Old Shed

I like old buildings, especially barns.  There is something about them that make me think of my birthplace, Tennessee.  As a child, my parents would take us to see my Great Uncle Horace Smith who lived in an old log cabin with his wife Aunt Dude. I have no idea why she was called Dude. They lived in the ridges, way back in the country. The roads were not paved and I remember how hard it was for my father to drive there. He had to keep the tires in the grooves on the dirt road. Primitive is how you would describe the cabin. No plumbing, no electricity or running water was in the house.  The root cellar was buried in the back and a tin roof was seen just above the ground.  My brother and I used to run up and down the roof until the tin was too hot for bare feet to touch. Beside the large porch lay wood chips that gave off an earthy smell. We drank spring water from a pail using a metal dipper. Everyone used it and no one seemed to have died from germs.  So, when I look at the above picture, I think about the good times, even if it is Indiana and not Tennessee that I see in the picture.