Enthusiasts battle Pa. barn razings

Sam Kriebel heard thunder in the distance.

It was the first Tuesday in August, two years ago, he remembers. He was resting on the porch that sultry afternoon after mowing the field on his Montgomery County farm.

"The sun was just a haze. And all at once, it flashed and cracked and everything was on fire."

Kriebel, then 91, recalled feeling a good jolt through his aluminum lawn chair - and he was sure the lightning had struck his russet-colored barn.

It could have been the end for the structure, part of which was built by Kriebel's great-great-great-great-grandfather.

But a barn has stood in that spot in Lower Salford Township since 1748, and it wasn't going to go down that day. The lightning had hit not the barn, but a lightning rod planted in the field, which was once occupied by Gen. George Washington's troops.

Thus, a treasure was spared: Kriebel's is one of a diminishing number of buildings classified as Pennsylvania barns.

It is a specific type originated by Swiss German immigrants and built from the late 1700s to early 1900s, most commonly in the southern half of the state, said architectural historian Greg Huber.

On Monday, barn enthusiasts expect the state legislature to declare 2015 the Year of the Pennsylvania Barn.

The resolution will not appropriate money or preserve properties, but the hope is that it will raise awareness among barn owners and appreciation among residents to give the preservation movement a boost.

"We're not looking for tax dollars. . . . Governments in the last 10, 20 years have just not been interested in it," said Curt Musselman, chairman of a barn-preservation group in the Gettysburg area.

"That local grassroots approach is what we're looking for to succeed."

Barns define "the agricultural character of rural landscapes" of the commonwealth, said State Rep. Dan Moul (R., Adams), who introduced the resolution, in a memorandum.

Beyond efforts by barn enthusiasts, the state has made little effort to preserve them, said Jeffrey Marshall, president of the Historic Barn and Farm Foundation of Pennsylvania.

"You're losing part of our heritage, part of our soul as a people, if you don't have the historic barns on the landscape," Marshall said.

Historians estimate there might be tens of thousands of Pennsylvania barns in the state, but as barns fall out of practical use, many owners demolish or alter them, not realizing they are historic buildings.

Pennsylvania barns - also known as forebay barns - are easy to spot: One side of the structure extends out over its foundation.

The barns are banked into the land, with the lower level accessible from the front and the upper level from the back. The upper level hangs over the stable wall in the front, creating a slightly off-balance look.

Made of strong oak timber, the barns traditionally held animals and farm crops. Their heyday came during and after the Industrial Revolution, when farmers needed more storage space and had to adapt to a new way of living, Huber said.

The barns are living examples of a bygone craftsmanship and architectural style.

"People who take the time to stop and look almost always go away with a new appreciation," said Marshall, who is also vice president of the National Barn Alliance.

Standing in the dim upper story of his barn with one of his sons Thursday, Kriebel pointed to a beam where carved numbers mark the year 1748, right next to the initials of his great-great-great-great-grandparents.

It was converted into a Pennsylvania barn in 1837, but part of the original structure remains, making it rare. It stands high next to Kriebel's 19th-century home, where he lives with one of his sons.

At 93, Kriebel, who on Thursday was bundled in a red-and-black flannel coat with a matching cap and swinging a tri-colored cane, is the seventh generation to own the Lower Salford farm, though it has not been in use since he sold the dairy operation in 1986.

Kriebel's ancestors built the barn after arriving from Germany, and it has been passed down from father to son ever since.

When a state inspector told Kriebel in 1952 that he had to extend the lower wall to be flush with the wall of the upper level, Kriebel ignored him, saying he would rather quit farming than change the barn.

"I stood on my feet, and here it is today," he said, looking up at the plastered wall and oak roof.

"This was the way they did it, and that's the way I'm going to leave it."

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