A Retro-Magical World of Tickles, Bread, and Odd Little Stories
Born in 1974 and infused with 80s-retro charm, Dan’s TickleShed blends oddities, homemade bread, and illustrated mischief.
The TickleShed Origin Story
The Feather That Found Dan: A Tickleshed Origin Story (1987)
Before the Tickleshed was known for bread that rose like sunrise and meats that melted under a fork, it was simply Dan’s workshop — a quiet little place where he tinkered, smoked meats, kneaded dough, and hummed tunes no one else seemed to know.
In the winter of 1987, something unusual happened.
Not dramatic, not noisy — just unusual in the kind of way that only becomes important later.
It began with a storm.
Not a fierce storm, but a strange one.
The snow didn’t fall so much as drift sideways, swirling in spirals that seemed too graceful to ignore. Dan watched from the doorway of the shed, apron dusted in flour, woodsmoke curling around him like an old friend.
That’s when he heard it —
not quite a sound, more like a shimmer of air, a soft ringing that echoed inside his chest rather than in his ears.
And then he saw it.
Not snow.
Not ash.
Something bright.
A feather — shimmering, turning slowly as if the wind were choosing its direction with care — drifted toward him. It glowed faintly, not with heat, but with the warm light of something alive, something curious.
It landed lightly on the edge of his bread dough as if that had been its destination all along.
Dan froze.
The dough did not.
It rose — immediately, impossibly — swelling under the feather’s touch like it had been waiting for this moment.
Dan reached out, breath held, and the feather leapt gently into his hand.
Warm.
Soft.
Buzzing with the smallest pulse of energy, like a heartbeat.
There was no voice, no instruction, no booming prophecy.
Just a quiet certainty that settled over him like a blanket:
This was a gift.
Not to keep, but to use.
Not for power, but for care.
And from that day forward, bread made in the Tickleshed rose higher, crusts crackled louder, and the air inside the little workshop grew warm even during the coldest Spokane winters.
Some folks say the feather came from a mythical bird that only appears to people with kind hands.
Others swear it was sent by some old magic looking for a home.
Dan never offered an explanation.
If anyone asked, he’d smile and say:
“I didn’t find the feather.
It found me.”
And he’d go back to kneading dough — gently, patiently — as the feather gleamed softly from its place on the shelf, like a watchful old friend.
Dans Tickleshed
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