A friend and I were sitting on the back porch talking of this and that and watching the wind in the woods.
“That’s a very unusual shed,” she said.
At the edge of the big backyard is our cedar-sided shed, maybe 12×14 feet, with a double roofline. A well-proportioned cupola echoes the slant of the roof and gives it extra character. A line of eight sliding connected windows wrap around the right side. Of course, those windows no longer slide. They were painted shut long ago.
“It was once a hamburger stand on Main. The man who built this house over 65 years ago told me he had it moved here to a concrete slab. He was amazed it was still standing all these years later.”
“It’s a symbol of hopes and dreams,” my friend said.
Yes. More than one hope and dream.
Someone built this unusual structure to attract business long before the arrival of decorated food trucks. I have no idea where it sat on Main or why it ceased to fry up hamburgers. But I have imagined a mom-and-pop operation with their teenaged kids sliding those windows back and forth, taking orders, delivering burgers.
Time and again, we’ve cleaned out the shed as it attracted junk we couldn’t make a decision about. In the last couple years, I started a dedicated cleanout. I’ve given away some of our history to a friend who has an antique flea-market booth. Things like our baby bed that three generations of babies slept in—Jim, our boys, and our grandson when he visited. I took a picture before I let it go. It was a white wood frame with screen walls and a hinged-screen lid to keep the flies out. Gone is a green army duffle bag of wooden baseball bats and old gloves that I was told someone might use for decorations. I hope those items that have passed through my life find a good home.
The inside of the shed is looking pretty good now, with only necessary items kept there—except… Leaning against each other on one side are about ten wooden windows of various sizes. Through the years, my architect husband rescued them from discard piles at remodel construction sites. Those windows were to provide glass and light for the cabin we’d build on our two secluded Arkansas acres bordered by a creek. Jim drew a floor plan, and we discussed for hours what we’d do at The Hideout. He built an outhouse that we installed there for our picnic visits when we drank in nature and waded in the creek.
But life interfered with our plan. That Arkansas land has sold, and I will admit there is no way in the world I’ll build a cabin anywhere. So that hope and dream of ours is gone. And yet those windows remain in that shed. At different times, I’ve made an attempt to get rid of them. Habitat for Humanity sent a truck out, but they wouldn’t take the donation. Old windows are out of style, I guess. A month went by. I gained the courage to call Salvation Army and the Veteran’s Resale Shop. No and No.
A few months later I searched online for a service that would haul the windows off. Probably take two pickup loads. I filled out a form to have that outfit call me. They never did.
Now more time has gone by. Why am I reluctant to call someone to haul off these old windows? Will they go to a landfill? Have no use for anyone? Not be repurposed with new life like the hamburger stand? I’ve become a shadow of the usually logical woman who sees something needs to be done and does it. I’ve pondered on this and can only come up with a totally irrational answer.
Is it because I don’t want to destroy the windows of our hopes and dreams?
