S**'s Barn, Now and Then

We're burning S**'s barn. It's keeping us quite warm.
A shame to see the old thing go. How long has it been there? Thirty years? Forty?
The wood's dried out by now.
Back when S** grew tobacco, he dried it in the barn that D*'s gonna use to store his greenhouse stuff. He lashed long poles to the roof rafters - all sorts of wood: poplar, cherry, sycamore, locust. He'd hang the tobacco from these poles until it was ready to be worked. But D* won't be needing these for his greenhouse, so we cut, crowbarred, and wrestled them all down. And I cut 'em up for firewood. For the millionth time, I'm sitting in my house after an exhausting day, asking myself: What would I do without S**. Least I can do is burn his barn.

That was my first lead. We're burning S**'s barn.
My other was: Burning tobacco products isn't always so bad.
I was going to segue into something or another about a tobacco barn being used in conjunction with a hobby greenhouse. I was going to get really melodramatic and compare S** working in the old days, roaming over the mountains and taming wild rivers and running moonshine and bravely growing tobacco in order to put food on his family's table. Then I'd go into something about a big, plastic building outside that barn, now. A liesure activity for people from somewhere else. A decoration rather than a livlihood.
I was going to go on and on with stuff like that, but I'll spare you. I'm still sick, and I have a headache. It's dark and I just need to lie down and rest. I should make some tea, but I don't know if I have the energy. I'll post my rough notes, and let you fill in the blanks.