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Despite the fact that the shed in my backyard is essentially a hollow plywood box on cinderblocks, it was one of the selling points of this property: The house had a yard with a shed!

Ever since I first started gardening I’ve believed that a garden without a shed is like a bicycle without a basket. It might not be a completely necessary accessory, but if you didn’t have one, where would you put your stuff? Could you still pretend to be cast in a French film or picture the garden on the cover of Fine Gardening?

I suppose if my husband and I had purchased a home without a garden shed I would do what plenty of gardeners must, and store my collection of tools, old hoses, broken and whole pots, shreds of burlap, lawn mower and assortment of garden chairs in a corner of the garage, cellar or entry way. But I couldn’t do that for long. Not only does a shed keep my garden-y miscellanea out of the way, it can offer a whole lot more.

Last weekend, I lost a good hour inside my shed. I coiled the old hoses (why I didn’t throw them away is a question for another day), re-stacked clay pots, swept out the accumulated debris of spilled soil and crispy leaves and cleared the potting bench. And in that hour, I regained one of the best places to be in the garden. The shed is a kind of retreat — a place to be in the garden, out of the weather, a room of a gardener’s own.

Weirdly, the tiny shelter holds more appeal for me than any of the tiny rooms in my tiny house. And that may be why it’s so tempting to turn it into something more than a merely functional utility space. Why not put a comfy chair out there? How about running water, lights, an electric kettle, antique garden art and some books? It could be a tiny painting studio, reading nook or dining room — a “summerhouse.” But then where would I put my tools?

It may be that the best thing about the shed is that it’s designed and used entirely for its garden-related intended purposes. Unlike the rest of the rooms in my house, which have several functions (i.e. kitchen/mail caddy/family room/coat closet), the shed is organized. My grandmother, who always carried an enormous multi-pocketed purse, might say, “It has a place for everything, and everything in its place.” I can find things. The spades are hung up with the digging forks and the loppers are nestled with the hedge clippers. The rakes aren’t tangled with the cultivators and the pots are shelved. It’s actually kind of beautiful.

Lovely functionality aside, unless the shed is completely hidden from view, it can also be one of the garden’s best ornaments — even if it’s a hollow plywood box on cinderblocks. As a matter of fact, one of the most attractive garden sheds I’ve ever seen was a re-purposed and repainted porta-potty. I kid you not. For mine, all it took was a salvaged divided-light window inserted in the gable end and a couple of coats of paint and the tiny building was transformed one spring from eyesore into sight for sore eyes: a solid foil for the billowing garden and in much better scale with it than the house or garage.

Until I can afford to cut French doors from my writing room/research library/painting studio/junk drawer directly into the garden, I will always pine for a summerhouse. But I love my shed. And now that it’s tidy — and before it gets too chilly and dark — I might just want to spend some more time out there potting up.

Kristin Green is the interpretive horticulturist at Blithewold Mansion, Gardens & Arboretum in Bristol. She has worked at Blithewold since 2003 and has written their garden blog (blog.blithewold.org) since 2007.