Those who act in haste, repent in leisure...

Building Plans available
This example is in much better condition than the one at Grandma's house.

Following Halloween shenanigans, outhouse tipping continued. Every house built in late 1800 era sported an outhouse, a necessity for the pre-plumbing days.  Some were quality, meant to last for many years.  Others were built in haste and their construction showed rickety and rotting wood.  Easy pickings, they were targets of gangs of boys treading through darkness and, with little effort, tipping those over.

My Grandmother Amy lived in one of those old houses and had one of the latter outhouses.  This made her graying and rusting outhouse a frequent subject of the outhouse gang.

Each time Grandma Amy had to phone my father, who then drove through dusky hours to place the structure back over the pit. After almost every night's misadventures, Dad and Grandma devised a plan:  move the outhouse over into wild roses, leaving the pit open under a dark moonless sky.  While they waited in silence and darkness with an occasional smirk and giggle, these monsters approached through with giggles of their own.

Moments later screams and profanity were heard as surprised boys tumbled feet forward into the open pit, a not-too empty pit at that.

Grandma and Dad switched on the porch light, and armed with flashlights, they smiled down on faces of well-known-miscreant teenagers. What the.....get us outta here...damn you...

Grandma armed with a water hose and Dad with a rope managed to pull the three boys out.  A casual stream of water dripped down over the excrement covered boys, leaving a healthy amount of odoriferous matter behind.  Dad directed them to place the outhouse back over the pit, promising to inform the town's mayor about them.

Following the order of penance, grumbling in whispers, the boys settled every outhouse through out town, securing them safely and securely in place.  They even assisted my father in building a new outhouse for my grandma; they also dug a new pit for her outhouse, refilling an old full pit in with soil.

This was a memory that gave Grandma a source of giggles the rest of her life.  God Bless Her.


A few years later, an addition to her house included a toilet and sink.

Amy Lucy (Dolly) Nichols Peck
July 1970

Teachers who truly love teaching...

Built in 1917, I think, after country schools could no longer handle the growing numbers of High School students.  It became an elementary school when a new high school was completed in the county seat.

An elementary school located in small rural areas during the 1950s were a toss-up when it came to teachers.  Many elements affected quality and availability.

Teachers were often women during the 1940s who simply took a tests, demonstrating intelligence and understanding of teaching requirements.  After WW2 ended, some of these women returned home.  Others were of retirement ages anyway, they stayed for money's sake, but were required to upgrade teaching skills annually. Some were good and caring, but others rode broomsticks to school.

Our third grade class was blessed with one of a few very few special teachers: Mrs. Mary Ellen Willard.  Unusual in many ways, Mrs. Willard was well-educated, had a teacher credential, and much experience. Following our class, she taught for thirty-one years, mainly in our small rural town. 

Of the class of 15 students, there were three of us who whizzed through an entire year's curriculum in the first six weeks.  What to do with Scott, Patty, and me? So, what to do with we three?

Mrs. Willard, now I recognize in looking back, let us pursue our creative instincts.  She required spelling tests and math tests, but cut the string,  basically and silently gave permission to have at it.

Such set up a life-time of learning!  Think of all the other bright students who benefited with her approach to teaching!

May God bless Mrs. Willard and all other teachers who share her love for learning.

Sam Snail, a re-post from 2014

His folks had forced Sam Snail to attend the class on snail safety, where posters covered the room:

“An Informed Snail is a Safe Snail!”

“It’s not dandruff, you idiot!  It’s salt!”

Source: Wikipedia

“A stupid snail becomes escargot!”

Mr. Goo

Mr. Goo, the oldest snail in the community, scanned the adolescent snails with his antennae.  “Listen up, you slimy slugs!”

The snails convulsed with laughter---the slug joke was an old one. Then all became quiet as the spectres of snails long gone before filled the room.

They whispered, “Grass is good.  Sidewalks are bad….” 

Then Mr. Goo shouted, “If you are ever besieged by a bunch of birds, then kiss your shells good-bye.”

Intervals of laughter and silence of doom broke up the rest of the day.  Finally, class was dismissed.

  

snail racing competition

Mr. Goo watched them in silence, Poor dumb Molluscan Gastropods! Half of them won’t even make it home.

Delores provided participants of the "Wednesday Words" with a variety of six words with which to play:  write prose, short fiction, non-fiction, poetry...Each week there was always a challenge.  
Delores has stepped back, and now a variety of Bloggers cover each month.  Check with Elephant's Child.