The Outhouse People


Earlier this year, some time or another, my peaceful, deserted holler was invaded by a tiny house. It is owned by a little hipster dude who went on and on about his grand plans to build on the property, funded by his cute little cook job at a pizza place over in Big City. That's it on the right in the picture above.

Bless his heart. 

I and a few other holler residents tried to gently warn him that he was going to have issues. See, Frog Pond Holler didn't get its name just because its an adorable description. Before the big flood in the late 1800s, Fall Branch ran right through here. There's still a small creek at the bottom of the embankment you see pictured above. When it rains, you can't walk around over there without sinking a few inches and it gets worse the further you get from the road. Factor in the state law that requires any new structures be at least 50 feet from the center of the highway, well, now you see the problem.


The same day we brought Cisco home, this showed up. I call it the outhouse. There are two adults, two cats and a lab cross mutt all living in it. To get an idea of scale, note that the truck it's hitched up to is very small. It has no heat (I asked) and I doubt it has any erm... facilities.

It became painfully obvious from the beginning that these people were going to be a pain in my arse. They keep most of their stuff packed in their trucks, constantly in and out. They work at the pub, so they keep late hours. Ayla doesn't appreciate all the door slamming and late night chit chat. I'm expecting the popo to show up with complaints from my trespassing neighbors any day now. 


Cisco is slowly learning to go outside by himself, deal with the steady stream of hikers and sweet jeebus, Mrs. Kravitz walking by with her little Peekihuahua Every. Damned. Time. I walk out my front door. The Outhouse people's constant coming and going keep him too freaked out to pee without looking over his shoulder.

The other day, as TA was leaving for job #2, I saw the Outhouse going by the kitchen window.

Hallilooyer!! They were leaving! 

Then it went by again. And again. What the hell?

They were moving it. The Outhouse now sits 2 feet from the road. I'm assuming that after the drenching rain we had last weekend, the unhitched structure was probably sinking in the swamp. Now, when Mr. Outhouse gets dressed to go for his morning run, I have to look at the bottom half of his scrawny little, long john clad body hanging out their door. 

Apparently they got pissed off when TA was leaving for work the other night and her headlights were shining in their window (because they're on the friggen road, practically,) so they stuck one of those high powered flashlights up to the window and BLINDED her as she pulled out.

I don't want to have to go have a talk with them, but I will. If you want to camp out, there are two campgrounds in walking distance.. for you know.. CAMPING. And if you don't want headlights invading your space, don't park your outhouse on the side of the road. Also, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU POOPING????

Because I need to know.

I'll bet ya'll a dollar (I'll have to owe ya,) they're on the run from somewhere. Their vehicles have plates from two different states. I'll keep you posted. 

Between them and Mrs. Kravitz, who is a very nice old lady for whom I simply have no patience, I may never leave my house again.