1950 Memories of Suburban Adventures

Wedding Poop

In the days before handheld games, interactive cellphones, or multiple television stations we created our own good clean fun. Well, maybe not always good or clean, but definitely fun. The fact that we were easily amused helped.

An empty barn at Durkee Town provided a great space for barn dances and wedding receptions. Because of the informality, entire families got invited. My first wedding reception became a lot more entertaining when David and my cousin Corky came running.

“You’ve got to come see what we found,” they said in conspiratorial voices.

A few of my younger cousins and I followed the boys down from the hayloft-dance floor and through the empty stanchion area. Exiting the back of the barn, the boys presented their discovery–an outhouse with special attachments. A long poop chute extended from the dance floor bathroom above, to a waiting manure spreader below.

manure spreader without the manure angelacreshorsehavenrescue.blogspot.com

manure spreader without the manure
angelacreshorsehavenrescue.blogspot.com

Corky ran upstairs to demonstrate how the system worked. His cup of orange soda glided down the chute, dribbled off the end, and disappeared under a strategically placed cover on the spreader.

“Do it again,” we shouted.

Corky’s head appeared at an open window, and he called down, “I gotta get more soda. Be right back”

We patiently waited and plopped a few stones into the uncovered sections of the spreader.

“What’cha doin’, kids?”

We turned toward the barn. Uncle Mike L.’s silhouette filled the barn’s open doorway.

“Nothing much!”

He silently appraised us. We stood still, looking at our feet. Slowly, he melted back into the darkened interior. The sound of muffled polka music beckoned us inside, but we declined.

Corky’s head popped out of a window to the right of the bathroom. He cupped his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone. “Someone’s inside. I’ll tell you who it is when they come out.”

We watched the chute expectantly.

Uncle Mike L. reappeared behind us. “Quit hanging around out here. Get back inside.”

readhampton.blogspot.com

readhampton.blogspot.com

We scattered, and I headed upstairs to listen to the band. No boys asked me to polka, so I asked Dad. I kicked up my heels and kept in perfect step, which isn’t easy with Dad’s Yankee version of the polka. I especially liked it when he twirled me around. I begged for a second dance.

“Maybe later, this is your mother’s favorite song.”

Szocher, a polka band playing in Fair Haven, Vermont, loved Mom. As a teenager, and later with Dad, each time she entered their dance hall, Szocher stopped in the middle of whatever song they were playing and began her favorite–Rain Polka.

The hopping of the polka, and lots of soda, made me want to pee. I peeked through the little window in the outhouse to make sure no observers lurked below.

Lesson learned: A wedding reception does not have to cost a fortune to be remembered, it just needs family, polka music, and a great outhouse.

Related Posts: Exposed/Outdoor Relief

Now it’s your turn: What’s one of your wedding reception memories?

© Mary Norton-Miller and 1950s Suburban Adventures, 2012 forward. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Mary Norton-Miller and 1950s Suburban Adventures with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


2 Comments

  1. There’s little I can add to that. I remember barn dances – maybe I should have investigated the facilities more closely! I spent a few of my formative years in a cottage lit by gas and with an outhouse that was down in the yard. The walls were made of clay and straw, and rats used to run up and down inside them – you could hear their scrabbling activity as you went to sleep. How things have changed!

    • skinnyuz2b says:

      The pitter-patter of little rat feet in the walls is not as soothing a sound as raindrops on the roof, Fred.
      I’ll bet you have lots of good memories from your cottage. My husband and I always say we’ve been happy wherever we’ve lived, from a 12×60′ trailer, to a semi-slum apartment, to my parent’s basement, to a nice ranch home, to a large home on a lake, to our current home which needs to be down-sized. The size or grandeur doesn’t matter, it’s what the people inside make of it.

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