The humble shed
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When we first went into isolation. Lockdown 1.0. My husband went outside and built another shed. I joked about the fact that it was because he needed another space to hide from us all. Another man cave. He already has a studio on the East side of the house. A bike building shed tucked away on the West side. And in the back North West corner there is his shed of all things: motorbike, garden, tools and stuff. Nevertheless, it made me smile to see him outside creating something new. And what was built was a glorious space for all of us to enjoy. No man cave at all.
When we first bought our house there was a decent sized chook shed in the back yard. We cleaned it out. Hubby put a floor in it and he made it a cubby for the kids. We hid a standard garden shed behind it. And for years it was ‘the cubby’. A sloped roof dwelling with green corrugated walls. Dean made a small stable-type door from old weatherboards, a little window for the kids to sit beside and dream. It was the perfect place to hold their imagination. Tea parties. A fort. A make-believe house. They loved it when I served them lunch in the cubby, the rain beating down on the roof. As our children stretched towards the sky. To a size where I have to look upwards to look them in the eye. The cubby remained ‘the cubby’ but housed bikes instead of Barbie dolls, and surfboards instead of the miniature kitchen furniture or the collection of Hot Wheels and other toys. It is where we hid things out of sight. Things we wanted to keep, but rarely used.
Dean has had plans for ‘the cubby’ for the past two years. ‘I am going to raise the roof so the gym will fit in there.’ And so he did. Well almost. He started. Realised it was beyond his building capabilities and called in an expert to fix up what he referred to as his ‘Frankenstein mess’. Which it was. Thank goodness Greg from Trunorth Projects arrived to save the day. And the end result is an amazing outdoor gym. The most beautifully designed shed on the street. A gorgeous space with lots of natural light and a small deck for me to meditate on. It has beautiful double glass doors, which look out onto the garden. A great view when riding the exercise bike, or when using the gym which sits neatly inside. I call it the humble shed. Because it is so much more than a shed and there is nothing humble about it. Except for the way it sits neatly tucked away behind the flowering hakea and the lemon tree.
And although it is ‘the cubby’ transformed. And not taking up any new space as such. It has changed the entire back yard. It has also saved us during isolation, which has extended way beyond what we all expected. A gym space we have all used to sweat out our frustration. The tiny deck, a perfect place for quiet thought and dreaming. Exactly what we needed. With the white weatherboards matching the house. It looks like a little bungalow. And I love it for that. Because I love a bungalow.
Some of my favourite childhood memories were made in bungalows. Such a great word bungalow. A funny sounding word made of soft sounds. Born from the Gujarati word ‘bańgalo’. The word for ‘Bengali’ describing a Bengal style house. A small, thatch-roofed, single story dwelling with a verandah. A word adopted by Australians for the dwellings they built in their back yards for elderly parents, older children, boarders or visitors. A place of welcoming.
My grandparents had a fabulous bungalow in their back yard. Slopping a little toward the creek, which ran the length behind their property. We stayed in their bungalow every Christmas holiday when we visited for our summer down the beach. Our summer spent playing with cousins and being hugged and sung to by our loving grandparents. We made the most glorious memories there.
The bungalow had one large carpeted room with a big window. In it fitted a double bed. A bunk bed. A single bed and a small desk. Adjacent was the entrance. With soft floorboards. A cupboard full of materials and old dresses. A smelly laundry sink and a doorway off to the toilet. It gave us kids our own space during the day to hang out, away from the adults. It was like a giant cubby house. Complete with a cupboard full of dress ups. And dress up we did. From the inside out. So many make-believe games came alive between those four walls. And every time I hear the soft cooing of a pigeon outside a window in the early morning light, my body remembers my childhood excitement. The anticipation of the day to come. I am transported back to the bungalow. Back to summer holidays. Waking up before the sunrise. Excited for the day to begin.
Our holiday bungalow transformed into whatever we needed it to be. A ship on the ocean. A castle. A cottage deep in the forest. The garden outside became whatever our imaginations desired. Lands created in our minds full of magical creatures of any kind. And when we weren’t deeply engrossed in our shared fantasy world, we would be drawing, colouring in or writing. Or just sitting and talking. Getting to know each other and life.
A bungalow is also, for many, a dwelling for creative pursuits. A place of imagining. A creative studio for art or writing. Or music. Or gardening. A place of making. A place separate from every day living. They are like giant cubby houses. A place for adults to let their imagination run wild. So fitting then, that our humble shed has the bones of what was once, ‘the cubby’.
Our humble shed in the back yard has the same energy as all the bungalows I have known. Bungalows don’t need the size and grandeur of the main house. They escape the responsibilities the main dwelling has been designed for. And, therefore, they can always be something a little more fun. Bungalows are subtly attached to garages or tucked away behind trees in the back yard. They aren’t trying to stand out. To make a statement. Their presence is a whisper. A welcoming space. Inviting you inside.
So grateful for the bungalow. The underestimated dwelling. The humble shed. A space that changes and shapes not only the landscape of the backyard but also the landscape of our minds.