Near the top of a hill, across a gravel road from a little church, in a farming community in Idaho with not even a convenience store or gas station, is this old schoolhouse. My dad attended it as a boy in the 1950's. His was one of the - I think the - last group of kids to enter the already-then-old building as students. Dad and other farmer's sons and daughters would walk from their farms to this schoolhouse on Gold Hill, going uphill both ways in several feet of snow, of course.
Behind the old schoolhouse is a working outhouse. I say "working," because you can use it if you like - it's simply a hole in a piece of plywood over a hole in the ground.
This place makes me positively dreamy.
Wishing I could save it,
Behind the old schoolhouse is a working outhouse. I say "working," because you can use it if you like - it's simply a hole in a piece of plywood over a hole in the ground.
This place makes me positively dreamy.
Wishing I could save it,
