The Rural Voice, 1998-06, Page 46Tales from the tool shed
The old toolshed can be a spooky place but it holds
plenty of warm memories
By Carol Riemer
Jt hasn't always been one of my
favourite places. A rickety old
structure, still struggling to stand
in the wind, it stubbornly endures the
passage of time. Lurking deep in its
nooks and crannies, there are critters
and creatures you'd rather not meet.
Opening our tool shed each spring
is something akin to an
archaeological adventure. Slowly, I
pry open the door. The hinges creak
and groan. Stepping inside, I can feel
the cold collective stare of a thousand
eyes. Adjusting my vision in the sun
streaked darkness, I quickly grab a
shovel, make a beeline for the door
and safely escape without incident.
In reality, it's only half as scary as
I would have you believe. The truth
is, it isn't really scary at all. Of
course, there's the yearly invasion of
cluster flies, hornets and toads that
have somehow lost their way. Sure,
we get our share of squirrels,
chipmunks, spiders, bats and odd-
looking caterpillars. But who
doesn't? That's the charm of a
country tool shed.
Besides, the old shed has come to
be more that just a dilapidated, worn
out windbreak. These days, it serves
as a sort of memory bank, a time
capsule housing an increasingly
eclectic collection. It successfully
stores souvenirs of bygone times that
would have, otherwise, disappeared
without a trace.
They're all right here. Relics, like
the old lawn mower my father used to
push. A "reel" lawn mower, he would
insist, was the only one that would
cut the grass properly. I never had the
heart to get rid of it. So, here it stays,
along with his old pruning saw,
rusted with time.
Each spring, I remember Dad and
42 THE RURAL VOICE