The Shed

 Dear Reader,

There used to be an old shed in the garden of Grace Cottage where I lived for fifteen years.  Somebody who knew the garden as a farmyard years ago told me that pigs used to live in it.  When I had it, it was full of wonderful old tools, bits of rope and pieces of machinery. Several mice made their home in it and there were spiders everywhere. It smelt of lavender and tar.

But when I sold the house the shed was sold too and new owners moved in.  They were young and modern and wanted the shed as an office.  So the builders moved in and cleared all the accumulated things, put in a new door and painted the interior white. The shed was now an office with all its magic gone, nothing to see that it had been once a lovely old fashioned shed, with its own history.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth, November 24th, 1801 in Westmorland

'I read a little of Chaucer, prepared the goose for dinner, and then we all walked out.  I was obliged to return for my fur tippet and spencer, it was so cold.....It was very windy, and we heard the wind everywhere about us as we went along the land, but the wall sheltered us.....' .

From Gilbert White, November 25th, 1781 in Hampshire

'Fog, with frost.  As the fog cleared away, the warm sun occasioned a prodigious reek, or steam to arise from the thatched roofs.'

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The Shed

The spider let himself down
from a crack in the grimy rafters.
Time to spin another web,
catch flies, feed his children.
This old shed he loved
had housed his ancestors,
its essence was in his blood.
He knew well the aged wooden bench
laden with hand-worn tools,
the bee's hum and buzz.
He knew of the warmth from the earth floor,
from the hurricane lamp, lit on dark evenings,
of the dusty windows facing north,
and he knew he could swing on the ash spokes
sliced to the wheel hung on the hook.
He knew too that the moonlight
cast shadows on the pile of logs,
home to small scuttling creatures.
He knew that nearby in a bed of shavings,
an old dog slept.
This restful shed scented with lavender and tar,
was a timeless place.

Clearing, cleaning, scraping, peeling,
the old shed becomes new.
Much buzzing and humming
as computers move in, reference books,
filing cabinets, printers, blaring telephones,
glaring lights, and stress.

No quiet shadows now
in the bright new shed,
no cracks, no silence, and the spider......dead.

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With best wishes, Patricia