One Saturday we were inspired to build a homestead.
We'd been running in and out of the house all day and by mid-afternoon Mother was irritated. I thought of setting up a bathroom out back, nestled among a bunch of fruit trees. So, we carted a bucket up from the basement, pilfered a couple of tattered sheets from the linen closet, and got to work. We nailed the sheets up for privacy, filled the bucket with water from a garden hose, and lugged it behind the “curtains”. Voila! An outdoor commode!
That night Dad got a phone call. The little girl next door tattled to her mom about our creation. The woman threatened to call the Health Department if our out-house wasn’t dismantled ASAP. So, with dad supervising, I poured the contents of the bucket down the sewer drain.
Undaunted, the next day we were on to other, more exciting exploits.
Our elementary school, Harriet Beecher Stowe, was perched on a hill, four houses down from our house (long before chain-link fences, “NO TRESPASSING” and “NO GUNS” signs barred kids from school grounds when school was not in session).
One blue-sky Saturday, we wandered up to the playground. Soon bored with the swings and jungle gym, we decided to explore the far side of the building. A grove of trees grew tall from the neighboring yard, grazing the tops of the school’s second floor windows. My best friend, Judy, noticed some vines tangled in the branches and dangling within reach. Suddenly, she snatched one and swung out into thin air....shouting: "Me Tarzan! You Jane!". Soon everyone was swinging from the vines like a troop of monkeys, until our moms called for us to come home.
This is absolute gold! I could see every frame of it play out—bucket, sheets, vines, and all. You had me laughing at “outdoor commode” and grinning all the way through “Me Tarzan! You Jane!” That spirit of invention, mischief, and momentum is exactly what Operation Chicken Chute was all about. Sounds like we would’ve been fast friends—and frequent sources of concern to the neighborhood grown-ups. Thanks for sharing this gem!
Thank you, Eric. My sister and I and our two best friends across the street were always up to something.
We didn't have a TV then, so always made our own fun, even outside in winter, playing games in the snow or ice skating at the local park.... playing crack the whip and getting out of the cold now and then in the warming hut.
So happy you enjoyed my tales. (This was part of one of my first posts, Where are the Children, which got only one response, so I'm thrilled that you replied). Just knowing that my words move someone keeps me going. xxoo
Thank you! That’s the best compliment I could hope for. If you could see it all in your head, then I did my job right. Some stories are meant to be felt with a wince and a grin—and Operation Chicken Chute was definitely one of those! Appreciate you reading and riding along.
Haha—thank you! That line came straight from lived experience (and a bruised tailbone). And yes… our poor mother. She deserved sainthood—or at least hazard pay. Glad the line landed! Appreciate you reading and laughing along.
Dianne, please keep going. Your stories matter—and they spark something real in readers like me who remember what it meant to grow up with scraped knees, big imaginations, and no screens to distract us. That warming hut, the ice, “crack the whip”—you painted it perfectly. Don’t let a slow response keep you from telling it true. Sometimes the right reader just takes a little longer to find you… but I’m glad I did. Looking forward to reading more.
This is absolute gold! I could see every frame of it play out—bucket, sheets, vines, and all. You had me laughing at “outdoor commode” and grinning all the way through “Me Tarzan! You Jane!” That spirit of invention, mischief, and momentum is exactly what Operation Chicken Chute was all about. Sounds like we would’ve been fast friends—and frequent sources of concern to the neighborhood grown-ups. Thanks for sharing this gem!
Thank you! That means a lot. I try to write it the way we lived it—barefoot, full speed, and one bad idea away from disaster. Grateful it played out so vividly in your head… because that’s exactly how it looked from the roof!
One Saturday we were inspired to build a homestead.
We'd been running in and out of the house all day and by mid-afternoon Mother was irritated. I thought of setting up a bathroom out back, nestled among a bunch of fruit trees. So, we carted a bucket up from the basement, pilfered a couple of tattered sheets from the linen closet, and got to work. We nailed the sheets up for privacy, filled the bucket with water from a garden hose, and lugged it behind the “curtains”. Voila! An outdoor commode!
That night Dad got a phone call. The little girl next door tattled to her mom about our creation. The woman threatened to call the Health Department if our out-house wasn’t dismantled ASAP. So, with dad supervising, I poured the contents of the bucket down the sewer drain.
Undaunted, the next day we were on to other, more exciting exploits.
Our elementary school, Harriet Beecher Stowe, was perched on a hill, four houses down from our house (long before chain-link fences, “NO TRESPASSING” and “NO GUNS” signs barred kids from school grounds when school was not in session).
One blue-sky Saturday, we wandered up to the playground. Soon bored with the swings and jungle gym, we decided to explore the far side of the building. A grove of trees grew tall from the neighboring yard, grazing the tops of the school’s second floor windows. My best friend, Judy, noticed some vines tangled in the branches and dangling within reach. Suddenly, she snatched one and swung out into thin air....shouting: "Me Tarzan! You Jane!". Soon everyone was swinging from the vines like a troop of monkeys, until our moms called for us to come home.
This is absolute gold! I could see every frame of it play out—bucket, sheets, vines, and all. You had me laughing at “outdoor commode” and grinning all the way through “Me Tarzan! You Jane!” That spirit of invention, mischief, and momentum is exactly what Operation Chicken Chute was all about. Sounds like we would’ve been fast friends—and frequent sources of concern to the neighborhood grown-ups. Thanks for sharing this gem!
Thank you, Eric. My sister and I and our two best friends across the street were always up to something.
We didn't have a TV then, so always made our own fun, even outside in winter, playing games in the snow or ice skating at the local park.... playing crack the whip and getting out of the cold now and then in the warming hut.
So happy you enjoyed my tales. (This was part of one of my first posts, Where are the Children, which got only one response, so I'm thrilled that you replied). Just knowing that my words move someone keeps me going. xxoo
This was a cute way of delivering your message. I can see it all in my head!
Thank you! That’s the best compliment I could hope for. If you could see it all in your head, then I did my job right. Some stories are meant to be felt with a wince and a grin—and Operation Chicken Chute was definitely one of those! Appreciate you reading and riding along.
“Pride was heavier than plywood—and twice as stupid.” 🤣 Your poor Mother!
Haha—thank you! That line came straight from lived experience (and a bruised tailbone). And yes… our poor mother. She deserved sainthood—or at least hazard pay. Glad the line landed! Appreciate you reading and laughing along.
Dianne, please keep going. Your stories matter—and they spark something real in readers like me who remember what it meant to grow up with scraped knees, big imaginations, and no screens to distract us. That warming hut, the ice, “crack the whip”—you painted it perfectly. Don’t let a slow response keep you from telling it true. Sometimes the right reader just takes a little longer to find you… but I’m glad I did. Looking forward to reading more.
This is absolute gold! I could see every frame of it play out—bucket, sheets, vines, and all. You had me laughing at “outdoor commode” and grinning all the way through “Me Tarzan! You Jane!” That spirit of invention, mischief, and momentum is exactly what Operation Chicken Chute was all about. Sounds like we would’ve been fast friends—and frequent sources of concern to the neighborhood grown-ups. Thanks for sharing this gem!
Thank you! That means a lot. I try to write it the way we lived it—barefoot, full speed, and one bad idea away from disaster. Grateful it played out so vividly in your head… because that’s exactly how it looked from the roof!