More commonly referred
to as the...
"OUTHOUSE"
One of
my bygone recollections
As I
recall the days of yore
Is the
little house behind the house
With
the crescent over the door.
'Twas
a place to sit and ponder
with
your head bowed down low;
Knowing
that you wouldn't be there
If you
didn't have to go.
Ours
was a three-holer
With
a size for everyone
You
left there feeling better
After
your usual job was done.
You had
to make these frequent trips
Whether
snow, rain, sleet, or fog...
To the
little house where you usually found
The
Sears-Roebuck catalog.
Oft times
in dead of winter
The
seat was covered in snow
Then
with much reluctance
To the
little house you'd go.
With
a a swish you'd clear the seat
Bend
low with dreadful fear
You'd
blink your eyes and grit your teeth
As you
settled on your rear.
I recall
the day Granddad
Who
stayed with us one summer
Made
a trip to the shanty
Which
proved to be a hummer.
'Twas
the same day my Dad
finished
painting the kitchen green
He'd
just cleaned up the mess
He'd
made with rags and gasoline.
He tossed
the rags in the shanty hole
And
went on his usual way
Not
knowing that by doing so
He would
eventually rue the day.
Now,
Granddad had an urgent call
I never
will forget
This
trip he made to the little house
Lingers
in my memory yet.
He sat
down on the shanty seat
With
both feet on the floor
Then
filled his pipe with tobacco
And
struck a match on the outhouse door.
After
the tobacco began to glow
He slowly
raised his rear
And
tossed the flaming match into the open hole
Without
a sign of fear.
The blast
that followed
I am
sure was heard for miles around
And
there was poor ol' Grandad
Just
sitting on the ground.
The smoldering
pipe was still in his mouth
His
suspenders he held tight.
The
celebrated three-holer
Was
blown clear out of sight.
When
we asked him what had happened
His
answer I'll never forget
He thought
it must be something
That
he had recently et!
Next
day we had a new one
Which
my Dad built with ease
With
a sign on the entrance door,
Which
read: "NO SMOKING, PLEASE."
Now
that's the end of the story
With
memories of long ago
Of the
little house, behind the house
Where
we went 'cause we had to go.
Author Unknown
To Me |