So, the shed. It feels like some kind of Greek myth to me – or perhaps a Samuel Becket play. Some great task that never ends – and hardly even begins. The garden’s been going now for two years and for two years we’ve needed a shed and planned for it. We need it for storage, but also for shelter and a place to gather – a centre of the garden and our small community. It will, we hope, have many uses — providing something for everyone — and each one of us has a version of the shed in our head. We will hide our tools and stuff there, but also start a library of interesting books and articles to share and notices to read. It will also be a place for sowing, potting on, drying seeds, dye plants and flowers. It will provide cover to drink cups of tea in/under and our table (which appeared from nowhere) will stand under its overhang so that we can do dye, gardening and craft workshops – and even eat meals from food we’ve foraged. It will be a point from which to view other points and a place where we can put our feet up. It will be a space for activity – and inactivity.
But it hasn’t happened yet. We’ve got spatial narrative designers involved, a carpenter/artist who builds things from reused materials, tweeters, gardeners, volunteers, Good Gym runners and bloggers. After many meetings, we (a combination of the gardeners’ needs and ideas, Story Storey’s design skills and Joel’s carpentry expertise) came up with a simple design which we can put together ourselves once he’s shown us how. We’ve collected pallets and windows and screws and bits of wood and tools. We made a date and assembled all our disparate parties to dig and saw and deconstruct before we reconstruct. And then the weather came.