My earliest memories are of trees and I have been fortunate to surround myself with them wherever I lived. I selected apartments and houses to reside in that were as near to trees as I could manage, unwilling to live in barren places where I could not shelter under the leaves and limbs and shade of trees. The cottonwood tree pictured above is outside the windows of my childhood home here on Dry Creek. After a lifetime of living across the United States, coming home in 2003 was for me a return to my beloved trees.

Ancient lilacs planted so long ago have endured and our memories are filled with them. When the family ranch headquarters was moved to Dry Creek in 1948, the lilacs were here.

This giant elm, believed to be 100 years old, was likely planted when the first homestead was established here on Dry Creek circa 1920. Commonly referred to as “Chinese” elms, they are not native to 权力巅峰全文阅读 and were planted by early settlers. We grew up here with this old giant, and to finally have to bring it down was like killing a friend. It was becoming dangerous after shedding some huge limbs and causing quite a bit of damage and excitement. It was situated too close to our home and other structures and extensive trimming in recent years did not alleviate our fears. Interestingly, the firms we engaged to trim it stated they had never seen such a giant elm.

The view from below the pond captures some of the autumn color which stretches up and down the old creek bottom. Cottonwoods have grown along Dry Creek forever, sending their tap roots down to water in what we believe is an underground river that flows south to North Fork of the Powder River. Seeps and springs are present in many locations and the water runs in the early months of 老卫抱着淑蓉进房间 through May, enhanced with snow melt and rain.

Spring floods are common in 老卫抱着淑蓉进房间 and March and the willows welcome the water. 摸男朋友下面越摸越硬 for the willows, the deer and cows love to eat the young saplings and many of the old growth have died out over a long period of time, unable to regenerate. We welcome the deer and occasional antelope that reside in the area. Very few domestic livestock have grazed the 15-acre tract we call home for the past 20-odd years and it is disheartening to see the loss of trees.

This giant cottonwood towers over any tree for miles. I don’t believe I could bear to ever see it come down, so I have decided I have to go first. It sheltered me with a playhouse in its gnarled roots down along its base, and a childhood swing on a branch that finally fell gave me endless hours of joy pumping the wind to fly high.

I began to take stock last spring as I readied an order for new trees to plant and came up with some astonishing numbers. I divided the cottonwoods into three categories: 1) small -12 inches in diameter; 2) medium- 50 inches in diameter; and 3) BIG. My final tally down in the creek bed was 45 of the BIG cottonwoods; 82 medium sized cottonwoods; 138 small cottonwoods; indeterminate number of willows and 2 silver-leaf poplars. The cottonwoods are both narrow-leaf and plains, which are my favorite. Many more trees are planted around the house, in the orchard, at the barn, and along the entrance from the highway; Ponderosa pine, spruce, aspen, silver leaf poplar, elm, choke cherry, Canadian cherry, boxelder, cedar, lilac, caragana, willow, and a variety of bushes and shrubs.

Of all the things that trees provide, perhaps my favorite is shelter for the birds. Living in a home with lots of windows and trees, I am blessed with a view of birds that change with the seasons. I try to document all the variety of birds that move through the area in migration and those who choose to stay for part of the year (see blog “Birds of Dry Creek.”)

To live among trees, you must be willing to not only care for them but clean up after them (not unlike having a house full of children). Our daily walks include picking up branches and limbs the wind blows down with great regularity. In spring it is usually more intense and requires major cleanup, followed by a bonfire. We cut firewood from the larger trees that fall, split the logs and burn it in our fireplace in colder months.

Baby black birds are a recurring springtime event and I am thankful to the tree that shelters them each year. We have many bird houses, but it seems they are largely vacant. The birds love the trees and seek out their homes in hollows or build their nests in the branches, braving the elements to live high in the tree tops.

Could not count the trips down this lane coming home from whatever far flung place I have traveled or resided in. For me, the sight of the old trees was like a warm embrace, welcoming me back. As I strive to save them and replace them with new trees, I feel I am saving a place that is sacred to me. Hopefully those who follow me will love the trees and all the creatures living within them.

Homestead at Nine Mile – home in foreground was Ernest and Clara Ullery’s built in 1921

This two-room cabin, circa 1921, was built of pine logs from the Mayoworth sawmill west of Kaycee, 权力巅峰全文阅读.  The old-growth logs were planed so that cedar shingles could be nailed on the outside walls rather than leaving them rounded, which was an unusual design that I have always attributed to my great grandfather Samuel.  He retired from a career as a builder in the Midwest and followed his son Ernest’s footsteps to a homestead in 权力巅峰全文阅读. The logs were notched, nailed together with large spikes and chinked like most of the historic log structures of that era, but then the cedar shingles covered the exterior.

A screened porch extended the length of the cabin on the east side.  The group in the photo is unidentified, however I believe the two gentlemen on the left are Samuel and Ernest.

Built in two 15 foot sections joined by a partition in the middle, the east end has been removed in this photo. First the shingles are removed, then using crow bars and saws the laws are pried off and laid aside.

These photos, taken a few years ago, illustrate the fate that had befallen the old cabin.  A microburst windstorm tore the roof and porch off, blowing boards across the road and up the hillside.  My hopes of someday restoring the cabin were dashed.  When it was relocated from the homestead to ranch headquarters in the 1950’s, it was left standing on wooden blocks for a foundation, which ultimately failed, causing the floor to collapse.

One at a time, the logs are removed and stacked in the trailer for re-use.

Scraping off the old shingles was not a pleasant task, but had to be done to proceed with pulling the logs down.

Easy does it, as the west wall starts to come down.  The final solution was to tear it down, salvage the logs that were still in good enough condition to be re-purposed and clean up the site.  Our friend Rick, a preservation architect, volunteered to assist Michael and I with a hazardous, difficult job.  Stacking and storing the logs 挤入她的紧致狠狠顶弄 hours of pulling nails and 挤入她的紧致狠狠顶弄 an assembly line on sawhorses.  The logs were stored in a shed and covered with tarpaulins to keep them clean and dry.  Next step?  Stay tuned.

Arbiter of change . . . .

Walking from the barn this morning, I rambled down into the lower pasture and directly in front of me was this low-hanging limb with shimmering, golden leaves.  It jolted me as a reminder of the date, August 11, and the reality of the end of summer approaching.  The weather has been intensely hot and dry for several weeks.  Not the kind of weather I look forward to each year as I anticipate autumn, which is my favorite season.

Cottonwood eye candy . . .

After autumn, spring is my favorite, followed by summer.  Then I try to forget that August actually exists, as it brings heat, grasshoppers, and the Big Dry when very little rain falls.  I am usually desperate for 老卫抱着淑蓉进房间 to arrive with crisp lovely days, cool nights and fall colors.  For now, we are actually in what I call “deep summer” as the equinox is yet to arrive.  But these golden leaves are telling us what Mother Nature has decided and our determination of the autumnal equinox is a construct based on daylight and dark being equally divided on 老卫抱着淑蓉进房间 22nd when the sun crosses the celestial equator.

Soon to be many . . . .

More small patches of golden leaves will begin to show in the coming days.  It grows dark earlier now and as sunshine diminishes, so does the deep green chlorophyll pigment in leaves diminish.  Autumn will bring with it a little sadness as the season closes and another year winds down. People the world over have found ways to celebrate the passing of seasons and I shall celebrate too as my favorite season arrives.

Cumulus Congestus . . . .

The 权力巅峰全文阅读 sky is an artistic creation of clouds that vary from day to day and season to season.  I am attempting to learn more about the theatrics in the sky and have begun to identify the various types of clouds.  I have a vast canvas to observe and learn from, but for now I am happy to try to photograph them.

Sunset . . . .

Beautiful sunsets are common in 权力巅峰全文阅读,  however it is hard to capture the breathtaking beauty with a camera lens.  I keep trying.

Storm coming . . . .

Warm weather months find us scanning the sky, usually in the afternoon, for an indication of what the clouds have in store for us.  This day we are in for some weather.  These are “precipitating” or Cumulonimbus clouds which are quite common during summer.

Renoir, perhaps . . . .

If I painted, I would try to capture the colors in the sky.  Since it is an ever-changing palette it must be done with photographs which capture a moment in time.

Dante’s inferno . . . .

A glance at the sky is an omen that Mother Nature is going to have her way with you.  It could be rain, hail, or even a tornado, which is not uncommon in 权力巅峰全文阅读.

Twilight time . . . .

“Heavenly shades of night are falling. . . ”  Looking north and west from the ranch house, this evening rewarded me with a marvelous sunset to photograph.

Heavens’ Gate . . . .

Imagine an opening in the sky that allows you to fly up into the atmosphere.  If only we had wings.

Trouble . . . .

Traveled this day to an area of pre-historic rock art and a perfect spring day began to change dramatically.  I knew what was coming, but had barely begun to explore the area.  I paid no heed to my instinct telling me to pack up and leave.

Fury building . . . .

Not too long after I took this photo, lightning bolts appeared on the horizon, followed by the crash of thunder that shook the hills.  A patter of rain turned into a torrential hail storm that left us hovering under rock outcroppings to keep the sting of hail off our heads.

Maho Bay . . . .

Moon rising and sun setting over Maho Bay, St. John, Virgin Islands.  What great memories we made on a few visits here.

Somewhere, over the rainbow . . . .

To capture a rainbow is magical and one of nature’s beautiful gifts that never ceases to amaze me.

Monet . . . .

Nothing that we create can compare to the images in the sky overhead on a daily basis, if we observe.

Mirror . . . .

The sky reflected in water is enhanced by the faint ripples from the breeze.

Now you see it . . . .

If not for the sun’s late rays, these clouds would not appear to be visible to the naked eye but floating along on the breeze.

Farewell . . . .

Exit stage right, enter a new line of cloud formations on the left that portend a change in the atmosphere.

Leaving on a jet plane . . . .

A jet trail picks up the evening sun before dissipating in the atmosphere.  The glorious colors are due to scattering of different wavelengths of sunlight.

Indigo Blue . . . .

Not all sunsets are red and gold, some are deep shades of blue and purple.

Lavender Blue . . . .

It is a “dilly dilly” of a sunset.  What more can I say?

Abstract . . . .or Impressionism?

Interpreting the clouds is a great way to spend some time.  Is this white fluffy cotton? Are the dark images feathers mixed with goose down?  Does smoke cloud the picture’s edge?  A few seconds in time, and then it changes and is gone.  Poof!

Homestead . . . .

A dark layer of grey sits on these Cumulonimbus clouds beginning to form on the horizon.  On this day I was touring the site of the old family homestead at Nine Mile and watching the clouds form, thinking it would not be good to be caught on the open prairie in a storm.  Deeply rutted dirt roads make for a wild ride.

Harbinger of spring . . . .

A young mass of Cumulonimbus clouds erupting through the trees.  The trees appear budding out but have no leaves, which would indicate the potential for rain showers in early May.  Warmer spring temperatures bring these “thunder” cloud formations that we are always watchful of, as they often produce hail and sometimes even tornadoes.

cotton candy . . . .

A dreamy sight in the late afternoon sky filled with Mammatus clouds reminiscent of cotton candy.  What could be more beautiful?

A fiery sunset appears to be burning in the late day sky.

Strike a match? . . . .

This 100+ year-old barn has been hanging on even though it obviously has not received any tender loving care in a very long time.  About a dozen years ago I removed the old doors from the front and stored them for safe keeping, making myself a promise I would be back to restore the barn of my childhood memories.  Two years ago, we pulled up a trailer and emptied out all the “trash and treasures” that had been dumped inside for the last thirty years.  It was a daunting task and we didn’t get it all, but enough to make a significant dent.  I spent a summer when I was about 13 years old painting the barns, and this north wall still bears faded red paint.  And today we pulled off the sagging end that we will rebuild.  Ahem.

oops . . . .

We tossed a rope and chain over the end in an attempt to remove the east end which had been pirated for lumber and left hanging in the wind.  We thought the 1 x 6 boards on the roof would snap like twigs, but what a mistake that was.  Everything BUT the roof boards snapped.  Ah well, no harm done, really.  We decided to move the end wall that came down over to a new foundation and start over rebuilding to meet the existing section.

The work begins . . . .

With a crow bar, I began prying off the boards from the wreckage to be used again.  The condition of the lumber is surprisingly good and I love the aged patina.  We will use all that we can in rebuilding the structure.

Preservation lumber pile . . . .

By the end of the day I had deconstructed every board, including rafters, support posts and wall boards.  I stacked it all in the order that I removed it.  And headed for a hot soak in the old bathtub–I ached in every place in my body.  Meanwhile, Michael has been all day digging post holes and pounding posts for a paddock we are building for Tillie.  Move over to make room in the tub!

“Hey, an historic find! . . . .

I had previously stacked a pile of foundation stones near the barn that I dug up from the foundation of an old log cabin that was eventually moved to the Gatchell Museum in Buffalo.  I figured I would need a few good stones to shore up the foundation when and if I ever got started on a restoration, and as I dug out the rotted floor boards and began removing old floor joists my shovel struck something very hard.  A few of the stones originally placed under the barn were still there, sunk down in the dirt and out of view.

Volunteers needed! . . . .

We knew we would need to add structural support and strengthen the walls.  Working on the structure was making us a little nervous.  Half of the old building seemed sound and stood as sturdy as could be expected, but the end we pulled off was left hanging a bit precariously.  The decision was made to scrounge for structural supports in an ancient pile of leftover lumber nearby.  We found a telephone pole in good condition, cut off two 10′ lengths and began drilling holes for corner posts which we would fill with concrete.  We unearthed one more pole and are searching for a fourth to complete the corner posts of the new/old structure.  An antique oak walking beam Dad purchased in a load of oil field surplus many years ago still seems pretty sound and is long enough for a header front and back.  We will purchase new pressure treated 2 x 6 boards to lay across the foundation stones and build up from there.

Never too late . . . .

This photo will serve as a reminder of what we started with.  Restoration will take some time, but I cannot wait until we can do the “after” photo.  As I look at this, I am reminded of what was.  And I am reminded of what a wreck our old chicken house was when we began to restore it.  The room on the west end (left) of the barn was the tack room where saddles, bridles and horse paraphernalia were kept.  The double doors in the middle opened to the barrels of rolled oats and animal feed.  The right hand section, sagging precariously, contained two horse stalls with built-in feed bunks. Lumber removed here many years ago left things in pretty bad shape.  A large corral and loading chute, long since removed, was attached on the right.

Why save an ancient wreck of a barn, with all the challenges, grit and grime?  Because it holds so many memories.  Because it is a good deal cheaper to salvage than build new. Because it speaks to the past and is part of our family heritage in this place for nearly 70 years. And because in the end it is worth it.

Jiving with the juke box . . . .

This old Wurlitzer juke box was a standout in a tour of the Pioneer Museum in Douglas, 权力巅峰全文阅读 recently.  It brought back some memories of an old Wurlitzer that stood in my grandfather’s general store in Kaycee.  The juke box I recall had curved glass neon-filled tubes that changed rainbow colors as the 78 rpm records spun out country tunes from the stars of the 1950’s (Hank Williams, Ernest Tubbs, Homer and Jethro, Jim Reeves, Eddy Arnold, Chet Atkins, Patsy Cline, Carter Family and Tennessee Ernie Ford, to name a few).

It took a nickel in those days to buy a song.  I begged for quarters to pick five tunes, and some evenings after closing, my grandfather would take out a huge ring of keys that he kept in his pocket, open the door and push a little lever that allowed us to select a few with no coins.  One of my favorites was Old Kawliga, a sad tale about a cigar store wooden Indian.  I still know most of the words!

I don’t know what happened to the old Wurlitzer, which was sold along with the general store when my grandfather retired in the 1960’s.  But I have my memories of being a little kid with face pressed to the glass, watching the records spin and being enchanted by the changing colors and sound of music.

The mast and mainstay . . . .

This center pole is a Big Horn spruce and rises from the roof down to the main floor of the new cabin.  Dudley (my brother, who has been tagged with that name since Rocky and Bullwinkle days when we were kids) is pouring his soul and spare cash into building this wonderful retreat on the divide of the Big Horns.

The loft, where short people sleep . . . .

When I say “short people,” it includes people of normal height, which does not include Dudley, who is 6 ft. 5 inches tall.

Ranger ramp? . . . .

Doubt the Ranger will be able to drive up this ramp to unload groceries, but it still makes an easy walk from the parking lot into the cabin.  A stairway is planned going down the other side of the deck.

Structural supports should make for a good dance floor! . . . .

I doubt there will be a “load factor” for structure.  Even though we have all put on a few pounds, we shouldn’t rock the boat.

Imagine two bedrooms . . . .

These are sizable rooms, and when you add in the loft, should afford sleeping for at least a couple dozen (just kidding, Dudley)!

Curbside critics . . . .

Big John Moses, in the grey hoodie, is the master builder and all agree it is a fine job.

The great basin . . . .

A bit hazy on the day this was shot, but the Big Horn basin rolls out to the west and makes for great viewing from the deck.

Uh oh, water in the hole . . . .

This culvert is deep and was planned to be where the outhouse would sit.  Trouble is, this spring when it was time to move, it was full of water.  What to do?  Guess Dudley will have the only flush toilet on the SEBH (South End of Big Horns).

The little house in the pines . . . .

Neighbor Tom’s ingenious outhouse is finally on solid ground and over the culvert that was pumped and filled with a few sacks of concrete to stem the tide of water flowing into it.  Oh well, we don’t really need a flush toilet!

A gathering is planned before snow flies and by then the roof and windows will be installed and the cabin will be 95% complete.  Dudley has three sisters who will have all kinds of ideas for the fun part – decorating!

Get your head in the clouds . . . .

Th 权力巅峰全文阅读 skies are constantly changing and so incredibly beautiful.  A mere camera cannot begin to capture the vastness of the images that envelope us daily.  A few recent shots:

Thunder and sun . . . .

These beautiful clouds aren’t always so benign and can bring with them torrential downpours of lightning, hail and rain.  This was the build-up for just such an evening and although I was lulled by the incredible vision in the sky, I began to prepare for the worst (vehicles inside the garage, hail buckets over flower pots, plastic sheeting over the tomato plants).

Heaven sent . . . .

As the storm’s fury begins to subside, a beautiful sunset is forming.  Just another day in 权力巅峰全文阅读!

Marriage of convenience . . . .

This photo is of my great grandmother Clara standing in the breezeway between two structures on the homestead, circa 1922.  Both structures were moved from their original sites, which were nearby homesteads that had been relinquished.  The log house was moved yet again a few hundred yards to the west in 1938 to become the newlywed home of my parents and a lean-to was built on the cottage, which moved for the second time to ranch headquarters about five miles southeast in the late 1950’s where it stands today.

The “bunkhouse” . . . .

I undertook painting the little house for the first time when I was a teenager.  Very few homestead houses ever saw paint, which was an extravagance few of the early pioneers could afford.  After relocation from the homestead, it became the “bunkhouse” and was home to a cast of characters that worked as hired hands on the ranch.  It was still heated with a wood stove in the early years.

Waiting to be in service again . . . .

A hail storm damaged the roof in the 1980’s and Dad replaced the west side of the roof with asbestos shingles, leaving cedar shingles on the east.  In the 1990’s I engaged a local carpenter to replace a broken floor joist and lay a concrete block foundation which finally stabilized the structure, which was still standing on the wooden blocks it was placed on when it came from the homestead site.  In 2001 I repainted the exterior for the second time in my life, and made a few minor repairs, replacing some trim and broken window panes.  By this time the “bunkhouse” was used for storage and considered unfit for human habitat.

Old and new . . . .

My lifelong love for this old structure started getting into my pocketbook in a more serious vein in 2005 when I had the roof finished (fortunately I was able to match the same color shingles as Dad had installed) and we hung a new ceiling.  The old beaver board had warped and was stained with water leaks from the failing roof, but the wooden cross beams were still in good condition.  I matched the paint color, repainted them and we hung them back up over new ceiling tiles, replacing a few that broke in the process.  We laid insulation in the attic and buried an electrical line that eventually will help with lights and ancillary heat.

Design elements . . . .

The carpenter who built the little house was skilled and added some ornamental elements that I treasure.  The interior was painted green sometime in the 1950’s and a new paint job is badly needed, as can be evidenced by the fly specks, paint splatters and heaven only knows what else that adorns the walls.  I purchased paint to redo the interior several years ago, and plan to take it back to the colors that existed when my great grandparents resided here.  I have some concern about removing the green paint splashes from the antelope horns that are part of the original fixture.  It’s a great hat rack and I don’t want to break it!

Kitchen built-ins . . . .

The flower bin still functions, as does the pull-out kneading board under the kitchen counter.  The cupboards are built into the wall and have stood the test of time.

Upper kitchen cupboards . . . .

The interior of the cupboards was lined with wall paper and the interiors will all need to be scraped and cleaned thoroughly.  Years of vet supplies, household cleaners, and miscellaneous junk left quite a mess.

Door to the root cellar . . . .

Doesn’t everyone have a trap door in the floor leading underground?  The root cellar was where you stored food to keep it cool.  I recently toured our homestead site where the little house sat and the foundation stones, as well as the dug out area of the cellar are still visible.

Safety lock . . . .

A new and final phase of restoration is underway.  Considering how many years I have devoted to this project over my lifetime, that is probably an exaggeration!  Nevertheless, a plan to re-install the wood stove and chimney, replace rotted window sills, re glaze the windows, paint the interior, caulk, replace one or both of the doors, add screen doors, complete the electrical hookup and whatever else turns up should make it a delightful little guest cottage.

Looks like work . . . .

Removing windows that have been in place for nearly 100 years is a job requiring patience and more skill than I have, however I am persevering.  Each layer of trim and supporting structure that holds the windows in place has been saved, except the linen-looking rags that were used for weather stripping!  I will attempt to use something else to install the windows as air-tight as possible.  I won’t use caulking, as it makes it impossible to remove the windows for future repairs.

Window repair shop . . . .

After refurbishing 20 windows in our historic chicken house, re-doing five for the homestead house seems like a cake walk.  Still, this is a job!  Removing the old glazing is the worst of it.  I have had to replace some window panes that I broke trying to get the points and putty dug out.  I have three windows glazed and painted with oil-base primer.  I will remove the remaining two windows as we install new sills all around.  Once all the windows are restored and in place, I will finish painting the interior.  And my great grandmother Clara is invited to be our first guest.

welcome to Custer’s Crapper . . . .

The latest in outhouse technology, this charming creation by Mathisen Construction is ready for a ride to the Big Horns to offer all the comforts of home to the rugged individualists willing to risk tires, shocks, axles and much more on the roadless realm to be “alone in the wilderness.”  It will be the anchor for a developing cabin site, making it much easier for all us idle “hangers-on” to spend time looking over the progress, which is very hard to do with no “facilities” (nobody wants to despoil this pristine wilderness with Charmin blossoms behind every tree).

let there be light . . . .

To avoid being shut away in the dark, which is a fearful experience in an outhouse, these nifty windows let in light–what a great idea!

let the cool breezes blow . . . .

Window ventilation slots with screens and a door you can latch to keep the cruel winter snows from drifting down upon your head (and the toilet seat) are state-of-the-art!

no splinters here! . . . .

Gone are the days of rough lumber benches with a crude opening that may or may not fit your derriere.  And to control flies and other unwanted critters, a lid to seal the deal.

A.W. lock box . . . .

Imagine our surprise when we discovered a special bin for the toilet paper!

the proverbial A.W. . . . .

This innovation left us breathless.  Having reached for a roll of toilet paper covered with dust, cobwebs, fly specks and God knows what else, this is a serious improvement in outhouse design and construction.

technological wonders . . . .

Equipped with gas mask, smoke alarm, bowl brush, plunger (???) and a variety of gizmos for bemusement as well as beneficial application, the list of options grows long when one has time to think about it.  The only item missing is the Monkey Ward Catalog, but that accessory harkens back to “the good old days.”

the Roosevelt . . . .

Built in the 1930’s and so named for FDR who commissioned all sorts of make work projects during the Great Depression, this fine specimen has endured through the years and functions as well in our back yard today as when it was constructed.  Designed to last, these old outhouses still stand as sentinels of the past.

the concrete throne . . . .

Advances in technology here!  This modern facility includes a concrete floor and throne with a hardwood lid that opens and closes automatically.  A wooden arm extends over the edge of the toilet lid and is threaded with a rope that glides through a metal pulley near the ceiling.  The rope is attached to the door and is designed so that when it is time to exit the domain, one has to only open the door, causing the rope attached to the lid to lift the wooden arm, closing the throne behind you.  Nice, eh?  Brings back memories of the days when, as children, we delighted in loading the lid, skinnying out the door without triggering the arm to lift, and when the next occupant opened the door –BAM!  The heavy hardwood lid would slam like a rifle shot and render the hapless soul incapable of holding back.  But I digress.

no curtain? . . . .

This fine example of early day crappers is a testament to the grit and fortitude of our ancestors.  Clawing through snow, rain, thunder, lightning and wild animals for the privilege of relieving oneself in this fashion took more than just imagination!