CattleAnnie
Well-known member
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.
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.
