Sweet Little Shed Revisited...yet again

   So the sweet little shed was the very first thing we fell in love with a year ago when we arrived at the property a few minutes before our dear agent Shelly. And how could we help it...just look at her in her splendid innocence, vines and moss growing unchecked, standing there proudly yet precariously on her bug-infested posts.

Shed sans roof

So of course we made an offer on the house the first day we saw it. Then upon inspection two weeks later, Ron told us that if we wanted to keep the shed, we would need to replace the roof and further support her undercarriage, or risk her inevitable collapse.

Shed avec roof

Once Tim the roofer had finished his task, and Pete had added support posts and beams beneath the shed, it was time to clean out the spider webs and god knows how many years of dust and dirt.

Front of shed

After sweeping about ten times I brought out the tortured vacuum cleaner which has been given a decided rest now that it lives in a home of beautiful plank floors. When it seemed impossible to entice any more decay from between the floor boards I decided to clean it with white paint.

That seemed to keep more dirt at bay....so now the serious decision could be broached...color! 

Now, I am about at the end of my color lives, having chosen no fewer than ten in the past year, and I am in abject fear of running out of color luck. So I decided to take the greatest risk yet - a color that has no place WHATSOEVER in a shed that was built in 1850....sea foam...WHAT?!?

I have gotten THAT color-cocky. I thank my lucky stars that my color shopping days will soon be over because I feel I am a danger to myself at this point....but...

What say you, dear family and friends? Does it not look happier and prouder today? The last few nights I have taken a candleabra out to the shed in the early darkness, placed it on the floor, and admired this sweet little shed like I have never admired it before. It is dearly loved.

Sweet Little Shed

   Well it has certainly been a long time since I've managed to get anything done around the house because of all the lovely students in the previous post, and though I certainly miss them, I do have the opportunity to once again climb a ladder and paint. So attention is turned to the little shed that we fell in love with on one day one.

And then on day sixteen we were warned by Ron the inspector that if we didn't get a new roof on the little thing, it wouldn't stand much longer. So as much as we loved the moss on the roof, we wanted to save the shed.

Now we thought about doing it ourselves, of course...until we got atop the ladder and noticed the pitch of the roof. And when Tim the roofer arrived, he noted the pitch of the roof was not nearly as dangerous as the many rotted circa 1850 boards beneath the shingles. So we were pleased to hand this job over to someone who could actually do it and survive the experience.

The one thing I could do was paint, so Pete put some trim up around the front windows and I defined them with one of my favorite greens.

And here is the backyard view of the little shed with the rotted boards and shingles removed, and now that I look at this photo I realize that it indeed would have been quite a distance to fall, so many thanks to Tim.

And while Tim worked on the roof, Pete went around looking for a window that was more suitable than the broken storm windows, and of course he found it at our favorite thrift shop.

And I painted them.

And then on the house side there was no window at all, so Pete found the perfect tiny window for that and then added a bit of trim...

...and I painted.

And though we are far far from finished, the sweet little shed has been saved and will now live to see another century. The inside of the shed will undoubtedly pose both the greatest challenge and provide the most pleasure.

I predict paint!

"Hope is the thing with feathers...

...that perches in the soul" and in the northeast it is thoughts of warm sun and crocuses and any color other than soiled-white that fires our icy and wearied imaginations.
Oh Spring...where are you?
   Every cold afternoon I walk through the snowful and soggy yard hunting for bulbs and fresh green shoots. For Peter and I, this spring will be extraordinarily exciting because we don't know what will be sprouting. What we do know is that the former owner of the house was an avid and Irish gardener.
   We have found the roses, some of which grow twenty feet into the trees.

These rosehips attract bluebirds

   We have found the grape which tangles itself relentlessly through the fence posts. We have been told by our lovely neighbor Patricia of the host of daffodils beneath one of the sugar maples.
  I have uncovered the tiny patches of bulbs which I hope will grow up to be grape hyacinths.

   Beneath one of the living room windows is a bush I pray is a quince and beside that imaginary quince is a beautiful and malignant wisteria.
   Among the moss I put down at the stone base of the house there are a few maybe-tulips forcing themselves through.

The moss we collected from the shed roof

   And beside our beautiful little shed poised here in its winter finery,

 is another pièce de résistance - a flowing and generous lilac.

Proactively added our own color to the landscape

      The only thing in the yard that has grown this winter is my tipi, which I hope will support sweet peas and morning glories in the early summer.

But first spring must come!