I am building the boat in the lower garage. We bought the house from this interesting guy who is basically the anti-me. He designed the house and built it with his own hands: excavating, (saving some of the rocks for the fireplace, including the one shaped like the state of Maine), carpentry, plumbing, electricity. His hobby is restoring classic cars, so he built a lot of garage space.
The upper garage has room for probably six cars. The lower garage is smaller. That's where he worked on his cars. The lower garage is basically a bomb shelter — concrete floor and walls, and a steel ceiling with iron beams, so that he could winch engines into and out of his cars.
This space is normally inhabited by waterfront toys: floats, noodles, life preservers, bits and pieces of dock hardware, windsurfing gear that I've destroyed but can't bear to discard; as well as dead rodents, many bugs, and other mysterious things that are vaguely biological and disturbing in appearance. This is where I assemble my sail when I want to go windsurfing.
I shoved all the man-made objects to one end of the garage, swept
out the biological items, and filled it with all my purchases.