I drove over to this abandoned church yesterday afternoon, the Princess in tow, due to two completely separate emails that sent me on an intrepid quest to dig deeper into its place in outhouse history. Or, you know, traipse around on other people’s property and take pictures.
I had gotten an email recently from Lisa Carper Stott with the local historical society who is working to document various little known and almost lost sites in Roane County. She’s been trying to find out the name of the church pictured in this outhouse post. The name of the church is worn off the sign. I figured I’d mosey over and see if I could find anything on closer inspection. Plus, I’d gotten an email from a reporter working on an article about abandoned outhouses and the people (like me) who (weirdly) photograph and write about them. He was looking for a few quotes from me about my interest in photographing and writing about old outhouses. He also wanted a picture of me with an outhouse. (If my quotes and photo make it into the article, I’ll post all the info about it when it’s published.)
So I went over to my cousin’s house to pick up Morgan, who’d gone to church with Georgia yesterday. (Yes, I was too lazy to go!) I asked my cousin if he knew the name of that old church. He didn’t know but he had a couple lines to give me on who might. The Princess wanted to go straight home, but I told her we had to drive over to the old church with the outhouses so she could take my picture there. (It’s only a few miles away.) Having accompanied me on various other intrepid quests, she didn’t even question this plan.
I made her model for me first. She looks excited, doesn’t she?
She took a few pictures of me looking into the women’s outhouse.
Remember that giant seat for the women’s giant bottoms? That still seems so wrong.
Then she wouldn’t give me the camera back and I had to chase her down and beg for it.
I took a few extra pics of the inside of the outhouse and the giant potty seat.
Because I’m weird.
Then, in a case of serendipity that can only occur when you are as intrepid as I am, the son of the man who owns the church property came by and I was able to find out that the church was called Red Knob Union Church. Actually, he came by because he lives up the road and he thought I was there to vandalize it. Luckily, he didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
I haven’t done an outhouse post in a while–though not for lack of interest. I had mentioned to the reporter that it’s hard to find a good outhouse. A lot of outhouses are either revamped into something else or falling part or somewhat modernized, so I’m often disappointed when I (lawlessly) creep into one.
Then it occurred to me what a weird thing that was to say at all. It’s hard to find a good outhouse has to rank right up there with various other statements I’ve made in the past year that I would never have predicted would come out of my mouth, including but not limited to, I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry, I have to go home and milk my goat, and I make my own laundry detergent.
Or, you know, and I must say uttered very appropriately a couple weeks ago while selling hot dogs at the middle school girls’ basketball game concession stand, Can I have your horse poop?