My Favorite Toilet

One of the highlights of driving up Highway 101 north of the Bay Area is Laytonville.  Not many people live there (the population is about 1,300), and not much happens there.  But on the side of the highway that runs through the five mile stretch of primarily farmland is a toilet sitting in a field.

Yes, I just said that one of the highlights of northern California is a toilet.  I can't even count how many times I've stopped there.  You just can't see a toilet on the side of the road and not want to sit on it.  The ground is usually wet, so we get mud all over our shoes and cars, but the pictures of us pretending to use this stinky, mold-growing toilet are worth it.

Across the road from the toilet is a barn bearing a huge sign that says, "Don't Forget the Magic!"  On days we didn't stop at the toilet because it was raining or we were in a hurry, we would still always read the sign out loud.  It's a great message, but I never thought it had any connection with the toilet across the street.

In December three of my roommates and I were driving up to my hometown, Eureka.  One of my roommates is also from Eureka, but for the other two, this was their first adventure into the far corners of northern California.  When we entered Laytonville, I told them that we needed to make a stop soon.

They were just as fascinated as I had hoped when we pulled over to see the toilet.  We hopped across a stream of muddy water and took turns photographing each other on the toilet (actually, in front of the toilet...it was wet).

As we were taking pictures, a man stuck his head out of the barn across the street—the "Don't Forget the Magic!" barn—and yelled something to us.  None of us understood what he said, so we laughed and hesitantly said, "okay..."

As we pulled back onto the highway, the man waved his arms, beckoning us to come back to his barn.  Four girls in no hurry, we loved the randomness of the situation and turned around the first chance we got.

We parked and approached the barn, but the man wasn't out in front anymore.  The door was open, so we peeked in.  "Hello?"  We took a few steps in, passing a box full of walnuts and a single orange ping pong ball.  A rocking chair hung from the rafters above a giant gumball machine.

"Oh, you came back!"  The man jumped up from where he sat poking a hot metal rod through some sort of metal box.  "You need to sign my toilet journal!"

He led us to a big, high table where he gave us two journals, one to sign and one full journal to look through.

"Do you girls want anything?  A beer?  A smoke?  A soda?"

"No thanks," we laughed.

"Well, here.  At least take some candy for the road."

He introduced himself as John and told us that he loved talking to everyone who stopped at the toilet.  He asks that they sign the journal with their names and where they are from and always keeps refreshments handy to share with travelers.

Some entries in the journal were one or two lines.  Some addressed John by name or referred to him as "Toilet Guy."  He told us about his grandchildren and his daughter-in-law, who started a website so that he could keep track of even more Laytonville toilet enthusiasts and even get their pictures.

It wasn't until I visited the website that I found out that John McCaffrey, the man in the barn, is actually responsible for the toilet.  Since he retired, his daughter-in-law writes on the website, John has been doing lots of strange things like this to entertain the folks of Laytonville and those passing through.  She mentions a "doorknob tree" and birds made out of old shovels.

A friend who asked John what the sign on his barn means says that he replied, "It means don't forget the magic in your life, whatever it is."

Well, thanks for a little more magic, John.

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