The Pipe That Cost Us a Porch (and Got Us a New Barn)
A little while back, I wrote about the adorable goats we brought home to our little acreage. What I didn’t fully explain at the time was that their housing situation… wasn’t exactly ideal. When we bought this property, there was an old sheep barn sitting at the bottom of the hill. Structurally? Questionable. Charm-wise? Off the charts.
It had these beautiful high trusses that curved to form the roof — the kind of craftsmanship you just don’t see anymore. My husband and I would stand inside and imagine the hands that built it, the years it had seen, the work it had done. I’m sure in its day it was stunning.
Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, most of that beauty was hidden behind layers of old hay, leftover wire, and decades of “we’ll deal with that later.” The roof was deteriorating. The hay was damp and moldy. One small corner was dry enough for the goats, and we quietly hoped the barn could just… hang on one more year.
We were holding out until we had the money to deal with it.
The Pipe That Changed Everything
Meanwhile, we had our sights set on a completely different project: the front porch. We had timelines. A budget. A materials list sitting in our cart.
And then, the day before we were set to begin, a pipe broke.
Fortunately, it was an exterior pipe.
Unfortunately, it supplied the only source of clean water to the barn.
We had a plumber come out, mostly to confirm what we already knew. A new water line would need to be run down to the barn. Our porch project was officially on hold.
And once we were running a new water line, it only made sense to run electric at the same time. The barn technically had electricity at one point in its life, but none of it was usable now. As we stood there assessing the situation, it became painfully obvious:
If we were investing in water and electric, was it really worth attaching that to a barn that might not survive another Iowa winter?
That broken pipe was the push we needed. Procrastination: over.
Can It Be Saved?
We had several roofers come take a look to see if the barn could be salvaged. Most didn’t want to touch it. One was willing — for a price that made us swallow hard. And that was just the roof. The rest of the barn still needed work. Slowly, reluctantly, we started to see the writing on the wall. Saving it just wasn’t feasible. So we asked a contractor what it would cost to build a new barn in its place.
And surprisingly? It was doable.
To keep costs down, we reused the existing foundation (which was in decent shape), committed to building the stairs and garage door ourselves, and planned to do all the siding on our own. The timeline shocked us most of all. After years of doing big projects ourselves — working nights and weekends — the idea that a barn could go up in weeks instead of months felt almost suspicious.
Before demolition day, we went inside one last time. We salvaged the smaller barn doors, some wall boards that hadn’t rotted yet, and a few of the large perimeter beams. We also asked the contractor to save the old cupola so we could reinstall it later.
I took photos. It felt like saying goodbye to an old friend.
Temporary Goat Housing (Featuring Chemical Totes)
There was, of course, the small issue of where the goats would live during construction.
We needed something affordable, weatherproof, and easy to place in their pasture. It was summer, so we didn’t need insulation, but they needed shelter from rain and a place to feel secure at night.
After exploring options ranging from “expensive prefab shed” to “what do we have lying around,” we landed on an unexpectedly perfect solution: old chemical totes.
We found a couple locally, cleaned them thoroughly, and cut doorways into the sides with a jigsaw. We tossed some wood chips in the bottom and called it good.
They were relatively lightweight and portable, durable, inexpensive, and — in the grand scheme of DIY farm solutions — a win.
The goats took a little convincing, but eventually came around.
Demolition Day
The day they tore the old barn down was bittersweet.
It was exciting to move forward with something safer and more functional. But watching that old structure — the one that had clearly stood for generations — get knocked down and scraped into a pile was hard.
We stood at a distance while it came down. That night, we had a giant bonfire and officially closed that chapter.
And then, the new barn started taking shape.
Watching It Rise
Over the next few weeks (not months — still feels wild to say that), we watched the structure go up. It was such a strange and wonderful feeling to see progress happen without sacrificing every spare weekend and muscle in our bodies.
Once it was built, wrapped, and roofed (with the old cupola prominently placed on top), we took over.
My husband built the stairs to the loft, which has since become invaluable storage space. Then he got to work on the siding. For that, we invested in scaffolding and a longer ladder — not cheap, but tools we’ve used many times since.
We chose CertainTeed Board and Batten vertical vinyl siding in Wedgewood Blue, and I absolutely love the character it gives the barn. We finished just in time for winter, working in cold temperatures that made everything slightly more stubborn.
But it was one big step closer to moving the goats home.
The Pallet That Was Supposed to Be Temporary
We cut an opening in the side of the barn for pasture access, covered it with a strip curtain, and sectioned off a space inside just for the goats.
The night we planned to let them move in, we realized we hadn’t built proper steps up to their door yet. The original plan was a small platform.
Instead, we grabbed an old wooden pallet and propped it up on two buckets.
“Temporary,” we said.
Two years later, that pallet is still there.
It settled into the ground over winter and somehow became shockingly sturdy. The goats use it daily without issue. It’s one of those accidental solutions that just works — so we’ve left it alone.
Water, Light, and Relief
The new water line was eventually installed via directional drilling — after one long winter of hauling five-gallon buckets down the hill. Electric followed soon after.
The night we flipped on the lights for the first time was one of those quietly triumphant moments. Bright, clean light filled the barn, and for the first time we could stand inside without worrying about damp hay, failing boards, or the roof over our heads.
To finish it off, we made a new sign. My husband planed down one of the salvaged wall boards from the old barn, and I used my Cricut to stencil and paint it.
A little piece of the past, carried forward.
Saying Goodbye (and Moving Forward)
It was hard to say goodbye to something that felt so woven into the history of this property. But the new barn has been such a blessing.
We have clean water. Electricity. Dry hay storage. A loft. Solid walls. And perhaps most importantly, we no longer lie awake wondering if the barn might collapse in the middle of the night.
Sometimes honoring the past means letting it go — and building something that will carry the story forward.
And the goats? They seem quite pleased with the upgrade. 🐐💛
