Denis Lehane: The shed that fell and what it fell on

But ’tis hard to smile when the sky has fallen down, or at least, when a shed has fallen.

Yerra, I’m in a right old state entirely, since the shed fell.

I’m inconsolable really.

It happened over the winter, or a little before it, and I haven’t got to grips with it yet.

It’s not the shed falling

per se

that has me in a state of flux, but more what it fell on.

Like almost everything else in life, ’tis the collateral damage done that can be more devastating than the initial blow.

You see, instead of falling in a respectable fashion, like any other rusty building, it came down hard on my 25-year-old fertiliser spinner.

A spinner that was doing no harm to anyone, only minding its own business in the shade of the old shed.

It really didn’t deserve to have a shed come down on it.

My old shed could have fallen this way or that, and damn it all, it could have stayed afloat for another 50 years.

Instead, it chose the worst possible outcome.

So for the past six months, my spinner has been buried under a heap of rusty sheets and weather beaten timber.

Hidden away from my gaze under all the fallen debris.

Of use to nobody.

The spinner may as well not be there at all.

And this summer, with all my neighbours busy tossing out fertiliser like confetti, I have been left behind.

I’m right distraught, with my spinner gone to ground.

Of course, fellows might say, why don’t I toss back the rusted sheets and timber and investigate the problem first hand.

Perhaps the spinner could be salvaged in some way?

Well, that is easier said than done.

For I have been saying the very same thing to myself for six months now, that I must tackle the job at the next available opportunity.

But alas, with all that is going on in my life, what with my jeep giving trouble, the cattle escaping, Donald Trump becoming president, I have failed to find the time to tackle the fallen shed — never mind finding the opportunity to partake in having a few sociable drinks in my local bar every once and awhile.

The spinner has remained buried, for I have been buried myself under the height of work.

So, it’s lucky for me that the weather has now picked up, and has become mighty good for grass growth.

Indeed, over the past two weeks, the grass has needed no assistance to grow, only to stand back and give it room.

In fact, it has grown to such a degree that now, instead of a fertiliser spinner, ’tis the topper a fellow needs.

Which brings me to the next part of my sad story.

You see, wasn’t I up the yard the other evening desperately searching for my topper, and no matter where I looked, no topper could I find.

It was then it dawned on me that I had parked the topper, just like the spinner, in the place where the sun no longer shines.

Namely in the shed, before it fell.

The shed that had caved in on my spinner had also claimed the life of my topper.

Is it any wonder that I’m distraught? For whether ’tis the spinner or the topper I now require, the shed that fell has put the kibosh on everything.