I was on my way to get my hair done. It was the same route I had taken a hundred times before, but this time I saw them! It took everything I had not to slam on my brakes and back up. Silos. Silos sat behind a house. I know silos sit behind houses, but this is a well populated area. A busy road. And they just seemed out of place. How in the world had 2 silos sat this close to the road I have driven for years and I’ve never noticed before? They are not small.
Had I always been distracted? Listening to a podcast or music to occupy my mind for the drive. Had the sun always been in my eyes? I spent the rest of the drive thinking about it. Part of what bothered me was how they could have escaped my notice for so long.
As soon as I left the stylist, I called my husband and I’m not even sure I let him say hello before I asked if he knew of these silos. He says oh yeah, over on x street behind that yellow house? YES! How had he never told me these existed? Which was completely unfair. Why would he?
As we talked more, he shared that he and his siblings had known the children of this family growing up. A few texts later and I was connected with the owners and had obtained permission to go take pictures.
There was moment in time where I imagine these silos were nothing out of the ordinary. But now, they stood out. As we walked through the yard, I was struck by just how large they were. Not in total disrepair, but obviously no longer used. My husband explained that the area behind them used to be fields owned by the family and the silos were used for storage. Now, I found myself standing in what amounted to a well-manicured yard, with a few small fruit trees dotting around. The “yard” was lined with wooden fences that acted as a barrier to the houses of the newly erected small subdivision that spanned down one side and the back of the property.
I was struck by the contrast of the new houses with this old backdrop that seemed to loom over them. I had recently been looking for abandoned places. Buildings, bridges, anything really. Just old structures. I am fascinated by the way they decay and the earth starts to take them over. Was that the reason I finally saw the silos? Because I was looking for them? Or had I just been too distracted to notice before. |
To most around this area, the silos are no big deal as they’ve just always been there. You ask people, and they say oh yeah, I’ve seen them, and? In fact, the family thought it strange that I was so fascinated by them and wanted pictures. But they are stunning! And the patterns of the greenery growing on them changes from day to day and as the sun passes.
How easy it is to miss a thing of beauty right in front of you. Especially in the busy lives we lead. These silos represent an old, but very important part of the history of this area. The past fields and farms that eventually got swallowed up or simply faded away as parents stopped working them and their children chose not to carry on. And now, to me, they serve as an anchor to the past in the midst of new growth and expansion.
It’s important to remember the past and share the stories and lessons even as we move forward.
Reflection Prompts
- Route blindness:Â What have I stopped seeing on my everyday route (home/work/life)? What does that say about my pace right now?
- Old & new: What in my life feels like a silo (an anchor to the past)? What feels like the subdivision (new growth calling me forward)?
- Distraction audit: What usually pulls my attention away (noise, playlists, scrolling)? How do I feel when I turn the noise off and really look?
Practices & Exercises
- Noticing Drive/Walk (10 min): Take a familiar route with no audio. Find three “silos”—things you’ve never truly seen. Snap a photo or jot a line about each.
- Story Salvage (15 min): Ask someone who remembers “the old fields” (a neighbor, relative, shop owner): What used to be here? Capture one quote or lesson to keep.
- Anchor Ritual (5 min): Choose one small anchor (recipe, song, object). Note: What does this keep me connected to? Put a monthly reminder to revisit it on purpose.
Closing ThoughtÂ
Beauty survives the remodel. The past still hums beneath the new paint. When we slow down enough to notice, we become bridge-keepers—remembering what formed us while making room for who we’re becoming.
