THE SAGA OF THE TWO HOLER

When I was a boy, living in the little town of Imogene, Iowa, our bathroom facilities were down the hill, away from the house. In the summer time, although lime was spread, it didn’t take care of the horrific smell. In the winter, it was a horse of another color. When you opened the door and gazed at the holes, you became accutely aware that jack frost was there. There was a frost ring around each hole and, in order to do the thing you came to do, you had to drop your pants and melt the frost ring and grab for the Sears and Roebuck or MontgomeryWard catalog. This a lasting memory, not only to my mind, but also to my behind.