Trapper’s Crapper

“Trapper’s Crapper” is what is carved and painted orange on the pea green outhouse that makes everyone smile, except when they have to use it. The former owners, from Florida, the Trappers, left that among other things on the small lakeside property that my parents purchased back in 1993 to get away. Yes, we are from Wisconsin, and we had to get away.

When I was younger, the outhouse was the scariest place. I held it all night just, so I didn’t have to use it in the dark, afraid that a snake was going to slither over the lid as you searched for the extra TP stored in the empty Saltine tin.

Since that time, the bats have left the rafters. Their muffled squeaks disappeared and now live in the birch trees where they hang down in the late evening. The mice that used to come in and out and run across your feet have found a new place to live. Even the spiders have found new corners to spin their web.

A lot of life came out of that outhouse, which now acts as a storage shed, housing lawn rakes, a splitter, a small red jug labeled “lawn mower gas,” but the bag of lime still rests in the corner in a coffee can, encouraging all to take a scoop or receive a “are you serious?” from the next person. That person doesn’t exist. We don’t go up to Michigan much anymore. I guess we don’t need to “get away” as much, but what exactly are we running from? Can’t be anything more frightening than that unknown of the outhouse: you never know what might come out of the ground.