I can’t help thinking there’s something rather beautiful about this.
Neglected, abandoned and no longer of use, this is the old shed that just about stands at the end of the garden. Until yesterday one side was completely draped in thick ivy; you can see where I’ve pulled most of it away, leaving just a few remains of its tenacious twisting branches clinging on with hundreds of feathery feet, like centipedes.
The ivy found its way inside too…
Growing without sunlight has blocked its colour, now it just blends into the wood of the shed as if it’s always been a part of it, as if it sprouted from the walls.
The end is nigh, though, and in the next few weeks this old outbuilding is coming down.
I’m looking forward to breaking it up. I’ve already started pulling away the roof and clearing the ground around it, finding old bricks and dirty pots hidden under the ivy roots, where I rescued a few snails…
…and I’ve become a little addicted to this process of deconstruction. There is something about the mindlessness of it. I usually spend my days trying to be creative, forming things from scratch and using my brain to work out how. When I’m outside in the fresh air, pulling, smashing and battering, nothing matters. The order doesn’t matter, nor does the mess. Filth, cracks, rips and holes don’t matter. And neither does my grey matter…! It’s so invigorating – and yet therapeutic. I recommend it.
I think there must be something very basic and instinctive which makes physical activity outdoors feel so good, especially if you’re not used to it. Perhaps it tunes into a sort of ancestral memory from caveman days. If I was male, I might think it’s also the testosterone….but, as a female, well…?! Hmm, I’ll let you know if I start growing hairs on my chest by the time the old shed is completely destroyed. Delapidation to depilation in just a few short easy steps.