I have been reading Ruth Janette Ruck's first rural memoir Place of Stones for a book I'm writing which comes out next year about Wales. Not only is it really interesting, flicking through one of the follow-ups to it, Along Came a Llama, I was intrigued to discover that this later book was largely written in what Ruck calls her 'Writing Hut' close to her home. Here's her description of it:
The hut had once been a henhouse but, with the perches and nest boxes removed and the wall lined with hardboard and the floor with linoleum, it made a good and peaceful retreat for me. It was screened from the cottage by a dry-stone wall and overhung by a huge ash tree. Round about, clumps of bracken were beginning to unfurl and foxgloves were pushing up their flower spikes.
She goes on to describe that this secluded spot gave her a particularly fine view when she left the door open, particularly of birds in the branches of the ash, one that reminded her of an oil painting.
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