Last week, while writing about lightening the load in our RV, I found myself spending quite a bit of time with two little words: need and want.
Anyone who has packed an RV knows how easily one can disguise itself as the other.
We need food.
We want six different frying pans just in case.
We need clothes.
We want enough clothes to survive three seasons without ever seeing a washing machine.
Somewhere along the way, my thoughts wandered from the RV straight back to Grandma Cooper.
Grandma understood the difference between need and want better than most people I have known. She had learned it during a time when necessity wasn’t a lifestyle choice or something you read about in a book. It was simply how people lived.
And if Grandma already had something that worked, convincing her she needed something better could be quite a challenge.
Especially if the City of Lansing was doing the convincing.
There Was Nothing Wrong With Her Well
Grandma’s little green house on Curry Lane in Lansing wasn’t built with the indoor plumbing we take for granted today.
There was a well for water. There was an outdoor powder room. Life had been going along perfectly well as far as Grandma was concerned.
Then the city came along.
The neighborhood infrastructure was changing, and Grandma was required to connect her home to city water and sewer. Along with that requirement came something Grandma probably found even more objectionable.
She had to pay for it.
I remember Grandma being upset about very few things. This was one of them.
“There is nothing wrong with my well, and the powder room outdoors suits me just fine.”
I heard that more than once.
Then occasionally came the second part.
“Perhaps I should go there and teach those folks a thing or two.”
“Those folks,” of course, were the people responsible for deciding that Grandma Cooper’s perfectly good well and outdoor powder room were no longer good enough.
I can almost picture her preparing her argument.
Grandma was only somewhere around four-foot-ten, but anyone who knew her understood that height had very little to do with presence. Had she marched into city hall determined to explain the situation, somebody probably would have received an education.
She never went.
Grandma complained, accepted what she couldn’t change, and moved forward.
Reluctantly.
And I am deliberately avoiding the word improvement, because I don’t believe Grandma considered it one.
Putting Indoor Plumbing Into an Old House
Connecting Grandma’s house wasn’t simply a matter of turning a valve and watching city water come through the faucet.
The house hadn’t been built for it.
Water had been brought to the kitchen, with a branch serving the bathroom area, but the existing lines didn’t extend much farther than beneath the back porch and weren’t suitable for what the city now required.
The sinks presented another problem.
Their drains had been connected to the downspouts.
That arrangement may sound strange today, but older homes often tell the story of how people solved problems with what they had available. Grandma’s house had evolved around her needs long before anyone arrived with a municipal plumbing code.
Now much of it had to change.
Pipes had to be installed. Proper drains had to be added. Water had to be carried where it had never gone before. A water heater became part of the equation, along with all the fittings, connections and work necessary to turn an old house into one that met city requirements.
My dad and Uncle Ira did as much of the work as they could.
That saved money, but it didn’t make the job small.
It took time. It took labor. And even with family doing much of the work, it came at considerable expense.
I suspect that was the part Grandma disliked most.
Why spend money replacing something that was already doing its job?
Wash Day Didn’t Require a Button
The same thinking carried into other parts of everyday life.
Today, we toss clothes into a washing machine, turn a knob or press a button, and walk away. For earlier generations, washing clothes meant water, tubs, a washboard, a wringer, strong hands and quite a bit of time.
It was work.
But it worked.
There is an important difference.
Grandma’s generation wasn’t necessarily opposed to something because it was new. But people who had lived through lean years were often reluctant to discard something useful simply because somebody had invented an easier version.
Convenience had value.
So did a dollar.
And when you had spent years stretching one of those dollars as far as it could possibly go, “new” wasn’t automatically another word for “necessary.”
The Kitchen Pump Had Done Its Job Just Fine
I wonder sometimes what Grandma would think about the kitchens in today’s RVs.
We have running hot and cold water. Water heaters. Water pumps. Holding tanks. Tank monitors. Outside showers. Some RVs have dishwashers and washing machines.
Then we spend an afternoon at the campground complaining because the water pressure isn’t quite strong enough.
Grandma might have given us the look.
For her, turning on a faucet and having water appear wasn’t something that had always happened. A pitcher pump was perfectly capable of delivering water. You simply had to provide a little effort first.
That doesn’t mean I am volunteering to remove the plumbing from our fifth wheel.
I have learned from Grandma.
I haven’t completely lost my mind.
Still, there is something worth remembering in the way she looked at things.
Then Came the 41 House
Years passed.
Eventually Grandma bought her cabin in Dodge City, Michigan.
This time, she had running water. She had septic. The modern conveniences that had once been forced upon her were already there.
Problem solved, right?
Apparently not.
Grandma had Dad and Uncle Ira build her an outhouse.
Not just any outhouse, either.
A two-holer.
Grandma called it the 41 House, and somewhere in this family story is all the proof we need that Grandma Cooper never completely surrendered her outdoor powder room.
She may have accepted indoor plumbing.
That didn’t mean she had to give up something she believed still worked.
And perhaps that tells us more about Grandma than the plumbing ever could.
Click here to read our story about Grandma Cooper’s 41 House.
What Grandma Was Really Teaching Us
When I started thinking about Grandma while writing that RV article, I originally thought the connection was simply about need versus want.
The longer I thought about it, the more I realized there was another lesson hiding underneath.
Grandma wasn’t against having things.
She was against believing we needed something simply because someone else told us we did.
There is a difference.
Her well worked.
Her outdoor powder room worked.
The city had reasons for bringing water and sewer service through the neighborhood, and today most of us would certainly appreciate those services. But from Grandma’s side of the kitchen table, she was being asked to spend money replacing systems that had served her for years.
She didn’t see progress.
She saw an unnecessary bill.
That little distinction makes me smile because I recognize some of Grandma in myself.
Maybe more than some.
Final Thoughts
Our lives are certainly easier today than Grandma’s was on Curry Lane.
I am thankful for indoor plumbing. I appreciate hot water coming from the faucet. I have no desire to carry a wash basin across the room or spend wash day feeding clothes through a wringer.
And on a cold Michigan night, I will gladly choose the bathroom inside.
But Grandma Cooper left us something worth keeping from that older way of life.
Before buying something, replacing something or deciding that the newest version must be better, perhaps there is still value in asking a very simple question:
Do I need it, or do I just want it?
That question followed me from an article about reducing the weight in our RV all the way back to a little green house on Curry Lane.
Funny how Grandma still does that.
One minute I am thinking about what we can remove from the fifth wheel.
The next, I can almost hear her:
“There is nothing wrong with my well.”
And somewhere, I suspect Grandma is still convinced she could have gone downtown and taught those folks a thing or two.
Another Cooper Shortcut worth remembering.
Happy travels,
The Cooper Shortcut Camping Journey Trio 😊 PlusOne!
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