Outhouse in the Outfield

Dennis, Barbara, Ronnie, his wife, Carletta, and Gary play volleyball back of Grandpa Walls’ house. Please note the hen house, clothesline post, plum trees and outhouse! 

Photo by

  
Ron Walls  

Written by 
LeRoy Walls 
CEO 

It was Sunday dinner at Grandpa and Grandma Walls. These occurred regularly for the first 20 years of my life. This one was typical of those during the mid 1950’s. Besides our family, most of my Dad’s two brothers and four sisters’ families were there. Grandpa and Grandma and almost all of my uncles, aunts and cousins lived near us on farms. The Sunday dinners were great. Grandpa said we all ate better when all the families came together and brought something to eat.

After dinner we were all pretty good at finding things to do. Depending on the season and the weather, some would play in the barn, cellar or shed. We might go down the hill from the house and drink from the spring and then go on over and play in the creek or go traipsing through the woods. We had some great king on the mountain battles in the loose hay in Grandpa’s barn loft. Being 11 and somewhere toward the younger side of midrange for the 24 cousins, I was never "king" for more than a few seconds before I was shoved down to the lower levels of hay or to the barn loft floor.

Today, with most of my cousins here, the main event was a game of softball. We gathered out past the back porch. Home plate was just a few steps past the yard gate and was marked like the other bases by some bark from the woodpile. First base was just inside the woodpile. Second base was a dozen steps this side of the outhouse.

Third base was to the right of the clothesline’s left post. The outfield included the right clothesline post, the outhouse and a half dozen wild plum trees. The home run boundary fence was past the plum trees but just this side of the hen house. We hardly noticed and were never injured by the outfield obstacles and the outhouse was handy for "other" emergencies.

The teams were soon chosen and the game was on. I liked to think the game was won or lost by those close to my age or ability like Dean, Dennis, Sharon, Barbara, Carolyn and Bonnie who had to earn all we got. My big brother, Keith, and cousins, Gene, Ronnie, Jack, Leonard and Bob, could usually hit it over the fence if they really wanted to. We hoped that they didn’t want to or would hit a grounder or pop it up. My younger brother, Glen, hadn’t come along yet, but the other younger ones - Donna, Gary and Doyle got a few extra breaks when they batted. My sister, Donna, would be beaming when she got a solid hit that was good enough to get to first base without more than three strikes and without any faked fumbles or throws that went over the woodpile. Faked or otherwise it kept all ages involved in the game.

By the time the first family group had to leave to begin their evening farm chores, it was unclear who won but obvious that all had had a great time. Nothing had been held back. All possible catcalls and abuse had been heaped on the deserving players. I was covered with the usual amount of sweat and dirt, and my pants had the familiar grass stains.

We said our good-byes complete with playful reminders of errors made and challenges for the next game. The evening farm chores and milking of cows awaited almost all of the boys. I usually told my Grandpa and Grandma good-bye. I’m not sure I ever told them, "thank you," but I’m sure they knew that we had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

LeRoy Walls
November, 1994

12/31/1999