Some days just work. Yesterday was one of those. The sun shone and we worked together in the garden. Ian was laying bricks for the base of our new greenhouse - can you imagine, a cedar greenhouse, my birthday present - and I was painting the shed. The shed has had to be moved as it was occupying the flat, sheltered, sunny site where the new greenhouse is to go. Now flat up here on the hill really means just a gentle slope, but still, prime land. So Ian had painstakingly taken the shed to pieces. We imported additional labour in the shape of older son to move it around the corner down to the end of the big pigsty and here it was rebuilt and given a smart new roof.
I don't think I have ever painted a shed before. It had previously had a dark green stain, now very faded, and there was new wood as well where Ian has replaced a rotten windown with new shiplap so the whole thing needed a new coat of dark green. It's mesmerising, the rhythm of a brush backwards and forwards across new wood. The sun was warm on my back and bluetits were whizzing in and out of the hawthorn hedge behind me. From time to time Ian came round to paint the high bits or the chickens passed through gently murmuring to each other looking for some new scratching places.
When it was done I almost felt like living in it. The view from the window is out across the valley. Put a chair and a radio in there and you could hide away for hours with the occasional foray off to the greenhouse for a change of scene. When we moved in here two and a half years ago the old shed was piled high with things, tools and lawmowers and stuff our predecessors had left which we couldn't face throwing away, so that going in was a squeeze and finding things a bit of a lottery. Sometimes you could see what you wanted but efforts to get it brought a rake down on your head or dislodged a packet of grass seed and spilt poultry manure pellets on your feet. Now there is space and order and tools hanging up on nails. I love it so much I am clearly now officially a middle aged person.