The Barn-Moving Kryptonian

A couple in Lancaster County, PA, finds a baby and raises him as their own.

In the rolling fields of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, a meteor streaked across the night sky in 1938, landing in the wheat fields of an Amish family, the Lapps. Eli and Sarah Lapp, childless and devout, found not a rock but a baby boy wrapped in strange, shimmering cloth. They named him Caleb, believing him a gift from God, and raised him in their plain, disciplined ways, teaching him humility, hard work, and the value of community.


Caleb grew strong—unnaturally so. By age ten, he could lift a plow one-handed. By fifteen, he could toss hay bales into the loft without breaking a sweat. But his favorite discovery came at sixteen when he realized he could move entire barns under the cover of darkness. It started as a prank: one night, he shifted the Lapp family’s barn ten feet left to surprise Eli. The look of bewildered awe on his father’s face sparked a mischievous streak in Caleb, though he kept it hidden beneath his Amish humility.


The Amish of Lancaster County weren’t immune to disputes, and two families—the Yoders and the Stoltzfuses—had been feuding for generations over a strip of land near Black Horse Road. Harsh words at church, sabotaged crops, and stolen tools kept the grudge alive. Caleb, now eighteen, saw a chance to use his gifts to teach a lesson. Under moonlight, he’d glide across the fields, silent as a shadow, and swap their barns. One morning, the Yoders woke to find their red barn replaced with the Stoltzfuses’ weathered gray one. The Stoltzfuses, meanwhile, scratched their heads at the red barn now sitting on their land. Both families accused each other of witchcraft, then theft, but no one could explain how a barn could move without a trace.


Caleb kept it up for weeks, swapping barns between the families’ farms, each relocation more precise than the last. The feud grew hotter, but so did the community’s whispers of a “night mover.” Caleb, ever the quiet Amish boy by day, stifled his laughter at church gatherings, his super-hearing catching every baffled theory.


Then there was Old Man Glick, the most cantankerous soul in the county. Glick lived alone on a sprawling farm, hoarding his harvest and snapping at anyone who dared cross his fence. He’d once chased a Yoder boy off his land with a pitchfork for picking an apple. Glick’s barn, a massive structure painted black as his mood, was his pride. Caleb, tired of Glick’s cruelty, hatched his grandest plan yet.


One crisp October night, Caleb moved like a phantom. He started with the Yoder and Stoltzfus barns, then added the Kings’, the Fishers’, and every other barn within ten miles that he could lift and carry without breaking. His strength was boundless, his speed a blur. By dawn, Glick’s farm was a surreal sight: seven barns, each a different size and color, crammed onto his land like a child’s mismatched toy set. Glick’s black barn sat dwarfed in the middle, surrounded by the red, gray, white, and brown barns of his neighbors.


Glick stumbled out at sunrise, his jaw dropping. He bellowed, “Who’s done this?!” but no one answered. The community gathered, first in shock, then in laughter. The Yoders and Stoltzfuses, seeing their barns side by side, began talking instead of arguing, piecing together the absurdity. Glick, red-faced and sputtering, demanded help to sort the mess. For the first time in years, the families worked together, helping Caleb—who feigned ignorance—move the barns back, one by one, with horse and pulley (though Caleb secretly did most of the lifting).


The feud between the Yoders and Stoltzfuses fizzled out that week, replaced by a shared story of the “night mover.” Glick, humbled by the ordeal, softened, even sharing a bushel of apples with the Yoder boy. Caleb, watching from the sidelines, smiled quietly. He never revealed his secret, but he kept moving barns now and then—just to keep the community on its toes and to remind them that even the strongest among them could serve in humble, hidden ways.


And so, Caleb Lapp, the Amish boy from Krypton, grew into a man who balanced his powers with his faith, knowing that sometimes, a well-placed barn could move hearts more than any sermon.