I know I say this fairly often, but when something is as unusual as, my husband bought this house without me ever laying eyes on it, it bares repeating. Our home sits on seven acres, with thirty-five additional acres forever wild behind it. And if I’m being totally honest, it was not love at first sight. We were coming from a tiny postage stamp in Chicago, and compared to what we were used to, it looked like a ton of work. Scratch that. It didn’t just look like it. It was, it is, and it will be. It’s certainly not for everyone, but the moment I saw our family of deer, the babbling stream, the sounds, the privacy, and the endless possibilities…I was all in. Then Jon promised me a She Shed and stop it, I’m never moving.

When we moved in, the backyard had a makeshift deck floating in the middle of the yard. None of it was fenced, and nothing was groomed. Hence me taking a little while to come around. Since then, Jon has built two decks, poured a sidewalk, landscaped, and rewind to the first order of business, we put in a fence for the Pack. Because five dogs getting loose every day and quite literally running through the neighbor’s kitchen was no bueno.

So what were we going to do with all this outdoor space? We threw ideas around like a pool (not this gal), gardens (yes please), a big tree fort for Grey (danger)…the list goes on. And I casually laid the foundation for a She Shed about six months ago and very strategically kept sending subliminal messages about it every week since. (If Jon were writing this I know he would insert an absolutely not subtle at all, here). So I have no idea what I said that finally sold him on it, but eeeeeee, I am jubilant.

Anywho. Here I am talking about a She Shed as if it’s completely normal. What the heck is it you ask? Anything you want it to be. And I want mine to be ours. A shed that we build with our bare hands. That we design together. A place in our woods overlooking a vegetable garden, with views of the stream out the windows, a salt lick on the porch for the deer, cute little flower boxes, a chandelier inside that my 88 year old Grandpa Darlin’ helps install, and the rest is on my dream board upstairs. In fact, instead of calling it a She Shed, I think we should dub it a Dream Den. I want it to be a place that Jon and I draw up designs for our business, a place that Grey sneaks into for adventures, imagination and day dreams. A place the dogs curl up where the sun falls on the herringbone floor. First up, we have to cut down some trees to make room, and that continues this weekend. Meanwhile, I’ll be pinning and cutting and plotting and trying to get the permasmile off my face. Just tried again, it’s still there!

Daydream with us. What would your “She Shed” be?