“Oh for the good old days” is a phrase that you hear from time to time but I suspect that such rhetoric is given without so much as a thought to its true implications. This brings to mind an incident during the good old days when back of our first cedar shack on Read Island, sat an outhouse, a two seater none the less. Why a two seater? I don’t know of anyone who would want to use it with a family member, or anyone for that matter, unless perhaps a close friend. And I say that with tongue in cheek.
But I do know that because the bush was thick and sparse of habitation the facility had no door. This was great for contemplation and the study of creatures that chose to wander by while taking care of business. On a cloudless night one could also lift ones contemplation heavenward and study the stars. One could also read from the last Eaton’s catalogue, as no reputable outhouse would be without at least one for a ready supply for the needed cleanup after business.
Most of the time however it was in and out as quickly as possible as the business of the day permitted little time for contemplation.
It was on one particular dark evening when the immediate chance of rain meant any delay in taking care of business meant you would get soaked on the way back to the house, that my dad found himself in need of the facility. Upon arriving he sat down with haste, and as he tells the story, “It was a good thing that I had just sat down when the bolt of lightening hit with such an incredible crash, right in front of me, that I know I would have messed my pants if they had not already been seated.” “You guessed it I beat it back to the house just as fast as I could.”
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