Back in ’82, at the Isanti County Fair, I tried arm-wrestling a carnival barker for a shot at a glow-in-the-dark cowboy hat. Got smoked in ten seconds flat. As I rubbed my ego, the barker cackled, “He who laughs last thinks slowest.” My buddies roared, and I shuffled off, dreaming of revenge via funnel cake overdose. Slow thinking’s for folks who show up to a barn dance with two left boots, and we’re not about that at Sherman Pole Buildings. We’re the kind of folks in Mora, MN, who’d rather build a barn for your pet pig’s birthday bash than overthink why the sky’s blue. Pole barns are our middle finger to dawdlers—straightforward setups for people who live fast, laugh quick, and maybe lose spectacularly at fairground games. Let’s meander through the muck of slow brains and salute barns that keep up with our chaos.

We’ve been banging posts into the dirt since mullets were high fashion, and we know slow thinkers are the ones still trying to untangle Christmas lights in July. Come along for a sarcastic ramble about why pole barns are for folks who get the joke before the punchline.

The Fairground Flop of Slow Brains

Ever meet someone who takes three days to get a knock-knock joke? That’s slow thinking—slower than a turtle in a snowbank. My uncle Vern once spent an hour at the fair trying to win a stuffed muskie, only to realize he was aiming at the wrong booth. Classic Vern. Pole barns don’t make you jump through mental hoops like a carnie’s rigged game. They’re the no-fuss answer for whatever you’re cooking up, whether it’s a shed for your lawnmower or a hideout to dodge your neighbor’s accordion practice.

We knew a guy in Braham who wanted a barn for his collection of vintage hubcaps. He wasn’t out here writing a 500-word essay on why hubcaps shine; he just needed a spot to show them off. Pole barns deliver that—big, open spaces without the headache of overplanning. Slow thinkers are still debating whether to store their junk in the garage or the attic; we’re already dreaming up a barn for our pet goat’s art gallery.<

Serious Dog

Dodging the Dawdler’s Curse

Slow thinkers are the folks who show up to deer camp with a can opener instead of a rifle. We once saw a fella in Pine City take so long deciding where to put his shed, his tractor rusted into a lawn ornament. Pole barns don’t wait for you to solve world hunger before they make sense. They’re built for action—space for your snowmobile, your kid’s drum kit, or a secret lair for your sci-fi novel-writing marathons. No need to ponder like you’re picking the winning Powerball numbers.

One client wanted a barn for her pet chickens and a pottery wheel. She didn’t sit around wondering if chickens prefer lofts; she just wanted her hens to cluck in style. Pole barns are for folks who move at life’s pace, not for those stuck staring at their boots, trying to remember which one’s left. We’re not saying we’re Einstein, but we’ve got better things to do than watch paint dry—or watch slow thinkers miss the point.

Guys laughing

Wandering Through the Weird

Ever try teaching a slow thinker to play euchre? It’s like explaining quantum physics to a walleye. They’re three tricks behind, wondering why spades aren’t hearts. Pole barns are the opposite—they’re the ace up your sleeve, ready for whatever wild plan you’ve got. Want a barndominium that’s half cozy cabin, half disco den for your pet llama’s dance-offs? Easy. Need a workshop for your chainsaw-sculpted snowmen? Done. You can sketch it out online while half-watching a Vikings game, no PhD in barnology required.

We built a barn for a guy who swore he needed it for his vintage yo-yo collection. He wasn’t overanalyzing the meaning of life; he just wanted his yo-yos to have a home fancier than his ex’s new trailer. Slow thinkers are out here debating whether the moon’s made of cheese; pole barns are for the rest of us, who’d rather build a stage for our quirks than sit around scratching our heads.

Kermit

Laughing Quick, Living Loud

The barker was onto something: slow thinkers laugh last because they’re too busy tripping over their own shoelaces to keep up. We’re not those folks at Sherman. We’re the ones losing at arm-wrestling, spilling coffee on our flannel, and laughing about it with you. Pole barns are our kind of clever—ready for your snowblower, your secret comic book stash, or a pig palace that’d make the fair jealous. They’re built for folks like us, who’ve bet too much on a carnival game or lost a sandwich to a job-site raccoon, but keep swinging anyway.

So, why’s Sherman the best? Because we’re not out here overthinking like some fairground philosopher. We’re your neighbors, chuckling at life’s absurdities, building barns that fit your wildest ideas without missing a beat. Slow thinkers can keep their stuffed muskies; we’re too busy raising barns that stand tall and laugh first. Got a crazy plan? Sketch it online and let’s make it real—no dawdling required.

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