The Secret in My Garden

There's an outhouse in my yard. It was hidden, during the summer when I moved in, within a thick, overgrown patch of forsythia, grape, and raspberry. But it's there. Last time Joe was over, he pushed his way through to it, to clip off a tenacious vine of poison ivy, and then looked in the window. I can still see his face when he turned to me to tell me there's an actual commode inside.

I took pictures, but it's kind of hard to see clearly. You can see, though, how I might have missed it when the leaves were out and the thicket was nearly impenetrable. I want to clean out that garden patch, leave the seat in place, clean up the shed itself, use it for garden tool storage, and put a big sign on it that says "Guest Bathroom."



(Click on the picture of the seat for a more intimate view.)

I don't know what it says about me that I like it that I have an outhouse, but I like it that I have an outhouse.