Last Tuesday, I found a universal remote control in a thrift store bin, nestled between a taxidermy squirrel and a VHS of Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo. It glowed faintly, like it was whispering, “I control everything.” I snatched it up for $1.50, convinced I’d just unlocked the cheat code to the universe. Point it at the TV? Netflix obeys. Point it at the toaster? Perfect bagels. Point it at my neighbor’s yappy chihuahua? Mute. I was a god among mortals—until I accidentally opened a portal to a dimension of sentient hammers. True story. That got me thinking about pole buildings, because at Sherman Pole Buildings, we’ve been crafting structures crazier than a remote-powered hammer-verse since Jimmy Carter was president. These aren’t just barns; they’re portals to your wildest dreams, minus the interdimensional chaos.
I’m not here to bore you with blueprints or lumber specs. Nah, pole buildings are the Swiss Army knife of construction, and I’m about to tell you why they’re weirder and cooler than a remote that can pause your cat’s existential crisis. So, buckle up, because this ride’s about to get loopier than a rollercoaster built by a caffeinated raccoon.
Pole Barns: The Cosmic Couch Fort
Remember when you were a kid, draping blankets over chairs to build a fort? Pole buildings are that, but for grown-ups who’ve traded juice boxes for coffee and dreams for… bigger dreams. These structures don’t need fussy foundations like some diva stick-frame house. We jam poles deep into the earth like we’re staking a vampire’s coffin, and boom—your building’s ready to host a UFO convention or a disco for retired tractors. I once saw a guy in Duluth turn his pole barn into a shrine for his collection of novelty salt shakers. No walls cramping his style, just wide-open space where his 47 Elvis-shaped shakers could shine. That’s the magic of post-frame: it’s your blank canvas, whether you’re hoarding porcelain kitsch or building a lair for your alpaca side hustle.
The best part? These things laugh at storms. Minnesota blizzards dump 46 inches of snow like it’s auditioning for Frozen 3, but our barns just shrug. They’re built with lumber tougher than a werewolf’s chew toy and steel siding that could star in a sci-fi flick. I swear, one of our barns survived a tornado that yeeted a neighbor’s lawn gnome to Wisconsin. Try that with a universal remote. Spoiler: it’ll just change the channel to static.
When Remotes and Barns Collide
So, I’m fiddling with my thrift-store remote, trying to un-pause reality, when I accidentally point it at a Sherman job site. Suddenly, the pole barn we’re building starts breakdancing—trusses twerking, siding moonwalking. Okay, maybe that was the expired yogurt I ate, but it sparked an epiphany: pole buildings are the ultimate universal remote for your life. Need a dojo for your ninja turtle obsession? Click. Want a greenhouse for your carnivorous plants? Zap. How about a barndominium where you live upstairs and run a ferret daycare below? Boop. Forget wrestling with cosmic blueprints or deciphering alien architect lingo; you’re free to chug grape soda and train your goldfish to sing Bohemian Rhapsody in peace.
Unlike my remote, which now only controls the volume of my existential dread, pole barns don’t glitch. Their open design means you can shove a monster truck through the door or hang a chandelier for your pet iguana’s birthday gala. One client in Brainerd built a pole barn to house his collection of haunted typewriters. Said they clacked out poetry at midnight. We didn’t ask questions; we just made sure the roof could handle ghostly vibes. That’s Sherman’s deal: we build your weird, no judgment.
The Great Barn Bonanza
By now, my universal remote’s on strike, refusing to do anything but turn my blender into a time machine. (Don’t ask about the smoothie incident of 1987.) But pole buildings? They keep delivering, like a pizza guy who never gets lost. These structures are cheaper than traditional builds— fewer materials, no need for a crew of 50 carpenters arguing over who ate the last donut. You could build a pole barn for your knitting club, your doomsday prep, or your secret plan to breed glow-in-the-dark chickens. The sky’s the limit, unless you want a skylight, which we can totally do.
Our crew once built a barn for a guy who claimed he was training owls to deliver mail. We didn’t blink; we just added extra-wide doors for owl takeoffs. That’s the pole barn life: it’s your stage, and we’re the roadies setting up the show. With trusses spaced like the universe’s own rhythm div, these buildings are strong enough to hold your dreams, even if those dreams involve a petting zoo for retired circus llamas. And they go up faster than you can say “where’d I park my hovercraft?”
Unleash Your Inner Barn Freak
Look, universal remotes are a scam. They promise to rule your gadgets but end up ruling your patience. Pole buildings, though? They’re the real deal, a ticket to a world where your quirks aren’t just tolerated—they’re celebrated. At Sherman, we’ve been raising barns since 1976, each one a love letter to the artists, dreamers, and folks who’d rather build a roller rink for their goldfish than settle for a boring garage. My remote’s in a drawer now, probably plotting world domination with a rogue Roomba. But every time I see a Sherman pole barn, I’m reminded: you don’t need a gadget to change everything. You just need a space to be gloriously, unapologetically you.
So, ditch the remote. Grab a wild idea—maybe a barn for your disco ball collection or a hideout for your sasquatch research—and let’s make it real. Sherman’s ready to build your portal to awesome, no batteries required.
