By ED PECK | Special to the HT
MEEKER | I remember wood outhouses, complete with crescent moon cutouts and spinning wooden latches. Occasionally, when the pit filled up, a new hole would be dug, the outhouse moved, and a new path worn from the house. I won’t go into the February trips down that path, the August heat, the aromas or the biting flies. Some things have to be experienced to fully appreciate today’s…