My grandmother, who my brothers and I referred to as "Nana," tortured her grandchildren and neighbors by taking outside showers in her garden clothes, well, that is, until the shower broke, and she couldn't find a person within miles to fix it. The shower or pipe stood about five feet long with a shower head, and a place where you could attach a hose on the side, like a shower/water faucet combination.
There was a concrete floor under the shower so your feet didn't sink in the grass and form a muddy mess while you bathed.
My grandmother's property was in an old neighborhood that accommodated the new world: for instance, her garden and ancient outside shower were next door to her neighbor’s tennis court and paved driveway, although Nana’s circular drive was gravel.
But, the ingredients of the old and new worlds did coexist, although sandwiched between my grandmothers back porch and the neighbor’s back door and tennis court, stood the outside shower.
My brothers and I played in the water pipe/shower, especially in the summer, and the outside water hose/pipe/shower, also functioned as a water supply to the garden and the rest of the side yard, when necessary.
My grandmother never understood why her grandchildren refused to take an outside shower, although, I think she did notice how eager we were to bathe inside.
It never occurred to her that perhaps our reluctance to bathe outside was the fact that her neighbors had a clear view of the garden shower, as well as the breakfast table. In other words, she could never grasp the fact that the people next door may not wish to view her soap her body, garden clothes or not, in the gleaming sun while they drank their morning coffee.
