This is a friend of the Spunky Bohemian. She shared an august story about an auspicious decision and a funky house bar:
About 22 years ago, my husband I packed up all our stuff and moved from Madison to San Diego in ten days. We heard that there were jobs for us out there that paid $1 extra an hour. We thought, “Wow, we’re going to be rich!”
She chuckles: a whole dollar more!
We loved it out there. We came back when we had a kid and figured that since our parents lived in Wisconsin, it would be good for our kid to grow up near them.
She sighs, not with regret but nostalgia for San Diego.
Now we have property here, ten acres bordering the Kettle Moraine Forest in a tiny town called Greenbush. There’s not even a bar in Greenbush. I know, in Wisconsin! But there is a stagecoach museum . . .
And there is a place 5-10 minutes away that’s a house bar. A lady has a bar in her sun porch, with red velvet wallpaper and a jukebox. You can play Elvis for 10 cents and get domestic beers for a buck and a quarter. And they have the best Southern Comfort Old Fashioned Sweets around. It’s only “open” when the bar lights are on: you just have to take your chance going there! What’s the name of the bar? No one knows! We just call it “The House Bar.”
She insists that the owner of “The House Bar” has a liquor license. She must, right?
And I promised I’d include a map showing where Greenbush is located. I just might have to take a drive in search of the red velvet porch bar! Now “Velvet”–that would make a swanky name!