 1921 when it was struck by lightning and nearly totally destroyed. The farm had once been home to sheep that would be herded down sleepy rural road M-66 to Ionia where they would be loaded onto the train and shipped to buyers. It was possible to have animals loose on the road then, because Keith said, “I remember when there were just four houses between this farm and the big hill just outside of town. Just four houses.”
Mr. Benedict told me about the thousands of bales of hay and straw that could be stacked to the peak of the 40’x108’gambrel barn and its 50’x60’ wing both of which were 60’ to the peak. And in a series of eight large granaries, hundreds of bushels of grain had been stored to feed the animals. He would laugh happily and blush when I would bring him a sometimes-still-warm-from-the-oven loaf or two of zucchini bread.
I fell in love with the grand old barn and with the corn crib nearby. Barn “experts” would later tell me that it was the corn crib that had the greater historical significance of the two buildings and there would be differences of opinion about whether the big barn could be saved. It was not a pegged barn but its architecture was somewhat unique as was its outward appearance with two tiny dormers and white-framed window gracing the wing. And so, my efforts focused not just on the main barn but on the corn crib too.
Serendipitously, about the time I had been given permission to find a taker for the barn, Central Michigan University’s television station opted to do a documentary on the plight of Michigan barns. The Benedict Barn became one of the barns featured in that program which aired all over the state and gave my name as the person to contact should anyone want the barn. Calls and emails poured in. People had plenty of ideas, the best of which was that WalMart should keep the barn and farmhouse right where they stood and convert them to a one-of-a-kind gardening center and coffee shop, neatly set beside the mature trees and flowers of the farm. (WalMart said it could not deviate from standard plans for all its stores.)
Ideas also included making the barn a township hall or restaurant, or, moving it to Mt. Pleasant to become part of a greenhouse operation, Traverse City to be a community center, Cheboygan to be a storage facility for antiques, Hickory Corners to house antique cars, Lake Odessa to be part of a historical village, Battle Creek to become a school, or just up the road to be part of the Ionia Free Fair.
Prospective takers visited the barn but when WalMart went back on its offer to fund the entire project, fewer takers remained. It was the two top officials of the National Trust for Historic Preservation who became my greatest allies in the quest to save the barn and it is largely because of their efforts, I believe, that WalMart finally agreed to put $150,000 toward the dismantling and relocation of the barn.
When WalMart made the $150,000 commitment, I was given the responsibility of choosing who would get the barn. Instead, I invited those who remained interested to submit a written proposal which was then turned over to a committee comprised of representatives from the Michigan Barn Preservation Network, the Michigan Historic Preservation Network, and the National Barn Alliance. I did not vote, having conferred with and advised so many contenders over the course of the three-plus years.
Meanwhile, the wood-frame machine shed was chewed into kindling before my eyes and demolition equipment was poised to devour the corn crib when, as I convinced the machine operator to “take a break”, a call was made to WalMart and a two-week stay of execution was granted, along with a commitment of $1,500 toward moving the corn crib. Mr. Benedict paid the remaining cost to move the corn crib half a mile down the road to his new home with the movers arriving just hours before the building would have been demolished. The corn crib remained at Mr. Benedict’s new residence for more than a year but eventually it was dismantled and the wood was salvaged for use in another building.
It was in the course of scrambling to save the corn crib that Mr. Benedict’s young grandson turned to me and said, “Why are you doing this, Barn Lady?” to which I replied, “So children like you will have a chance to see how wonderful barns are.” That was where the moniker “Barn Lady” came from and it has stayed. It is a part of me now.
When the panel of individuals reviewed proposals to save the Benedict Barn, there were three proposals and each was different. One would have rebuilt the entire barn with historical accuracy to become a big red school in Battle Creek. A second would have reused wood to create a much smaller barn, a blacksmith shop and a storage building on the grounds of a historical village, also in Battle Creek. The third proposal was to reuse the wood to build a gambrel barn at the Sherman Lake YMCA in Augusta, Michigan for multi-purpose use.
At the 11th hour the school proposal was withdrawn because of merger negotiations or it likely would have been approved. The panel selected the YMCA proposal and today a 30’x80’ gambrel barn stands proudly at the YMCA where teens could barely wait for the concrete floor to be completely dry before they held a square dance there. The barn is being used for fundraisers, weddings, meetings, and a range of camp activities.
This project is not something I can take credit for. Many people had a hand in bringing this to fruition – Mr. Benedict in a multitude of ways, the developer who had control of the barn and allowed me access and time to explore options for saving it, the film crew from Central Michigan University, a city official who guided me in some of the things I needed to know about political machines, a private citizen who wrote a check to help cover some of my personal expenses, barn contractors who visited the barn, a barn contractor who worked in the late autumn rains and chill to get the barn dismantled and moved in the time allotted by WalMart, and many people who kept my spirits up during down times.
The most important lessons to come from these years are that good can come when people work together for a just cause and that when you truly believe in something you must give it your best effort and not listen to the naysayers. To say, “Oh it will never work,” is to ensure that it won’t.
In the best of all worlds, we would do a much better job of reusing exploited land before ever devouring productive farms and fields. As consumers we would have far fewer wants and be more earth-friendly in meeting our true needs. And in that world, a big red barn would still stand, a box store might not be needed, and a Barn Lady would be content.
Jan Corey Arnett©2009
Benedict Saved
The beautiful barn is 40' x 108' with a 50' x 60' wing. It was dismantled, moved and reconstructed on a new location. The barn is being used for fundraisers, weddings, meetings, and a range of camp activities.
“You know when you’re nearly to Ionia when you see the big red barn.”
The claw of death was stopped, but not before it had eaten a beautiful machine shed that could easily have been saved and relocated.
Where once there was a yard and a garden beside the original Benedict farmhouse, now there is pavement and a fast food restaurant. Is it any wonder Michigan has an obesity problem?
...a barn contractor who worked in the late autumn rains and chill to get the barn dismantled and moved in the time...
"Once there were green fields...." now there is pavement, lights, traffic, and noise.
...today a 30’x80’ gambrel barn stands proudly at the YMCA where teens could barely wait for the concrete floor to be completely dry before they held a square dance there...
