"I have many tales of woe and tribulation, but my mother could top them all when it comes to terlets. Growing up on a farm in northern Ohio during the Depression, they were happy to get a treat from the gummint- a Civilian Conservation Corps installed concrete foundation outhouse.  She did like to point out that you did not tend to linger admiring your work-preffy whiffy in the summer and damn cold in the winter.  My uncle said he would hold it as long as he could before trudging out at night in waist deep snow, and would occasionally open the window and leave yellow icicles hanging off the eaves.  One Christmas, my grandfather got turkeys for his employees. Back then, turkeys were not shrink wrapped, frozen and oven ready- they were alive and gobblin.’ He had 2 hens and a tom left, and brought them home to the farm. They thrived; each hen had 13 chicks, so the folks became accidental turkey farmers. The tom got bigger, meaner and looked to kill any competition. Skinny depression kids don't look like rival tom turkeys to us, but turkeys aren't that bright and they were close enough for him. Every time Mom or her younger siblings had to go, they would make a mad dash to the privy.  Tom would think, "Ah HA! Those bastards are after my hens again!" and would circle the outhouse and attack them as soon as they opened the door. Huge wings, a beak like a dagger and talons as big as your hands- if you were a 4 foot tall skinny kid, he might as well have been a velociraptor. The kids would scream until my grandmother would come out and whomp the hell out of him with a broom. Being a turkey, he never could figure out that attacking kids=broom whoopin'- it just pissed him off. When they killed him the following Thanksgiving, he weighed 34 pounds dressed on the barn scale, and they had to cut him in 2 to fit him in the oven. I'm not saying being attacked by a crazy mini dinosaur every time you had to take a leak scarred my mom for life, but it might explain a few things. She never was too fond of turkey."

"So this isn't odd until I point out the thing on
the right hand side is a sponge hooked to a
metal piece. And there doesn't appear to be
any wash cloths in the bathroom. I'm guessing
they expect everyone to use it. Maybe they change it out each time for new guests, but I'm not taking my chances."- Photo by Jim