The Outhouse

So here are the promised pictures of the outhouse. But, to truly appreciate them I think you need to start a little farther out. Say at the end of the paved road.

To get to my Grandpa's farm, you must drive far far out into the country. If you see a Wal-Mart, you still have about an hour to go. If you see a small no-name gas station you are still not quite there. Do you see the end of the pavement? Then you have arrived.

I love this road. I've been down it so many times over my entire life. There are so many memories I have going down this gravel road.We take the first right we get to. Oh look, Grandpa left the gate open for us. Which is nice for me since I am sitting on the back of the 4-wheeler. And the person on the back always has to get off and open and shut the gates. I don't ask questions, I just do what I'm told.
We go down this path through the mud.
(these were taken the day after the Great Camping Storm of July 08)

And here are my feet. I really need to touch up the paint on my toenails. Because painted toenails are most important when you are riding on a 4-wheeler with your husband through the mud. They draw your eyes down to the brightly painted toes instead of the mud on your calves.Here we are at the campground. Usually there are cars and trucks and tents and kids everywhere. But seeing as how we got rained out, the aforementioned are all up at my Grandpa's farmhouse (which DOES have indoor plumbing, just to clarify).

The white structure is where all the food is kept and meals are served while we camp. The river is right on the other side of the trees.

Here is the tent my parents set up for us. My dad and brother-in-law set it back up after the storm so it would dry out better.

We took our economy car (which translates into not enough room for anything and all 3 kids can touch each other and us) (I'm seriously considering installing one of those privacy windows like they have in those big fancy cars) (and inventing aerosol Benadryl - child strength) so we didn't have room in the car to bring our own tent.

Or our cooler, or our sleeping bags, or our sanity.

And I have drawn a handy dandy little arrow so you can see where the beloved outhouse is in relation to our tent.

And here it is. The outhouse my Grandpa built. The outhouse that I have used every year at the 4th of July Campout since I can remember. (I'm sure just that fact alone has instantly endeared it to you)

Do you like the sign that designates this the Women's bathroom? There is a men's outhouse also but it is on the other side of the field.

See. I told you it was fancy. A two seater and all! The Folgers cans keep the toilet paper and the lime powder all dry. And that would be powder from the rock not the fruit. What? You don't know what the powder is used for? Well, I'm sure not going to explain it to you.

Go ask your Grandma.

And there is even a fancy smancy Exit sign on the door so we'll feel all uptown and all.

And there you have it.

The Outhouse.

Which always makes me so thankful for indoor plumbing.