It was the rule to keep the door open when not in use, partly to keep it aired and partly so others would know it was not in use.
Often hens would go in there, go down into the opening and make a nest on the ledge that extended all around, with the cavity in the center then flyaway through the open door. Only Dad could reach far enough to retrieve the eggs.
My five year-old cousin wandered into the outhouse and, ignoring the small seat, he decided to try the big two-holer.
Looking down he noticed the eggs and decided to bring them to Grandma, climbed up on the big seat and leaning over lost his balance and fell into the pit underneath. Luckily, it had been cleaned recently, but still had been used several times since.
His screams brought the household running and when his Mother saw he was not hurt she said, "Throw him back. He's not worth cleaning!"
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.
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