Nita of Phancypages sent us this with this message,

"This just in from George and Helen Wilson"

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 every one.

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 with snow.

Twas then with much reluctance,

To the little house you'd go.

With 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 bummer.

'Twas the same day my Dad

Finished painting the kitchen green.

He 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---

Tossing the flaming match in the open hole,

With not a sign of fear.

The blast that followed,

I am sure was heard for miles around;

And there was poor ol' Granddad

Just sitting on the ground.

The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth,

His suspenders he held tight---

The celebrated three-holer

Was blown clean 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!

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