03.24.2008
When nature called, old-timers answered
People have been practicing environmentalism for generations.
True, some of the ecologically-friendly notions may have been slightly off base as far as actual environmental protection goes, but the old-timers tried.
Back in the days when technology was scarce for rural folk, they turned to their own devices to be nice to nature.
I call your attention to the self-contained waste disposal and recycling facility, the outhouse.
Yes, they were primitive, sometimes smelled bad and considered a monument to Hicksville. But think about it.
Where people in town often piped raw sewage into the nearest river or creek, most country folks built outhouses.
It was bad enough that people couldn’t keep wild animals out of streams and ponds. But the more enlightened took steps to keep people waste and certain liquids away from sources of drinking water and fish.
I know. I had a couple stern lectures about the sanctity of the well house at the home of a dear aunt and uncle where I spent many happy days of childhood.
The well wasn’t in a house, exactly. It was outside, under a roof, enclosed in a chin-high (to a kid), homemade protective covering.
Don’t think this was some ramshackle afterthought. Uncle was a crackerjack carpenter. Not only did he build the sturdy well house, but the barn, the shed and the big, solid four-bedroom house.
Little boys, for some reason, are genetically disposed to make rivulets off the back porch. The uncouth are sometimes tempted by the front porch, too.
But the well house was attached to the back porch.
“Don’t you go there!”
“But ...!”
“Don’t you do it! You go out there.”
Out there was off the porch, into the raw wilderness where the nighttime was blacker than dark.
Well, really it was just 20 or so paces away from the house in the weeds. But it was still dark.
Why so far away? So whatever you leave behind won’t seep into the well, that’s why.
Will it really seep through all that dirt and get into the water?
Yes. Don’t you go there. Go over yonder if you don’t want to walk all the way to the outhouse.
Remember, this is about those wee-hours urges you better not ignore.
During the day, there was only one destination unless you were way far into the woods.
The typical outhouse was set on top of a hand-dug pit. Most were two-holers, although I did see a four-holer once. That’s a little too crowded for me. It’s an outhouse, not a parlor.
The wooden seating, while rustic, was smooooth. No splinters there.
Before use, the pit was lined with lime. From time to time, a little lime was added to the pit as it filled.
That mitigated the aroma and aided in breaking down the contents.
All righteous outhouses had fly swatters, hanging on easy-to-reach pegs, and at least one Sears and Roebuck catalog.
Only the most backward folks used the catalog for personal hygiene. The ink, we were told, would give you a rash. We did not test that theory.
I never saw a corn cob in an outhouse. A dry cob is rough enough to shape lumber.
No, the Sears catalog was used to pore over the latest J.C. Higgins rifles and shotguns (later, the Ted Williams gear). For the boys, at least. And it kept your mind off the cold or the heat. Seasonal changes are magnified in an outhouse.
Some folks did stock their outhouses with whatever appropriate paper they could obtain. Like the time we visited this one home where they had been to a party of some kind.
The neatly stacked napkins read, “God Bless This Happy Occasion.”
Yep. That’s appropriate, all right.
An outhouse contained that which had to be disposed. It wasn’t spread on the ground, it wasn’t dumped in the creek, and it literally cooked itself over time - just like in a septic tank, except it wasn’t totally enclosed until the stuff hit the fill-it-up-with-dirt line.
Then it was time to dig another pit and move the outhouse. But not too close to the old one.
Yes, outhouses are the subject of lore and country songs. Just don’t forget - you might think of them as the epitome of yokeldom, but every time one was used, it was an environmentally responsible act.
So have a little respect for the lowly outhouse. After all, we’re still using them when masses of humans have an outdoor occasion. They’re smellier and made out of plastic. And they don’t come with catalogs.
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