As a child I was raised on a farm
in Nebraska.
Times were hard, but our family was proud of our outhouse because it seemed
sturdier and more appealing, and maybe even warmer, than most in the
neighborhood. My Dad had the WPA build it, it even had a concrete floor, one
hole and was stuccoed on the outside. With one window and two vents, it was
attractive as far as outhouses go. It did not require moving to a new hole as
others did, all that was necessary was to pour lime down the hole.
My sister and I spent many hours in
the outhouse cutting out paper dolls from the catalogues that were used in
place of tissue. It embarrassed our parents when upon an infrequent call on a
neighbor we would ask them if they had an out-dated catalogue we could have.
Actually we weren’t asking for the catalogue for use in the outhouse as one
would naturally surmise, but for more of a variety of paper dolls.
Twyla Allen
Quenemo, Kansas
Back in 1955 a call
went out from the editors of the then Capper’s
Weekly asking for readers to send
in articles on true pioneers. Hundreds of letters came pouring in from early
settlers and their children, many now in their 80s and 90s, and from
grandchildren of settlers, all with tales to tell. So many articles were
received that a decision was made to create a book, and in 1956, the first My
Folks title – My Folks Came in a
Covered Wagon – hit the shelves. Nine
other books have since been published in the My Folks series, all filled to the brim with true tales from Capper’s readers, and we are proud to
make those stories available to our growing online community.
