An Outhouse That's In
by Justin Teerlinck
An hour north east of the Cities on Highway 8 you'll find great lakes for fishing, elk and bison farms, the nation's premier drug rehab clinic and the Franconia Sculpture Park.
Nestled at the top of the bluffs outlining the St. Croix River, the Franconia Sculpture Park features large, diverse three dimensional artwork spread out on several grassy acres. The sculptures are continually replaced, (think of it as an outdoor gallery) giving up and coming artists a chance to make their mark.
And then there is the outhouse; I've paid it a visit on more than one occasion. Located kitty-corner from the residential farmhouse and near an information booth, the Sculpture Park outhouse looks a bit like a squat tool shed with a wooden ramp (for wheelchair user accessibility) leading up to its wide entrance. Though a full analysis of the archaeological data is yet forthcoming, it appears that this structure may have been designed by gnomes in the 7th century B.F. (before weed). You will notice brightly colored, graffitti artwork spray painted all around the outside walls. The ramp and railing are beautiful, but the flower filled flower boxes on every windowsill scream: "home!" about as loudly and clearly as possible. Unlike most solitary outdoor crappers, this one has a sink with running water and a regular, flushable toilet - that's right, plumbing.
If thats not enough, its also pretty on the inside. You'll also find plenty of artwork on the walls in the form of photographs and drawings of sculpture, and other strange little eclectic pieces of Americana. Pretzel-like tangles of steel, industrial objects like cranes, and rocketship/phallus statues appear to be the dominant motifs. As you enter the house, just to your left you will see a picture of three, semi-clad gentlemen with bright orange hair. The caption reads: "Red Elves" adding further evidence to my theory that art gnomes built this place in honor of things that disappear. Above the toilet, a little postcard depicts an astronaut, cosmonaut, or artnaut. It declares: WE WILL RETURN.
Hopefully it does not refer to what goes in the toilet, for another sign orders you to Only Flush If Necessary. Although signs telling me how to flush almost universally annoy me, theres something about the tone of this one that strikes my fancy. My fancy has an independent streak and doesn't like to be ordered around, but being a masochist, it likes to be struck, if done correctly and with the right amount of love. Anyhow, "only flush if necessary" doesn't infer bad intensions on my part, but rather it prioritizes the act of flushing as a last ditch effort, the back-up parachute, the second set of buttons that launches a nuke, the eject button in the fighter jet, the cyanide tablet given to the brave Rambos of this world, whose safe return is not expected. Unfortunately, that just provokes my inner child instinct that says: "Do it! Do it! Do EXACTLY what you were just told not to!! Come on, putz!" Lucky for me, I have a left hand to slap my right hand - and keep slapping - as it reaches, all sweaty and trembling, for the handle on the toilet. Now... why was it my applications for fighter pilot and missile silo technician were rejected?
In addition to the interesting artwork inside, one will also find a table fan mounted to the ceiling, a small, round table, and a deep, industrial sink - the kind that some folks have in their basement. Encircling the perimeter around the toilet, one sees pipes for wheelchairs users to grasp, not the ordinary pipes designed for that purpose, but actual, gritty, got-my-ass-beat-in-the-alley, honest to goodness pipes.
Somehow, this small touch alone adds a tankful of authenticity to this place, not to mention the table. I feel like I could play cards all night with my newfound hobbit friends at this table. Periodically, I would set my beer down and get up slowly. "Don't look at my cards now," I'd say. I would take two steps over to the toilet to unzip and unload. After thirty seconds or so, my drunken, vulgar little friends would heartily pound the table and yell, "you could put out a four alarm fire with Teerlinck's tank! Whoa-ho-ho-ho! Whoa-ho-ho-ho! Bah, ha, ha, ha!" Then, they would all descend into a fit of coughing and spitting, their red, hairy faces getting even redder and hairier. I would peer beyond them, through the curtains and the little windows and think to myself, god the shire rules!
Shire? Er, the Franconia Sculpture Park Outhouse I mean...
I only have one suggestion. The outhouse is perfect within and without. This place beckons the restroomer with its homespun, inviting beauty. This place ain't no crap shack. But... there's more than one way to frame four walls and a roof. Wouldn't it be cool if they could put all this into some asymmetrical, bizarre shape, like so many of the sculptures here? I think so.
Rating:10.
To get there take I35 north to Highway 8 west. Follow Highway 8 about 20 miles. The park will be on your right. Once you pass the small town of Shafer you're almost there. If you end up driving down a long, steep hill you've gone too far. Total distance from the Twin Cities is 50 miles. From St. Paul it takes forty five minutes to an hour to get there. Admission is free.
Justin Teerlinck is a 28 year old freelance writer who resides in St. Paul, Mn. His bathroom reviews are founded on a bedrock of 20 solid years of independent toileting. You can find his work in the Double Dare Press, and in the Whistling Shade. Teerlinck has experience with travel writing, social commentary, movie reviews, miscellaneous reporting, short fiction, novels, animal stories, and fake advertisements but he mostly considers himself a humor writer above all. Teerlinck welcomes your non-threatening input. Write to him at Here_Leezard@msn.com.
