The blacksmith’s shed in fall, its timbers a myriad of colors.
My favorite feature at the farm remains the old blacksmith’s shed that smoked with fires to shoe the horses once boarded on the property. Rustic and weathered, the structure has this stoic charm much like New England herself. Thrown together with scraps of wood and old doors, the shed speaks to a kind of Yankee ingenuity.
With each changing season, the shed displays a different kind of unique beauty. A useful place for storing landscaping tools and gardening equipment, it has practical, utilitarian uses. Mowers, clippers, pruning shears, pots, organic pest repellents, trowels, shovels, rakes–pretty much any kind of gardening device or spray is stored there.
Yet, its true charm is its history with the land, the way its wooden patina highlights changing hues from each season, in a kind of kaleidoscopic way. No matter the time of year, the old smithy gives the land balance, a purpose, a narrative past. Its timbers bear the scars of the weather’s extremes.
The shed in winter, with darker hues to its patina.
Maybe its charm is that I relate to that old shed? Its ever-changing uses, the resilience, the aging that provides dignity and a sense of belonging in a kind of defiant “I don’t care what you throw at me I’ll survive” attitude?
There’s beauty in resisting that deterioration and decay. Its ever-enduring existence is a lovely thing. A symbol of the soul.