If you enjoy country life or just like taking walks away from busy cities, you may have noticed barn stars. These stars are often found above barn doors, either painted on or made of metal, and they serve as interesting decorations with a rich history.
But what do barn stars really mean? Where do they come from? If you’ve ever wondered about this, you’re in the right place. This article will explain a bit about barn stars and might even teach you something new.
The history of barn stars goes back over a hundred years, although there is some debate about their original purpose. Some sources say that these stars were first used to show who built the barn, acting as a sign to let everyone know who was responsible for constructing it.
According to The Copper Star, barn stars became popular after the American Civil War and can be traced back to at least the 1820s in Pennsylvania. Nowadays, people often associate barn stars with good luck and prosperity. Interestingly, the different colors of the stars each have their own special meanings too!
That’s right! Each color of barn stars has its own meaning. German-American farmers, for instance, placed these stars at the top of barns to keep away evil spirits and to help ensure a good harvest.
Barn stars are a tradition that has been passed down over the years and are believed to come from the Pennsylvania Dutch and Amish communities.
Interestingly, the different colors of stars represent different ideas. For example, brown stars symbolize friendship and strength, while white stars stand for purity and energy. A violet star represents holiness, and blue or black stars are meant to protect the farm.
Green stars symbolize growth and fertility for the crops, while bright yellow stars express love for both people and the sun.
Then there are “hex stars,” which are different from barn stars and showed up more than a century later.
You may have seen hex stars from time to time. They first appeared in the 1950s. According to the Kutztown Folk Festival, the change from barn stars to hex stars started with a man named Milton Hill in 1952.
Later, in the late 1950s, a Pennsylvania Dutch folk painter named Johnny Ott added superstitious meanings to his designs. He found that these signs sold much better with added meanings. The trend quickly spread, and these designs became known as “hex signs.”
I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
The quietude of Elm Street, once a symphony of birdsong and gentle laughter, had been shattered. The arrival of the new neighbors, the Morlocks, had thrown the idyllic tranquility of their little community into chaos.
Initially, I had tried to be welcoming. A plate of freshly baked cookies, a warm smile, a friendly “Welcome to the neighborhood!” But my overture had been met with a chilling silence. The woman who answered the door, pale and gaunt, had regarded me with a suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Ew, it smells awful,” she had muttered, her eyes darting nervously around as if I were some sort of disease.
Then came the fountain. A monstrosity of wrought iron and gargoyles, it stood imposingly in their yard, a constant, jarring presence. The incessant gurgling and splashing, day and night, had become the soundtrack to our lives. Sleep became elusive, replaced by the monotonous drone of the water.
The neighborhood, once a haven of peace and camaraderie, was now a battleground. Tempers flared. Arguments erupted at the weekly community meetings. Finally, a vote was taken – a unanimous decision to request the removal of the fountain.
And so, the unenviable task of filing the official complaint fell to me. I, the self-proclaimed peacemaker, the neighborhood’s unofficial ambassador of goodwill, was now the bearer of bad tidings.
That evening, as I returned home, a small, ominous package lay on my doorstep. No return address. A shiver ran down my spine.
Inside, a single sheet of paper, scrawled with menacing handwriting:
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. YOU WILL BE POLITE TO YOUR NEW NEIGHBORS, OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.”
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped me. Who was it? The Morlocks? Or someone else, someone watching, someone waiting for the right moment to strike?
The following days were a blur of paranoia and unease. I checked every window and door lock multiple times a night. I slept with the light on, the faintest sound sending shivers down my spine. My once peaceful neighborhood had transformed into a place of fear and suspicion.
The police, after much persuasion, agreed to investigate. They questioned the Morlocks, of course, but they denied any involvement. The woman, her face gaunt and drawn, maintained her innocence, claiming she was simply trying to enjoy her own property.
The investigation yielded nothing. No fingerprints, no witnesses, no concrete evidence. The threat remained, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic community.
I started carrying a small can of pepper spray, my hand instinctively reaching for it at every rustle of leaves, every unfamiliar sound. I avoided going out alone at night, my days filled with a constant sense of unease.
The incident had changed me. The once friendly, outgoing neighbor was now withdrawn, suspicious, constantly scanning the shadows for signs of danger. The peace and tranquility of Elm Street, shattered by the arrival of the Morlocks, had been replaced by a chilling sense of fear and uncertainty.
And the fountain, that monstrous, discordant symbol of their arrival, continued to spew its icy water, a constant reminder of the darkness that had seeped into the heart of their once idyllic community.I COMPLAINED ABOUT MY NEW NEIGHBORS’ HORRIBLE FOUNTAIN & RECEIVED A THREATENING NOTE FROM THEM.
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