We fell in love with
our house the first we time we walked into it with our realtor. It had
everything we were looking for but there were two “OMFG” items that sold it to
us: the kitchen and the shed. The kitchen might be a story for another time.
This one starts with the shed.
We opened the door
to the shed that day and gave each other the “we could just live out here”
look. I thought about moving my fly tying into it. Jill thought about moving
her art and woodworking into it. Possibilities began to outgrow the available
space. As the dust settled from the move and the volume of power tools we each
brought into the relationship and into the shed increased it was clear what
should go where. So I set up a work space using a couple of tables on one wall
so that she could get going on Jill Mason Art and Photography.
As we have bounced
around the last few years fishing, going to places old and new and taking the
occasional “Mike Rice Field Trip” (drive/hike/paddle until you get somewhere
that looks cool on a tank of gas and scrounged beer money) the cameras and the
notebooks have gone with us capturing images and words of what speaks to us in
the heart of a moment, a first look on the approach, something unexpected or in
the details of a memory.
In our travels we
started talking about combining our pursuits outside the nine-to-five; fly
fishing, photography, her artwork and my ramblings in the written word into
something that we could do together for no other reason than it’s what we do.
These conversations became repetitious and centered on being on the water and
in the sun, finding the emotive and unvarnished rather than analytical and
manufactured stories and images of people and places outside of the noise and
away from the mainstream, regardless of social media metrics.
During a “field
trip” last fall to a quiet little bar on Cape Cod we tossed around the idea of
a space online where we could combine all of what we do into a format that
would interest us and that might interest people like us. After the unpopular
discussion of how to do this in between paychecks and tuition bills we agreed
there is no good time to start and no reason not to. I opened my notebook and stared
into the mirror behind the bar. “Maybe you should have a whiskey,” she said. That’s
what started it. From there the rough plans for “Sand, Light and Water” were
drawn.
Over the last few
weeks I’ve built out the shed to create a work space for both of us. When I
started I saw it as a blank page, a new chapter and endless possibility.
I was
reminded of other “work spaces”. The “Tin Shed” where Chouinard started forging
climbing gear, the “Hell House” where Lynyrd Skynrd wrote their first two
albums and the garage in which Scott Hunter started sewing Vedavoo Gear. I am
in no way comparing us to any of them; each has inspired me over the years and is
part of the “soundtrack” of my life. All of them took who they were, what they
had, found a place and created something with gritty passion.
That is what we
are going to do.
The keel has been
laid and the hull is almost done.
We’ve still got some
work to do.
When we launch, we hope you’ll tag along.
The Shed
South River, MA
16 January 2019