My great-uncle had an old shed he called the blacksmith shop on his place. Built before my family came to the US in 1867 from rough cut native lumber. It was about 10X12 and he added a porch about the same size. I remember my grandpa telling me it was on his grandpa's place when he bought it, and they moved it to the other farm with horses and all the neighbors they could get to help on a sledge.
What I remember most about it was the places where the wood was worn down and polished from use. It had a hole in the door to pull it open and closed, and it was worn down an inch or more. Hard to imagine the labor done inside to get that kind of wear from opening and closing the door. One window, a dirt floor packed hard, a workbench along one wall, a single light bulb hung from the ceiling and a small forge in the corner.
When I came along, it had been in use for over 100 years. Harness still hung on one wall, sickles and scythes on another, and a little loft over the bench had bushel baskets. Rakes, shovels and hoes down one wall, some of them probably forged right there in the shop.
My uncle spent a big part of his days sitting on the porch of that shed in an ancient metal chair. Shelling walnuts, cleaning rabbits, fixing a lawnmower or whatever small job needed doing. It was close enough to the road that people could stop and talk to him through their windows.
As boring as it would sound to some people, I'd love to read a diary of that old shed and all it had seen over its 100+ years of use.