Outhouses and Log Cabins
We've missed the boat, again.
While we've been busy building such extraneous and useless things as chicken coops and greenhouses, the rest of the world as been moving, as usual, in a completely different direction. A direction, I might add, that seems a lot cooler than ours.
Driving up over Betsy's Gap this morning, I noted a plethora of bright orange outhouses up and down the creek. Like, every one's got one now. Bobby's got about a dozen lined up in front of his house. Everyone else, it seems, has at least one. (We have none. We had a bona fide antique wooden one until Harold dropped am oak tree on it year before last. Still hasn't come over to fix it.)
Then there's the log cabins. There's a few more back in the hollers that empty out on the road up to Betsy's. Every time I drive that way, it seems, there's a few more. Lawns and driveways are graded down every thing's landscaped. Ans a million dollar log cabin right in the middle of it all. That's not so surprising, not so surprising as the outhouses, anyway.
I've been posting irregularly, lately, as you may have noticed. And the posts have been abbreviated, almost mere jottings, so I have not been able to expand the posts into the thought-provoking essays into the nature of human existence that you have become accustomed to. But at least you're up to date on the outhouse situation.
While we've been busy building such extraneous and useless things as chicken coops and greenhouses, the rest of the world as been moving, as usual, in a completely different direction. A direction, I might add, that seems a lot cooler than ours.
Driving up over Betsy's Gap this morning, I noted a plethora of bright orange outhouses up and down the creek. Like, every one's got one now. Bobby's got about a dozen lined up in front of his house. Everyone else, it seems, has at least one. (We have none. We had a bona fide antique wooden one until Harold dropped am oak tree on it year before last. Still hasn't come over to fix it.)
Then there's the log cabins. There's a few more back in the hollers that empty out on the road up to Betsy's. Every time I drive that way, it seems, there's a few more. Lawns and driveways are graded down every thing's landscaped. Ans a million dollar log cabin right in the middle of it all. That's not so surprising, not so surprising as the outhouses, anyway.
I've been posting irregularly, lately, as you may have noticed. And the posts have been abbreviated, almost mere jottings, so I have not been able to expand the posts into the thought-provoking essays into the nature of human existence that you have become accustomed to. But at least you're up to date on the outhouse situation.
