alternatehistory.com

The farmer led the federal agent down the path toward the old barn.
"So which part are you claiming a tax deduction for?" the Heritage Agent, fancy suit with polished shoes, looked up at the handsome log building as they approached.
"The whole thing"
"The WHOLE thing? It must be fifteen hundred square feet"
"Sixteen fifty"
The agent took in everything he could on the scene- the building certainly looked old, and had clearly started as a log cabin before its use as a barn, but it couldn't be more than two hundred years old, could it? For one thing, that would mean it was built in the 18th century and such wooden buildings remaining anywhere in Canada were rare - but in Huron, that dates back to the oldest settlements. And, well - he now looked at his farmer.
Dale Jenkins was a short, slight man in his fifties, unkempt disheveled beard, well-worn jeans, boots, flannel coat and baseball cap on his head. Dale liked to joke that despite everything his prosperous farm was worth, millions, he still was mistaken for homeless everytime he went to Detroit.
The Agent had to admit to himself, the biggest problem he had with this assertion is that it didnt really square with the image he had in his mind of the early struggles of the Black Loyalists. If this log cabin was over two hundred years old, than the original settlers of this farm lived a life indistinguishable - unless better - than those of the white settlers in other parts of the country at the same time.
"Well, what proof -"
"My daughters bringin' the file down, she wont be an hour."
"Your daughter? What file?"
"Sure. Shes a fancy lawyer down in London. Shes got all the proof we need, told me to call 'er when you got here."
"Fair enough."
After a slight pause, Dale continued.
"She said not to say anything till she got here, but I reckon I can wrap this whole debate up right now."
"Oh?"
Dale nodded and continued walking around the barn.
"Here, come round back."
The agent followed.
Dale lit a cigarette, took a drag, then pointed, cigarette between two fingers, at the back of the log building.
"That joist beam. Look at 'er. It's one dang log the whole length of the barn."
The agent stared incredulously.
Dale was right. It was load bearing, and would be incredibly difficult to replace, but that didnt prove its age.
"But-"
"Carbon date the damn thing if you want!"
"You're saying this is the original building built by the first settlers -"
"By my great great great great grandaddy, that's who. Grandad converted it into the barn when he built the big house."
"Your family has lived here continuously?"
"Since the American Revolution"
"That's longer than my family!" He realized immediately how condescending this was, but Dale just laughed.
"Longer than everybody's, round here. Heck of a story."
The agent stammered.
"Well, if we're waiting...I'd love to hear the story..."