I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll.... Rebuild your shed.

The shed that was not meant to be...

So the storage shed Farmer Geoff worked so hard to put up in January blew down in an unseasonal gale in May. This is the shed that took three times longer than expected to arrive from the mainland meaning that we couldn't take our time putting it up over our Christmas holidays. Instead, Geoff and a mate had to hastily erect it in one afternoon before heading back to Hobart to work on a cricket match. It'll be fine until June we said, which was when we were due back for a visit, "We can brace it then". And it should've been... A phone message from our neighbour hinted at the devastation... "Ahh, hi Emily and Geoff... It's Paul. Ahh, it's about your shed. Yeah...We've had a bit of wind down here. Give us a call back". We rang him back and he confirmed our fears - they had had terrible winds down there (quite a lot worse than normal) and our shed had not survived. Thankfully, Paul had taken the 'softer' stuff up to his place for storage (camping gear and the like) and left the garden tools and wheelbarrow holding down the flattened sheets of metal from the effects of further unexpected turbulence.
When we arrived in June this is what the shed looked like;

Shed carnage... And there was a big bit halfway down the hill.

Anyway. Onwards and upwards.

Shed 2.0

Our relaxing, rejuvenating trip in June (which was going to be a lovely 2 week Cygnet holiday for Geoff and me before a certain life-changing event in October...) alas, was not to be. It was now a trip with a purpose. We will rebuild. Geoff and my Dad (happily commissioned into the project as revered elder and general handyman expert) had spent considerable brain matter pondering and engineering the replacement. Shed 2.0. This shed would be the last word in garden sheds. This shed would stand up to hurricanes. This shed would stand for millennia. This shed would be a shining beacon on the hilltop, a tool-time mecca for home handymen and bored retirees.

I just wanted somewhere dry to keep the camp chairs.

Here is their story told in pictures...

Geoff starting on the foundations before the arrival of
His Majesty the King of home-engineering....Dad.

More foundationing.

The cavalry arrives.

Shed with a view.

Yep. She's level.

Careful Dad! It's not crossed braced and 'noggined' yet.

Winter is coming... (nod to GoT).

The morning Dad left. Very disappointed he didn't get to finish.

Just got to hang the door!

"Helloooo!"

Inside the palace.

Bit of trouble levelling the door.
It came good in the end... after a bit of "persuasion".

Looking resplendent in the sunshine.

Finished!! Could've made it a bit "prettier" but we like the "rustic" feel!

Well deserved leaving-day breakfast for Farmer Geoff at the Red Velvet Lounge.

Now for the farmhouse, boys...

Rooster Bend on Wattle Grove Road

So, down here people have chickens. And no roosters. Well, maybe one or two roosters to keep the girls in line. And to make little chickens. Cute little fluffy, cheepy chics. Awww. Then some of them grow into roosters. That nobody wants. Some people sell them, some people put them in the pot and some people dump them in the bush. All over Tasmania you come across the common sight of one or two roosters bachelor padding it in the relatively low risk, low predator Tassie bush. On the way up to our house there is a bend in the road that contains the biggest rooster bachelor pad I have seen to date. 12 roosters and counting. They aren't multiplying, as Farmer Geoff says, they're "recruiting". A gang of rough and tough, spur-ladden roosters hanging out on the side of the road. People chuck them food from their cars (roosters don't eat chips people!) and one or two kind-hearted (and I'm guessing, vegetarian) neighbours supply them with bowls of water and some grain. The native hens (or turbo-chooks as commonly known) hang around also and I wonder if a cross breed is inevitable...