Outhouse

“In the outhouse, a tin bucket filled with lime and ash hung on a peg. To break down waste, the ash was to be poured, post-dump, into the five-foot hole below. Dropping my jeans was as heart–stopping as getting into them. Once they were at my ankles, the cold air swept through my legs, thighs, and delicate lady caverns. I didn’t dare look into the dark abyss below my exposed butt. Even though I’d been assured there were absolutely no poisonous snakes in Western, Oregon, I imagined a nest of vipers slithering beneath my naked flesh.”