Friday, October 30, 2009

Halloween Outhouse Tipping

Halloween Outhouse Tipping

Our FLCAA Writers’ Group was challenged to write a piece about the subject of “Art.” Because I had already written a three-part story on “On the Art of Outhouse Tipping” some years ago, and because I believe firmly in promoting recycling, and because it’s soon Halloween, I decided to recycle the following story.
When I was growing up, acts of vandalism were primarily limited to Halloween and the tradition of tipping over outhouses and throwing a little toilet paper on trees–although since most rural people didn’t buy TP but simply used old Monkey Ward catalogs or the paper saved from the wrapping of peaches bought in crates for fall canning, little of the expensive rolled toilet paper was strewn in the countryside.
My esteemed older brother and his friends were involved in more than one such tipping event, and I have heard similar stories from nearly every community where we’ve lived, so it must have been a sacred tradition–a way for teenage boys to celebrate the “hallowed evening.” Few outhouses exist anymore (resulting in year ’round mischief instead of annual outhouse tipping) so I feel it is my duty to honor the good old days in verse before it is forgotten altogether.
On the Art of Outhouse Tipping – Part I

Quietly they creep through the darkness
Of the hallowed eve, intent on celebration.
Their male elders had kept this sacred tryst
For generations, but tonight is their night
To complete the ancient ritual on their own.

Scarce able to contain their passion,
To hold silence at the rite before them,
Hearts beating wildly,
They hold their breath...

On bended knee, with hands pressed forward,
Sweat-drenched ‘gainst the bulwark,
They strive mightily…

Inside, upon the mercy seat sits enthroned
Tom, the master of the house, butt-naked,
Meditating on why the building rocks
Back and forth,
Back and forth,
Back
Back
Back…

And over!

Part II (the following year)

All year he’d dreamed of this. Awake and asleep he’d plotted and planned, and now the night was upon him--and he couldn’t wait. Leaving a light in the living room and another in the kitchen so they’d think he was still inside the house, Tom slipped out into the darkness and headed down the well-worn path.
“I’ll get ‘em,” he mutters, grinning at the thought of how they’d scamper when from inside the biffy he’d fire the shotgun out the vent, just as they approached to do their mischief. “I’ll get ‘em!”

He hears them coming through the trees, closer, closer. “Just let them get right up to the door. Let them start to push. I’ll hold my fire until the very last moment.”

He thinks back to the days of his youth when he’d led the pack himself. Never got caught, neither. He can’t wait to turn the tables and scare the crap out of a new generation!
Shotgun cocked, he waits…and waits…and waits...
He knows they’re out there. He can hear their snorts and snickers, their sh-sh-shushing of each other. First on one side of the building...then on the other…But never quite close enough.
And now they seem to be retreating into the woods.
“Ding bust it! Guess they chickened out this time. Pantywaists. Guess they musta seen me come out and feared I’d fill ‘em full of lead. Nah, I wouldn’t do that. You gotta have a little fun on Halloween afterall. But it would have been mighty entertainin’ to put a little scare in them just when they were beginnin’ to push. Well, I best be going in. Getting cold out here… What the ding, ding?!!”

Ten hours later Tom hears a pickup pull into the yard. “Tom? You here, Tom? We missed you for coffee, Tom. Folks down to the postoffice wondered where you were. You here, Tom?”
His neighbor is pounding on the screendoor, yelling for him.
Tom tries to answer, but his voice, cracked and chilled by the long overnight in the November cold, is gone–No more than a scratch and a whisper.
The screendoor scr-e-e-e-e-ks open, then slams itself shut as the neighbor enters the house, hallooing, half afraid of what he’ll find.

His wits slowly returning, Tom squeezes the trigger. BAM!
“Tom! You okay, Tom?” The neighbor races out of the house in the direction of the shot.
Silence.
Fumbling in his jacket, Tom searches, fingers half frozen, for more shells. BAM!
“Tom! You in there?”
BAM!
“What the heck is that rope doing tied around your outhouse, Tom? Boys get the best of you last night?”
BAM!
“After all that shootin’, all you’d need is a nice hard rain, Tom, and you’d have a darn good shower facility in your outhouse!”
BAM! BAM!
“Just hold your fire, Tom, I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy. Out of the biffy in a jiffy! How’s that for poetry, Tom?”
BAM!
“Okey-dokey, Tom, come on out now. I've got you untied. Let’s go get us a cup of nice, hot coffee and some of Molly’s pumpkin pie, and then I’ll help you fix your roof.”

Part III – (Another Year Later)

“We’re really going to get old Tom this year! Wasn’t that a gas last Halloween? Jeez, man, he coulda froze right there in the john if my dad hadn’t a drove in the yard and seen the ropes we tied around it. Man! That was a good one!”

“Yeah, but this year’s going to be even better! We’re gonna wait til after midnite and then tip the can onto the toboggan and drag it over to the church and set it right in front of the entry. We’ll put a sign on it and call it ‘Tom’s Temple.’ Hey, man, that’s gonna be great! That’s gonna be great!!”

Meanwhile, back at the farm, Tom’s been praying hard. Praying for a way to make ‘em do penance for last year’s prank. Praying and working. Working and praying. And at last he’s ready.
Gets dark about six o’clock this time of year in Polk County, but they won’t chance it ’til later, Tom’s sure of that. So he sits by the window and reads til ten, then snuffs out the light and waits in his chair by the window, boots on and coat near at hand. This is going to be great! This is going to be great!!

Three hours he waits.
Then, slowly… One by one they creep out of the woods, their pathway clear in the frosty moonlight. Four of them.
Tom presses close to the windowpane, not wanting to miss a minute.
They approach the building from the north, just as he thought they would. They position some sort of drag in front of the door, then move around to the back to start pushing…
Down they go!
One-two-three-four! Down they go!
Down through the snow-covered cross-hatched branches
Disguising the pit no longer topped by the wooden biffy
Now stationed three feet further east.

“Happy Halloween, boys! See you in the mornin'!”



Friday, October 23, 2009


Ebony, or How Things Have Changed

The cat naps on the clothes dryer.
He sprawls out, savoring the warmth.
Black against the white dryer,
The colors of a keyboard -
His name is Ebony.
The children who met him as a kitten
Couldn’t remember his name.
The word meant nothing to them.
Piano keys now are often made from plastic.
- Kay Carlsen

Friday, October 9, 2009

Reflections on the Todd Green experience

The past Tuesday evening, Todd Green, a musician who plays numerous instruments, most of which few of us have even heard of, presented a concert at the Fosston Community Library Arts Center. On Monday he made two presentations at the Fosston school, one for the elementary children and one for the high school students. Although the number in attendance wasn’t quite as high as I’d have liked to see (that Twins play-off game lasted way too long), I would have to say it was a successful event. He is a talented performer, and he gave us the opportunity to experience the instruments and musical styles of many countries around the world.

I also was present for the two lyceums at the school. There he had a captive audience - and by and large, it was also a captivated audience. It is no easy feat to hold the attention of more than 350 kids, ranging in age from five to 11 or 12, but he was able to do it as he told about the various instruments, which included such things as a string of goat hoof trimmings or a metal bowl, and demonstrated how they were played. The audience of junior high and high school students were equally attentive.

At the Tuesday evening concert, I sat behind a set of six-year-old triplets and their mother. The concert lasted until nearly 9:30, and although I could tell the children were getting tired as they leaned on their mother, they still were listening and watching, pointing out to their mom some of the things they remembered seeing in school the day before. She reported to me later that one of the boys, on returning home, told his dad, “Oh, Dad, you should have gone. It was the best concert ever.”

At the board meeting the next day, we looked at some of the evaluations written by the school children. With just a couple exceptions, the kids were obviously pretty impressed, with many of them rating the presentation “great” or “best ever.”

One of the FCLAA board members, Mark Hendrickson, also felt moved to share some thoughts on the concert and the importance of events like this. With his permission, I’m including what he wrote in an e-mail to me:


Our discussion at the board meeting about the larger value of our
investment for the arts, and the comments of other board members who
were so impressed with Todd Green's pan-cultural music and message
have solidified my notion that our little communities are willing, if
not hungry, to hear what the rest of the world sounds like.

Personally, when I listen to an instrumental musician, I feel it's my
surest way of seeing into another person's soul. (Is that a new
idea)? When I experience what is known in the media as World Music,
the rich overtones and undertones of ancient natural-material flutes
and drums transport us, as one of the members observed, to cultures
and people of which we know nothing. (Cultures with whom we now find
ourselves in deadly conflict).

Knowing that others are similarly affected by the sound of an oud
gives strength to my conviction that the most profound thoughts are
not always linguistic in nature, and have commonalities among people
everywhere. We are told these unknown people express through their
music their view of us. When our children are given an opportunity to
hear a performer like Todd Green it provides the key to deeper
understanding of themselves--seen through the words and music of
others halfway around the world.

As you recall, the only negative comments on Todd's amazing
performance were from four pubescent boys who said they were bored. I
bet they wouldn't have been bored if they would have been suddenly
transported to a tent in the desert, surrounded by a cloud of incense
and swarthy bearded men in white tunics with unrecognizable musical
instruments. As artisans we know it represents the Essential Other
Part of an education we have a responsibility to provide.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

This month I’d like to address a potentially confusing issue (and, no, I don’t mean health care reform). There are three separate entities that are responsible for what goes on at the Fosston Community Library Arts Center. While they work closely together, each has its own area of responsibility.
The Fosston Community Library Arts Association (FCLAA) is the group on whose behalf I write this monthly column. Originally formed in 1980, it was instrumental in securing the former Bethel Assembly Church building to be used to house the Fosston Library and to provide a venue for community theater productions, concerts and lectures. More recently, efforts by the FLCAA resulted in the library expansion project which was completed in the spring of 2003.
Membership is the FCLAA is open to anyone who wishes to join. The organization is governed by an elected Board of Directors (all volunteer) who meet monthly. In addition there are several standing committees with FCLAA members who are not on the board.
The FCLAA sponsors the annual community theater production, as well as various concerts and lectures throughout the year. The art displays in the Sorenson Gallery and the music lesson program are also a part of its responsibility. Funding comes primarily from membership dues, fundraising events such as the Daisy Hagen Auction for the Arts coming up in November, and various grants. While all FCLAA events are open to the public, sometimes there is a charge, such as for the summer theater production, some of the concerts and lectures, and for music lessons.
The Fosston Library is part of the Lake
Agassiz Regional Library, a consolidated public library system serving the residents of seven counties in Northwest Minnesota. Its administrative office is located in Moorhead. LARL is responsible for the library collection; in other words, it owns the books, magazines, DVDs, etc., that those of us with a library card can check out from the library. It hires and pays for library staff as well as providing some programming - many of the summer children’s programs, for example. LARL-sponsored events are always free.
The third entity involved is the City of Fosston, which owns the building and pays for its maintenance, utilities and insurance. At the time the 2003 addition was built, the city provided $150,000 in matching funds for a $150,000 grant from the Minnesota Department of Children, Families and Learning.
The end result of these three groups working together is a wonderful asset for the Fosston Community.
This month’s opportunities:
Sorenson Gallery - Paintings by John Kolb and Linda Ackland-Kolb (through Nov. 13)
Used book sale in the basement - also video tapes, DVDs, cassette tapes, CD’s, all under $1. Proceeds go toward library programming.
Music lessons are ongoing. There is a possibility of securing a violin teacher if there is enough interest. Contact me at 435-6710 for more information.