This time I drove well in to the yard, and knocked at the door of the frame house to ask permission to walk around the barn and take pictures. The young woman who answered explained that she and her family were renting, and that the barn actually belonged to someone else. So basically, we could walk around as much as we wanted with her blessing. She had fallen under the barn’s spell herself already, and had avidly photographed it herself, even replicating the “inside the silo” shot my daughter had taken months before.
Farewell, “my Brigadoon.”