we all need a shed

This post has been reproduced from an old blog - inspired by the photo found of my father below at our old woolshed.....

cc licensed flickr photo shared by robynejay

As a kid I loved the sheds on our property. There were heaps.

One housed an ancient truck with a hole in floor, that smelt of aged leather and the threat of spiders. Another which remains a mystery to today had broken windows, rooms filled with dust and old ceramic liquor flasks.

My favourite was our woolshed. The floorboards were worn and the air was always heavy with the smell of lanolin. The verandah was always stained with blood where the sheep dogs meat was cut up, and up one end was an office with a gorgeous old swivel chair which I claimed but has since collapsed from old age. I used to lie in the stalls filled with fleeces, hang around while sweaty shearers did their stuff, and clamber down the sheep shoots out into the pens where there was a huge oak tree. There were always intriguing relics from the shearing season like Bex packets and Post mags - alien items in my daily life.

But my favourite spot was the loft. It was pretty inaccessible but I had a route that required standing on a fence, climbing a wall and squeezing up through a gap.

When my brother sold the farm it felt as if all this had gone for ever.

About 5 years later a TAFE colleague told me the farm had been split into 3 and resold, but to one buyer who bid high to ensure he acquired the lot. Thankfully I asked who it was, not expecting to know....

It was wonderful to hear it was my old school friend and neighbour Ted Williams. I remember a time when we sat up in our old cherry tree staining our faces with huge cherries!

My shed is in good hands.