The Woodshed

                           Woodshed

Chevy, 1963, black two door. An Impala to be exact. I loved that car and as Christine, I believe she loved me. Seats you could sleep in and awaken fresh. You could drive forever and no discomfort. This was a great time to be alive here on Cape Cod. The weather; wonderful, salt air and fantastic ocean breezes kept me interested and cool. The beaches were varied and fantastic. There were the flats of Brewster. You could actually watch the bombing of a target ship far off in the distance ,  in Cape Cod Bay , between Orleans and Brewster. The flats were open to Cape Cod Bay and when the tide went out you had trouble reaching the water. There were times you had to take your sand chair and remove yourself from shore by a half mile or more simply to find ankle deep water. The largest problem being the returning tide would trap you in the sand bars and to abandon the chair was the way to go and swim for it.

There were the beaches farther up the coast. Wellfleet, Orleans and Truro. Simply magnificent! So varied and different from the flats. A variety to be desired and sought after. The flats had no dunes , only a barrier dune. The beaches up the coast were guarded by fantastic dunes , some a hundred feet tall. Growing up at Maguire’s beach in south Wellfleet was a magnificent thing. There was an active artillery range just next to this beach. We would show up around the last week of June and stay for three weeks. All summer long they would fly drones out over the ocean and a safe distance from shore would be shot down by cannons high up on the dunes. Every once in a season , they would land a drone on the beach for the curious examination by the visitors.It was a great experience. There were so many great experiences here at this desolate place. We would come to open the house and find pirate ships run aground by the winter seas. Bones on shore, naked and telling. Magnificent memories.

The tale I come to tell is that of The Woodshed. A Brewster nightspot. A summer nightspot to be exact. This was a magnificent hole in the wall bar a barn in fact. No heat, no air, hardly a floor. It worked for us. There were gorgeous girls tending bar. Mickey and Tony. Magnificent women. Sultry and local. I was working as a laborer for my father and the pay sucked. So did the work. My father was a partner with a local realtor. His son was also a dirt dweller, like me. We would find a raindrop in the sky and find a reason to hit the shed. The nights there were magical to someone my age. This place so crowded at times it was almost a sex act to get to the bathroom or door.  I well remember a singer named Carl Shiloh. He played a twelve string and had a fantastic voice. There were other singers, usually a duo and the place always rocked.  The liquor amplified the music. This place was a complete barn and one of the more wonderful feelings I have ever felt.