By popular demand I bring back, the little house behind the house article that ran many years ago. I’ve had many requests for a rerun of the writing. Everyone needs a good laugh, a cheerful lift and this is a perfect way to bring a smile to your face. My own memories rushed back of the little house behind our house from bygone days.
I thank the reader that shared the writing and in his personal memories he writes, “friends if you were fortunate enough to have been raised on a Knox County farm, or on
Fighting Creek during the depression years as I was, you will well know what this “little house behind your house memory is all about.”
A BYGONE RECOLLECTION,
“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. T’was a place to sit and ponder with your head bowed low, knowing that you wouldn’t be there, if you didn’t have to go.
Ours was a three-holler with a size for every one. You left there feeling better after your usual job was done. You had to make these frequent trips, during the weather, snow, rain, sleet or fog, to the little house where you usually found the Sears-Roebuck catalog.
Often times in dead winter the seat was covered with snow. T’was then with much reluctance to the little house you’d go. With a swish you’d clear the seat, bend low with a dreadful fear you’d blink your eyes and grit your teeth as you settled on your rear. I recall the day grandpa who stayed with us one summer made a trip to the shanty, which proved to be a hummer.
T’was the same day my dad finished painting the kitchen green. He’d just cleaned up the mess he made with rags of gasoline. He tossed the rags in the shanty hole and went his usual way, not knowing that by doing so he would eventually rue the day.
Grandpa sat down on the shanty seat, with both feet on the floor. Then he filled his pipe with tobacco and struck a match on the outhouse door. After the tobacco began to glow, he slowly raised his rear, tossed the flaming match in the open hole with no sign of fear/
The blast that followed I’m sure could be heard for miles around and there was poor ole grandpa just sitting on the ground. The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth, his suspenders he held tight, the celebrated three-holler was blasted clear out of sight. When we asked him what had happened, his answer I’ll never forget. He thought it must be something he 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 this is the end of the story with memories of long ago, of a little house behind the house where we went cause we had to go!”
Millie’s thought for today, “laughter is medicine for the soul.”