When I was in Ohio over the holidays I stopped by The Building, as my family calls the place, in order to take some photos of its current, perfectly terrible condition. Years and years ago my parents bought this two-story brick building, a former town hall, gathering space, and basketball court (the blackboard for scorekeeping is still on the wall), a few miles from the farm where I grew up. The Building sits at the crossroads of one of those tiny little rural communities which pretty much consists only of a crossroads. My mom sells antiques on the first floor, and uses the second floor for storage. It’s an amazing space, a little study in Greek Revival symmetry, with classical lines and beautiful windows randomly juxtaposed against miles of cornfields. This summer we’re going to clean out the second floor – if my parents give us their blessing – to prepare it for use as a music hall for my brother and his band. The walls are perfect, the plaster showing its age in a way that only the dignity of years can give. We’ll give the floors and the ceiling a facelift, update the electricity, and bring on the banjos just in time for an end-of-summer show. If the ghosts are still keeping score, let’s chalk one up for The Building. It will be the first time in a hundred years the place has been given its due.