In today's complex worldwind, we often reflect upon the "good old days," days that seem to have been of a more "simple life." At times, this seems to be true even for the apparently more mundane world of wastewater disposal. Today, thanks to the federal Clean Water Act and related regulations, there is constant concern with such subjects as biological demand, suspended solids, ammonia-nitrogen, inflow-infiltration, heavy metals, pharmaceuticals, pre-treatment, advanced treatment, etc.
When my parents had their cottage in Indiana (see my post of January 21, 2010), we did not have "indoor plumbing." Yes, we had an outhouse. It was a small, narrow structure on a small, narrow terrace below the house. It was painted white (by me) and had a tiny glass window high up the back wall for light. It was a two holer. As a kid, I long wondered why two holes--who would want to share such a private moment? From a more technical standpoint, I supposed that maybe the intent was that users would alternate so as to spread the joy. However, people tend to be creatures of habit, sitting in the same seat on a commuter train, for example.
Regardless, as a user, I did not have that much joy. I always feared that some sort of creature, a fecal gremlin, would bite my bottom. Even above ground, the inside of the outhouse always housed vicious-looking spiders waiting to pounce on me in an unguarded moment. At night, it was even more scarey. One had to bring a lantern or flashlight, stumbling over tree roots along the path and wondering who or what would be waiting for me in the dark inside.
On a more positive note, one could sit inside, prop open the door, and view the lake. Oh look, there goes Mr. Nelson in his 12 foot rowboat powered by a 5 horsepower Sea King motor putting by until seaweed killed his progress right opposite my door. "Hi" he yelled. So much for the pastoral.
Maybe the "simple life" was not all that simple.
Obviously, today outhouses a more a curiosity than a necessity. Some persons have collected outhouses much as persons have collected stamps or coins. Others have written photogenic books about them.
A few years ago, my wife and I bought an outhouse door from a shop in Kentucky. It was painted blue, had all the hardware, and had a quarter moon cutout near the top. The door sold immediately in my wife's booth at a Wisconsin antique center. If an outhouse door is an antique, what does that make me? I am flushed with answers.
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