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Hark! What is that I see through yonder passenger-side truck window?

An outhouse! And it looks like a good one!
I use my camera’s zoom lens and LCD screen as binoculars to get a closer peek at the treasure nestled in the woods. I am always prepared to pursue journalistic heights, follow every lead, take every intrepid path. I am Brenda Starr! I am Lois Lane! I am…. Something.

I say to 52, “STOP THE TRUCK!!! C’mon, Pa, let’s go check it out!”
He loves it when I call him Pa.
Okay, I don’t know if he’d love that because that part didn’t happen, but I did say, “STOP THE TRUCK!!!” Quite excitedly. I get pretty excited over a good outhouse sighting. 52 isn’t excited at all, but he’s patient. We’re on a backroads drive looking for some guy who is supposed to have hay. We need some hay. We’re not looking for outhouses. Or, he wasn’t. But he stops the truck and kicks back in his seat. Because he’s patient but he’s not going with me. I’m the trespasser, he’s the getaway driver.

I get out of the truck. I’m on my own now. (Does he not know there could be snakes in there???)
The outhouse is located at the edge of the woods, right up against a hillside, with a small meadow along the road and the foundation remains of the long-ago home it once served.
Between the house in its sunny meadow and that shadowed and abandoned outhouse is……

….this creek. Between the house and the outhouse. A creek. That looks like it must have been real handy. Life was rough in the old days. And peeing was even rougher.
I set off, following the creek and the footsteps of our ancestral tinklers.
Did they have to really plan ahead? It’s no short jaunt over to that old outhouse. I walk the creekbank, searching for a place to cross.

I finally come to this low spot. Which is not quite low enough, but I imagine in the long hot summers, it was often dry. It’s not dry now. But neither rain nor sleet nor water beneath my boots shall stay me from the swift completion of my appointed investigation.

I slosh across the creek and clamber up the bank, grappling at small tree trunks for support, branches tearing through my hair.
Whew. I make it up the bank, safe and whole. That was close. I almost broke a nail.
And there She is. I have arrived.

I’m afraid to look inside, afraid I’ll be disappointed, afraid I’ve risked life and limb for naught. The last thing I want to find is some kind of modern-looking toilet seat. Plastic! I want the real deal, hand-hewn, rough. Old.
I think it’s the real deal.
One seat? Two seats? Three?
I have to know.

A two-seater!!!!!
And look, a rusted outhouse-style toilet roll holder.

However old this outhouse is, it’s old enough. I am satisfied.
But…. How did they get here? Was there a foot bridge at one time crossing this creek? I’ve seen the creeks around here in high water. Even a foot bridge wouldn’t get them across this creek then. Why would anyone build an outhouse so inconveniently located? Was it an ongoing source of marital conflict in the family it once served?
Her: I told you I wanted the outhouse closer to the house, where it was easy to get to!
Him: But, honey, you said you wanted to get more exercise.
Then she clobbered him with an iron skillet.

And boy, was he sorry.
The End.
Posted by Suzanne McMinn on January 6, 2009Registration is required to leave a comment on this site. You may register here. (You can use this same username on the forum as well.) Already registered? Login here.
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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4:22
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5:02
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Keep em coming!
5:22
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5:53
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Thank you! That is the second thing that has happened in the last two days that has reminded me of her.
b
5:53
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On another note, I stopped on the way home last night and bought the ingredients for laundry detergent that you suggested in another post. I washed my first load and it seems to have done a good job. I even instructed my husband and son on how to use it. They are usually pretty tolerant of my attempts to be “green” and seemed to get it.
8:09
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8:15
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You don’t want goats near the outhouse.
8:22
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But then I remembered, chamber pots, but maybe not.
8:34
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8:52
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8:58
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9:10
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9:22
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I’m glad to know that I’m not the only trespasser armed with a camera. I haven’t got shot yet but the possibility always makes shooting old barn and farmhouses an exciting challenge.
I wanted to say how happy I am that you contacted the local newspaper. And thankfully you’ve identified with the more flamboyant Brenda Starr, because Lois Lane is a goody two shoes! HA.
I could never understand the two-seater outhouse. Would you share the space with someone while you’re doing your business? Not me…no way.
Thanks for all you do and for creating a safe and interesting place to land on the web.
- Suzanne, the Farmer’s Wife
9:26
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11:04
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Love this outhouse! There used to be one out back here, over yonder. No creek hopping (btw, love your shoes) but up against a swamp.
11:18
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We once lived on a little homested, raised our two daughters there in Pa. We heated with wood, had chickens, ducks, cows, pigs, a horse and heated with wood. Did all my own canning, loved the life………..Have a great time on your little farm………Keep up the good work.
11:35
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11:44
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Him: But, honey, you said you wanted to get more exercise.
Then she clobbered him with an iron skillet.
And boy, was he sorry.
ROFLMAO!!!!!
12:33
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12:44
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Love the stories that go with the pictures!
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1:36
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I like the picture of that old log home – that’s so neat!
IT had to be rough getting to the outhouse for some, when no Detrol or those other bladder drugs were available…or if you took a laxative…things like that. Whew! :mrgreen: :fryingpan:
2:37
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I love the fact that they called it the Thunderbox Row Exhibit. Only in Texas!
3:09
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The log cabin is just gorgeous.
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5:34
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Rooth < ~~ Outhouses kinda creep her out
5:45
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When I was a little girl, my great-grandmother still had an outhouse. I can remember being scared to death. I was convinced a snake would bite me while I was doing my business.
She had a 2 seater. One had a square hole and the other was round. Nothing like an outhouse on a hot summer day…….
10:51
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I had thoughts similar to other readers: why two seats? why is the outhouse standing but the house is completely gone? Also, I wonder if the creek path chnged in the years since the outhouse was originally built. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night!
12:13
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You make it sound like an episode of little house.
I can just see Laura jump over the creek to get to the outhouse. :rotfl:
hugs
Gwen
9:50
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8:22
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I remember using an outhouse at my granny’s when I was growing up! Yes, snakes were a fear as well as wasps! And as the other posters said, “There is nothing like the smell of an outhouse on a hot summer’s day!” WHEW!
Cousin Sheryl
6:14
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“God willing and the creek (crick?) don’t rise.”
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12:56
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I have a little wooden outhouse my FIL made me one year and a jig saw puzzle with one too. I’d love a calendar of them!
I love your blog and writing style.
10:49
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