We are fortunate to have a local watering hole, which, ironically, some refer to as “The Hole.” We call them bars. Ireland calls them pubs, short for public house. It hadn’t occurred to me how lucky we are until I read an article about the decline of the Irish pub across the pond.
The figures are sobering, with numbers plummeting since 2005. One must understand that a pub isn’t just a place to get a pint or a glass of wine. It’s where you can enjoy good craic or the fun atmosphere you can only find in a place where you know most everyone’s name—or story.
My Local Watering Hole
The article got me thinking about our local watering hole and its regulars. We’ve been going there for 10 or more years. Many patrons are locals, born and raised in town. I thought of the friends we’ve made and lost through the years, the mini-dramas, and passings.
We are transplants to the Land of 10,000 Lakes, far from our families. Our local watering hole is our second family. They know more about my day-to-day life than my sisters. We are also privy to the many stories the patrons wear, including the not-so-proud moments that come and go with each wave of scandal.
The bar is a family-run establishment. Of course, part of the craic includes bitching about the owners when changes, i.e., price increases, occur. We moan about smaller portion sizes and added surcharges while cheering on the Vikings.
We also enjoy our weekly wine tastings, where we share a bottle and wax poetic on its virtues and earthiness. Wine brought some of us together and is part of the glue that keeps us coming back for another glass. These are good times we all treasure. I revel in being a part of a ritual that brought humans together for thousands of years. We’re living it.
I asked my nephew, who lives in Chicago, if he had a local watering hole. Alas, he does not. There are places they go to often, but not the ones where you know all the servers’ names and they know your drink order. We are in on their stories, too, with bigger cash tips when someone gets married, buys a new house, or has a baby. We’ve also cried together when we’ve lost a mutual friend from the bar.
Becoming a Local Tradition
Our watering hole is in a town with a city council that recognizes its unique value. That’s why we regulars get fired up when another festival rolls around, inviting more out-of-towners to visit that “cute dive bar.” It’s our watering hole, damnit!
Thinking back to the Irish pubs, I feel sure some of these same scenarios play out, with different names and private jokes. I can understand the fear of losing these places and what they bring to a community. A place doesn’t always plan to be the local hangout. Sometimes, the stars align, and it just happens, as it did for us at our watering hole.
The next time we share a bottle of wine, I’ll propose a toast to our local watering hole and our second families.
Photo by Drew Beamer on Unsplash