When my wife and I bought our house three years ago, I noticed a walled-off pantry in one corner of the basement and thought "that could make a good darkroom someday." I had always wanted a darkroom, but I didn't have any of the equipment, and, as a renter, I was unwilling to the structural improvements usually required for a permanent darkroom.
About six months ago, someday finally came. I built some storage shelves on the other side of the basement and hauled out all the garbage, er, treasures, that we were storing in the pantry. Once the room was free of detritus, I started to wipe down all the surfaces. I pulled up some contact paper from one of the shelves and underneath it was...a small pile of negatives. Suddenly, the "pantry" made sense...the blackout materials on the casement window, the one section of counter lower than the rest, the odd stains all over the room...this had been a darkroom years ago! Some of the cracks around the plumbing that passes through the room had been made light-tight with newspapers. None of the pieces I pulled out had a date, but news stories were clearly from WWII and most of the movies listed were released in 1943.
None of the negatives are masterpieces and some of them have serious chemical stains, but they were the first things I printed once I had everything in place, and those prints still hang on the walls of the darkroom. I feel a strong sense of connection to the larger photographic world from working in a darkroom that was set up by a complete stranger almost thirty years before I was born. Am I just a sentimental fool or is this kind of cool?