My Brother Brings Back Memories

He came by this weekend and gave me a calendar for 2009: twelve months of outhouse photos. I think it will go well in my radio studio.

You see, we had an outhouse back home. Well, not quite behind our residence, but down at the marina where we kept our boat. And I’m not sure “marina” is the right word; that makes me think of people in white with fine boats and dining on their yachts. This place was for people who owned small working craft and their version of fine dining was hauling out a beer. The men’s and ladies’ rooms were contained in the single outhouse just up from the boats.

That’s life when you are near the water.

Sure, there are really nice marinas with the higher class of people and their better yachts. They know how to lunch and what to wear for each part of the day. But you don’t dare bring a grain of sand aboard.

Our boat had a coffee can for bailing the water that came in over the bow on a rough day. There was usually some sand in the bottom. The men’s room was over the side, with the wind, and such as to avoid others in the boat.

I think we used the last outhouse in Lordship. I don’t remember any others, unless the other “marina” had one. It was a great place.