Appalachian Word of the Week -- OUTHOUSE

Anybody who grew up during my era should know first hand what an OUTHOUSE is. Even if you have never been privy to one yourself, you have probably heard about them.

Photo courtesy of my friend, Corinne Milwee Farley

I remember in technicolor and smellavision (my word) detail having to traipse down a little path to the outhouse when I visited either of my grandmothers in Harlan County. Mammaw lived up on Pine Mountain, near the Pine Mountain Settlement School, in a house so rustic that the front step was a moss-covered rock.

I dreaded having to “go” in the outhouse. For one thing, the path was narrow, with weeds growing so high and close, you had to push through them. The outhouse was always situated as far from the house as you could get it. I think it had something to do with the odor, especially in the summer heat.

Keeping my eyes on my surroundings was important. In the mountains, there are a lot of snakes. They prefer coiling up on pathways. Kind of like dogs and cats who love to steal your chair when you get up for a moment. Garter snakes and black snakes weren’t much of a problem, but rattlesnakes and copperheads could kill.

I always tried to hold my breath when I went inside to do my duty. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold my breath long enough.

And then, consider the spiders. They seemed to enjoy hanging out in the outhouse. I reckon spiders and bugs don’t have a sense of smell.

I hate spiders, so I kept the photo small

Job completed, I threw open the door and ran back to the house to wash my hands at the pump, just off the front porch.

Granny had an outhouse, too. She lived at Chevrolet Coal Camp. At least the path was shorter and not quite as weedy as on the mountain where Mammaw lived. Chevrolet was a community of camp houses built by the mine for its workers to rent. The houses were small, but they had electricity.

A coal mining camp with outhouses shared by neighbors

The outhouse, unfortunately, had the same horrendous stink and attracted spiders.

Not all outhouses were alike. Some people got fancy and had a double-seater. I didn’t think that was such a great idea, myself. I mean, I wouldn’t want to sit there with somebody else and bare my bottom as we added to the stink. It would be good to have two different sized holes, though. That way, if you were smaller, you could choose the smaller whole and not have to worry about falling through. Oh, can you imagine?

I’m thankful that my granny offered a roll of toilet paper for her outhouse. The Montgomery Ward catalog didn’t have much absorbency. I also proved to be scratchy on tender skin.

Of course, my choice in outhouses would be bug-free, stinky-free, and have provisions like this one.

Did you grow up using the outhouse? I’d love to hear your memories.