in an old work shed. All manner of stuff stored from the rafters, buried in the accumulated sawdust and dirt on the floor. The light and the wind makes its way through the old windows and the cracks in the siding. Not enough time, money or inclination to handle all the stuff. Someone else will have to do that some day.
Inside an old shop/storage shed on an Oregon family farm. ©SwittersB
‘Progress is changing from the full dinner pail to the full garage.’ Herbert Hoover
This old garage, on the Zimmerman property east of Portland, Oregon was torn down this past year.
a dark mystery…“sometimes I wish that this quest had not come to me. Justice is an impossible beast to track. The trail is lonely, and she offers no reward when she’s caught but the promise of another hunt.” Courtney Milan, Unraveled
that certain smell between dust, mold and decay…stuff forgotten, abandoned or ejected
into the portal of another time…take it into you life at your own risk
it demands you skew your mind…toward those that came before
imagining a time, a way of life that may or may not have been true
an old wrought iron chandelier, outside for so many years. in the dirt, the tall grass, stacked amongst the forgotten, the ignored stuff of a hoarder. Not a bit of renewal, of touching up. I pulled it from the weeds, hung it from a ladder’s rung. Later, I snapped a shot of the glass bauble (same day I did the roses from the rear images). Despite all the scars, in its own way it is still beautiful
‘Why the fascination
with this little, smiling,
pointy hatted, garden creation?’
SwittersB
I have this emerging distraction in the garden…too many things, too many doodads, too many busy things. Windmills, yard art, wind chimes, spinning crystal balls, bells, bird baths, statues amidst the flowers, trees, shrubs. Too many. Some were my Mom’s, my Aunt’s. Sentimentality and history keeps them anchored. But, I have added ‘stuff’. I need, I must, wean this gardener out of the clutter of sounds (too many competing sounds of chimes), out of peeling, painted concrete animals (I actually won’t have difficulties here).
Oh, but the one creations that I will not be able to remove are the Gnomes. Oh my no! No can do. Magical. Suggesting, no more than a suggestion, something to the garden that is tended to in my absence (wish they would weed now and then). I give it little depth of thought. Probably because I know it is fanciful, make believe. Yet, as an adult, there is this silliness of having these little pointed hatted, smiling creations greeting me as I enter the yard.
Hmmm? The older I get, the more I like to stay in touch with that last vestige of fantasy…helps with the grandchildren.
