Permission

This barn sits just south of Meridian, Idaho, on a rural road that was completely out of town for more than a century.

Not anymore.

New, boxy houses are closing in on three sides.

I’ve driven past this barn for years, admiring its beautiful lines and extraordinary height, thinking it would make a wonderful photograph. In 2025, I finally stopped to make it.

I wanted to document it before it succumbed to the mighty, ceaseless hands of land development.

I refuse to photograph on private property without permission. There’s a farmhouse right next to the barn, so I pulled into the driveway and knocked on the door.

A man answered.

His name was Richard.

He agreed to let me photograph the barn while chewing on a greasy chicken leg.

“Sure, go ahead,” he said.

So I did.

I worked for about half an hour, photographing every side of the barn.

Then I saw someone speeding toward me on an ATV.

As he got closer, I could see he was an older gentleman with a sour look on his face.

He thundered up to me.

“Do you have permission to take pictures of that barn?”

“Yes,” I said. “Richard said I could.”

I pointed toward the house.

The old man looked at me.

“That’s not Richard’s barn. It’s mine!”

I was confused.

“It’s not?”

“No. He’s got nothing to do with it. He’s just a renter.”

I looked back at the farmhouse.

Then at the barn.

Then at the man on the ATV.

“Well, would you mind if I took photographs of it?”

He grumbled.

“I guess.”

So I finished my work.

Apparently, using Richard’s logic, anyone can give anyone permission to do anything.