From an early age I loved being outside. Wandering all of the concrete suburban landscape has been a lifelong pursuit. It could be one of the elements why I didn’t drive for sixteen years. Being from Ohio, I couldn’t imagine a spring or summer with out traipsing on foot and bike through some winding creeks, wooden paths, and dirt hills made for jumping your bike. All I needed was my red hooded zip up sweatshirt and my pro-keds. Preferably the ones that were made of blue woven nylon with white leather detail. If I happen to be rocking Underoos on one of those outings, I knew I was going to be unstoppable on that days quest. It was those great days of wild and free exploration and sense of freedom that has had me up until recently always a touch envious of people who had an apartment or house with outdoor space. Some place that was all yours to sit back at either days end or the right from the start morning to have a sit, look out to the sky, and just exhale. A place of no celling. The one place you feel yourself and the day and world meeting on neutral ground. This was split among all parts and not one part was unsatisfied being there.
The shed sits idle and solid in the back right corner of the concrete slab that is the back yard. It has a locked door that sits unbreeched since I first toured the house in the spring of twentyten, and thats not on purpose. I had been in the house for the first time as the owner the night of the closing for no more than fifteen minutes before I found my way out the back door and into the backyard, flood light bright and exposing shining all over all things, ducked under all the clothes lines and made my way to the sheds door. I have the master key ring from the previous owner in my grip and select a key that looks like it may work, but having no background on these keys to even make an educated guess, it truly was a shot in the dark. I slide the key into the lock. It feels right. It slides just so and into the grooves. I turn the key and with a normal follow through my hand, fingers and grip of the key keep twisting to the right, spinning over along with the curve of the brass deadbolt. SNAP! Clean break of the key flush with the surface face of the lock. Another key or gadget has yet to reopen that door, and this back patio has been on the back burner for almost two years. That all started to end yesterday.
The fact that it took this long to get set in motion is a bit lame, but in life sometimes things that can simmer and get ready for just the right instance can feel just so good when they are enjoyed. Think about that autumn pumpkin soup you first tried and understood its richness and complexity. Or any good soup for that matter, that soaks and sits, and brings in a richness that only the passing of can time can flavor. This wonderful Saturday was to confirm the realization it was time to act on this yard in waiting. It was time to transform this walled and gated back “yard”. It sits about twenty feet (4.5m) by about thirty feet (9m). It was filled with 4 clothes lines, an old wooden work bench, a garden hose, a faded yet sturdy webber grill that has probably seen its better days but has enough in it to keep grilling on while we keep expanding the Parlor.
There was much sweeping, scrubbing, hosing, plant arranging. Commander Boyd was steadfast and focused on getting things to a certain level of newness and transformed this space into a new being. We still have a long way to go before we get done, but it is a project I am rather looking forward to no question. I can admit that I am looking forward to having a new garden and sitting and relaxing part of the Parlor. Next up…Sledge hammers, gloves, goggles, and estimates to haul away a broken down shed.