How some determined “salvage dawgs” gave the iconic Round Mountain barn a second life. By Leslie Locklear
Self-described “rustoholic” Leslie Locklear reigns over a kingdom of salvaged treasures at Jack’s Cabin Cutoff near the former community that people called Howeville. The “newest” building on the property, a stately barn, harbors its own stories, some from long ago and some from the recent collective efforts that gave it a new life and home. Here is Leslie’s account of those efforts. I had an itch for another barn. I needed storage, work space, a place to create. My mom suggested that I ask about the barn standing a ways off of Highway 135 at the base of Round Mountain, and one fall afternoon I happened to see the barn’s owner standing at her gate. I pulled up on the shoulder, introduced myself and asked if she might consider selling that barn. She said she’d consider it, and we left it at that. Well, winter hit with a hard, fast, heavy, worldrecord snowfall. So much snow accumulated that several old buildings in the valley collapsed, and that included the majestic, timbered barn. The walls held, but with the massive snow, the towering cupola took a dive with the roof timbers right down into the center of the barn. Smashed! All smashed! Tears! This whole community shed tears. A few days later I received a phone call asking if I still wanted the barn. The “salvage dawg” that I am spoke right up and said I’d buy what wasn’t broken or rotten. Immediately I bit my lip, thinking, “What am I gonna do with a pile of wood?” I met with an engineer. We went over the 76
details needed to save the building. I looked that barn over, through watery eyes, as he told me how bad it was; my heart physically hurt. From the inside I could see a lot of good wood. The upper floor was still intact. At the end of the inspection, the engineer explained that I would be throwing immeasurable amounts of money and time, and lots of new expensive lumber, trying to save this barn. He could build me a new log barn, he said, for less stress and less money, with milled walls that fit perfectly together. I wasn’t interested. I wanted this one! I wanted its history, its hand-hewn logs, its nails, scratches, all its chewed stalls. I wanted the meaningful feeling that I’d saved someone’s craftsmanship from long ago, the place where the livestock took shelter during the blistering-cold winters. I walked away feeling as broken as the roof timbers. From there it kinda gets blurry. A call to the owner – and a mental call out to all the doubters – had me saying, “Hold my beer.” Not really knowing how I was going to pull this off, I reminded myself that I’d been binge watching “Barn Wood Builders” for months. I also had some furniture-building skills, having managed properties for 27 years and tinkered on my Jack’s Cabin place for 20. In my zest, and unbeknownst to my mother, who thought I was going to salvage some barn wood and build a shed, I promised the owner that I would build the barn back as close to original as I could. I would take it all. Clean up everything, every nail, every piece of wood. I would haul the junk away. I would
