While antelope hunting last weekend, we came across on old abandoned house that had fallen down. Alongside it were many outbuildings in similar states of dilapidation. Yet, still standing, or at least in the best condition of all structures, was this gem that the rancher must have promised his bride as one of the finer upgrades to the homestead standard of living.
I can hear Jeb now, "Millie, if you follow me out to the green mesa's of Catron County, I'll build you a fine homestead. Heck, I'll even install a Two-Holer, if that's what it takes."
With that promise secured, Millie agreed to root out the preacher, take her vows, then load her possessions in the wagon that would trail the cattle to the marginally productive slopes of Red Hill, with dreams of living happily ever after in a land of milk and honey.
This guy must have valued his Two-holer. He even had a big "No Trespassing" sign on it. Must have been valuable if he went to such effort to protect it from intruders, foreign and domestic, terrestrial or extraterrestrial.
Must be a "His and Hers" model, given one seat is up and one seat is down.
My Dad's parents never had running water. I remember pumping water for my Grandma to heat over her coal stove. And they had a two-holer behind the work shed, which my Grandpa was quite proud of. There were times he would discuss how no man who loved his wife would leave her to make due with a One-holer.
When I saw this outhouse, I started laughing at the times when I was a youngster, my Grandpa could go into immense detail about what could be learned of a man by examining the kind/style/quality of outhouse he expected his family to use. He would opine as to a guy's religion, level of financial debts, union or non-union member, ethnic heritage, level if literacy, and many other important character traits of the time, just based on a single visit to the guy's outhouse. I guess Grandpa Carl could be considered an "Outhouse Snob."
Such humor is hard to convey to Millennials who have no first-hand experience of squatting down on a cold frozen seat in the -30F January temps of a northern Minnesota outhouse. The benefit of such cold was that the smell and abundance of insects was inversely proportional to the outside temperature.
And now, when you younger folks hear me use my Uncle's favorite term of a big rain storm, a/k/a "Genuine Turd Floater," you will know where he got it. I've used it on a few episodes, but editors never put it in the final cut.
Thought a bit of humor would be helpful on this Wednesday morning.
Just a couple hours later, we found this gem while making a quick DQ run to Springerville.
I can hear Jeb now, "Millie, if you follow me out to the green mesa's of Catron County, I'll build you a fine homestead. Heck, I'll even install a Two-Holer, if that's what it takes."
With that promise secured, Millie agreed to root out the preacher, take her vows, then load her possessions in the wagon that would trail the cattle to the marginally productive slopes of Red Hill, with dreams of living happily ever after in a land of milk and honey.
This guy must have valued his Two-holer. He even had a big "No Trespassing" sign on it. Must have been valuable if he went to such effort to protect it from intruders, foreign and domestic, terrestrial or extraterrestrial.
Must be a "His and Hers" model, given one seat is up and one seat is down.
My Dad's parents never had running water. I remember pumping water for my Grandma to heat over her coal stove. And they had a two-holer behind the work shed, which my Grandpa was quite proud of. There were times he would discuss how no man who loved his wife would leave her to make due with a One-holer.
When I saw this outhouse, I started laughing at the times when I was a youngster, my Grandpa could go into immense detail about what could be learned of a man by examining the kind/style/quality of outhouse he expected his family to use. He would opine as to a guy's religion, level of financial debts, union or non-union member, ethnic heritage, level if literacy, and many other important character traits of the time, just based on a single visit to the guy's outhouse. I guess Grandpa Carl could be considered an "Outhouse Snob."
Such humor is hard to convey to Millennials who have no first-hand experience of squatting down on a cold frozen seat in the -30F January temps of a northern Minnesota outhouse. The benefit of such cold was that the smell and abundance of insects was inversely proportional to the outside temperature.
And now, when you younger folks hear me use my Uncle's favorite term of a big rain storm, a/k/a "Genuine Turd Floater," you will know where he got it. I've used it on a few episodes, but editors never put it in the final cut.
Thought a bit of humor would be helpful on this Wednesday morning.
Just a couple hours later, we found this gem while making a quick DQ run to Springerville.
