Outhouse synonyms: privy, commode, bog, loo, water closet, jake, garderobe, latrine, comfort station, pressure relief shed, waning crescent hotel, catalog disposal, and the snake pit. Across the world everyone has their own unique name for the building over the hole in the ground.
My house in Ferndale was initially built in the 1890s and although there are no outhouses still standing, depressions in the lawn indicate where they used to be.
A flight instructor friend of mine by the name of David Bethman who lived in my county is a privy miner and he makes his living selling the treasures he unearths in them. As a matter of fact, Dave has produced a catalog of all the pharmaceutical bottles and glass power pole insulators found in the region. I invited him out to my house to mine my privy holes.
First, he takes a brass rod with a handle and pushes it into the ground at the depression. Privy soil is loose and easy to sink a rod in, unlike the hard clay soil surrounding the hole. The pits were generally dug about three to four feet deep when they were new, so the rod didn’t have far to go before it clicked onto something Dave identified as glass.
The interesting thing about outhouses is that besides being a bathroom, the hole was a place to dump garbage. When grandpa finished off the bottle of whiskey he was drinking in the privy, he tossed it in the hole so grandma wouldn’t find it. He might also lose coins in the hole. Little Joey might have dropped his cast metal toy wagon in the pit. Anything that doesn’t rot can be found in a privy pit.
Feeling his rod hit treasure, Dave next carefully removed the sod and started digging down to the depth he went with the rod. All the organic matter had long since been turned into soil by worms, so it wasn’t like he was digging in poop. He put a large mesh screen over a wheelbarrow and shoveled the dirt on top to filter out any small objects like gold coins. Finally, he started finding bottles and marbles and broken plates. The photo below shows a Bromo-Seltzer bottle unearthed from the pit. After he had unearthed all the treasures and before he filled the dirt back in, I tossed my grandson’s harmonica in the hole for someone to find again in 100 years.
An interesting point in the history of outhouses occurred in the FDR era when they established the Civilian Conservation Corps. Children were dying from hookworms which were coming up in the ground around leaking outhouses. These children were most likely barefoot. For a minimal amount of money from the homeowner, three men from the CCC would come to the house, dig a hole, and pour a cement vault in the ground. They would then build a rain tight building over the top to keep the waste from mixing with rainwater. A privy that would last forever.
My first experience with using actual pit toilets was in Boy Scouts when I was 12. My best friend, Chuck, and I were working through our Second-Class requirements. One of the merit badges we were eager to complete was for knots and lashing. Chuck was to lash poles together to make a table and I lashed the latrine.
We both went into the woods with our handy axes and cut Alder poles and Vine Maple. We then took to our projects to create the perfect dining table and latrine.
I picked a spot about 30 feet from the campsite that was hidden in Vine Maples for privacy. I also made sure the ground was soft so I could dig my pit.
“How’s it going back there?” Chuck yelled.
“The pit is dug, although it may be overkill for a weekend. Do you think three feet is enough? I’m working on the poles now.”
45 minutes later I was out looking at Chuck’s very nice-looking table when up the trail huffed our Scout Master, Bud.
“Marty, Chuck, I’m here to check your projects. Nice table. Where is your latrine, Mr. Mitchell? I’m having a bit of a stomach issue.”
I pointed and the scoutmaster hustled out behind the Vine Maples.
“Hey, this is not bad looking,” we heard him yell. “The pit is overkill though. Let’s test out those lashings.”
What happened next shook the leaves on the maples as we heard a loud snap and saw his feet fly into the air.
“S**t!” He yelled.
I looked at Chuck. “Do you suppose he was speaking figuratively or literally?”
After helping him out of his headfirst dive into the pit. I was informed that the poles were too small and the lashings too loose. We carried the latrine back into camp and used it as a rack over the fire to dry our fish.
The next year, at a different scout camp, we were treated to old rotting miner latrines. The interesting thing about them was that they were three-seaters. One plank seat with three holes cut in it. Imagine three boys sitting together, looking straight forward, and humming.
I must say that the most unique, state of the art latrine I have used was in the arid high country of Idaho.
This was an area with a water shortage problem. I was on an 8-hour drive to my college in Nampa and I needed a gas stop and restroom break.
Pulling into a station which sat by itself, miles from civilization, I walked to the back where the restrooms should be. About 70 feet from the pumps, I found some nice-looking restrooms which were definitely newer than the service station. They had single occupancies for a man and woman.
Going inside, I immediately noticed the smell of hot urine. Lifting the toilet lid, there was no water in the bowl as most toilets have. There was instead a steel plate. Apparently, as it said on a placard on the wall, you do your business on the steel plate and then at some point, propane burners come on and burn it off.
At what point? Do I want to be sitting there when the burners come on?
When I left the restroom, the sun was setting on the desert in the western sky. A semi-truck and trailer rig pulled into the parking lot. The air brakes came on and the driver’s door opened. A rather fat and balding man who was sweating profusely climbed down to the ground. He was making groaning sounds. Before he could slam his door, I noticed at least three burrito wrappers on the tractor’s dash. He hustled across the lot and because the men’s side was occupied, he looked around and entered the women’s toilet.
The restrooms had one shared asbestos fire exhaust stack. As I climbed back in my car, there was the muffled sound of an explosion, and a ball of smoke and flash of flame came out the top of the stack. As far as I am concerned, there needs to be a better safety protocol as to when that propane flames on.
The last memorable latrine on my list is on top of Winchester Mountain just a short walk from the lookout cabin. There is no building surrounding it, just a pedestal with a toilet seat built over a hole. On a clear day you can see forever. A panoramic poo. In the summer, perhaps 50 people a day climb to the lookout and that is the only facility on top. If you have to go, you have to use it. As a distraction and to block the embarrassment, some hikers have been known to sing the complete Sound of Music version of The Hills are Alive With The Sound of Music. I, on the other hand, just tip my cap to the other hikers and say, “How do?” I guess that is why the Winchester privy is nicknamed, Seymore Butts.
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One reply on “Outhouses I Have Known”
That propane outhouse sounds down right scary! I learned many things I didn’t know about outhouses from this post. The things you can find! Fascinating.