Retired men (and women) are finding camaraderie in Men's Sheds

At the end of 2019, David Mack was new to south Florida, new to retirement, and newly a widower. Earlier that year his wife, Suzanne, had received a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, and the couple had moved from Atlanta to be close to one of their sons and his family. Six months after their move his partner of 52 years was gone, and Mack was struggling.

"The loss is overwhelming," he says. "I don't like being alone."

A longtime software salesman with a ready smile, he is naturally chatty and outgoing. He craved company. "I wanted to find a way to get out there," he says. Still, "at this age … get out there, where?"

An acquaintance mentioned the nearby North Palm Beach County Men's Shed, and suggested Mack give it a try. He called one of its founders to investigate and joined the shed, which is part of the US Men's Shed Association. Men's Sheds are membership organizations aimed at keeping men socially engaged and active after retirement.

Even as COVID swept the country and shut down in-person life, Mack says his membership opened the door to a host of new relationships, stimulating meetings and a sense of fellowship.

The concept of Men's Sheds began in Australia in the 1990s. There was a growing sense that many retired men were isolated, didn't take care of their health and had lost their sense of purpose once their jobs ended.

So the idea of the Men's Shed was born, a place where men could gather as a group and work together on projects, often building things for their local communities and forming relationships along the way.

Today there are about 3,000 Men's Sheds in 14 countries. The U.S. has 27 sheds, and interest is growing. There are at least five listed in the Twin Cities area, with locations in Roseville, Crystal, Hopkins, Minnetonka and Mound.

In Ruston, La., the Ruston Community Men's Shed has more than 80 members. It opened in 2018 and the force behind it was a local businesswoman, Beulah Laster. She had seen her husband spend too much time in his recliner as he aged and later, as a widow, wanted to offer the men of her town somewhere to go and something to do.

Thanks to a generous donation of woodworking equipment, the Ruston shed got off to a good start. It's open four days a week, has one paid employee, and everyone else is a volunteer. Dues are $120 per year, or $10 a day for drop-ins.

The shed is housed in a former diesel repair shop, where members whittle away at everything from porch swings to bird feeders to charcuterie boards, which are usually sold to benefit the shed.

Shed president Tommy Folk, 77, says some local nonprofit organizations have come to know about the shed and members will make things to donate to them. "We have a philosophy of helping others."

Folk says after a career as a contractor, he rarely makes anything himself. Instead, "I go and walk around and watch people and occasionally help. I talk and I listen. It's just a nice place for an old guy to go, I guess."

Former urgent care doctor Dean Kirby, a shed regular who now sits on its board, agrees. "I think it plays a real role in helping men socialize," he says.

The shed lives up to the Men's Shed motto 'shoulder to shoulder,' which hints at the way men tend to talk and bond as they do something together.

"Sometimes there are conversations that are intimate, deep and personal, and others are about the latest ballgame," Kirby says.

He sees the shed as a good outlet for many local men who might otherwise be stuck at home. And as a physician, he sees a connection between members' activity and their general health. "When your mind is happier, your body is happier," he says.

It's not just men, either. The Ruston Community Men's Shed is about 50% women, many but not all of whom gravitate to the craft room and its sewing and painting supplies. Others do woodworking along with the men. The shed also has plenty of members well under the age of 65, making it one of the more generationally mixed sheds in the country.

But if you're a man who, as Steve Werner of the US Men's Shed Association puts it, 'doesn't know what a screwdriver is' that's OK. He says sheds can be whatever their membership wants them to be.

Werner, 78, a former civil engineer, is familiar with screwdrivers. But the men in his local shed are retired professionals who are more socially than technically inclined.

Werner co-founded the North Palm Beach County Men's Shed in 2018. When he retired to Florida from Pennsylvania, "I told everyone I wanted to sit by the pool and drink beer, but I was bored."

His wife was well aware of this. One day she came across an article about Men's Sheds, tossed the newspaper at him and asked, "Why don't you get off your rear end and start a Shed?"

He pulled in a couple of neighbors to help. The initial meeting was held in the cafe of a local senior center. There were five people present. Today the shed has almost 60 members.

It went online when COVID hit, switching from the senior center to Zoom meetings, and the shed has maintained an online presence even as the pandemic has ebbed. The men no longer meet at a set physical location. Instead they have a weekly Zoom discussion on a particular topic, often with a guest speaker, and they go on various outings.

Activities have included learning to play bocce ball, a fishing trip, a visit to a 911 call center and watching a cooking demonstration at a member's home. The men have one breakfast per month and one happy hour a month. Their oldest member is in his nineties.

Werner says wives are instrumental to the success of Men's Sheds. "In many respects [women] literally and figuratively will drive men to the sheds," he says.

Werner says he's surprised by how much his shed has come to mean to him. The same goes for David Mack.

For him, being part of the shed "is about camaraderie and being able to talk to other people," Mack says. Even during the worst days of COVID isolation he was able to get out of the house and onto the golf course with several men he'd met through the shed.

He will always grieve the loss of his wife. But where he used to feel unmoored, the shed and the relationships he has formed there have provided an anchor.

"It's been very helpful," Mack says. "Now I have a sense that I belong to something."

This article originally appeared on NextAvenue.org.