Appalachian Word of the Week – SLOP JAR

Last week I shared my experiences with the OUTHOUSE in my childhood home of Harlan County, Kentucky. This week I’ll share my acquaintance with the SLOP JAR.

During my visits to relatives’ homes where indoor plumbing had not been introduced yet, the only choices for relieving yourself were visiting the outhouse or the SLOP JAR. The SLOP JAR was preferred by young children and the infirmed. Of course, adults sometimes preferred the SLOP JAR on severe weather days or at night. Outhouses were not a pleasant place to visit in the dark. Actually, they weren’t pleasant to visit on a lovely, sunny day either.

My grandmothers provided a white granite enamelware stock pot for their SLOP JAR.

Some fancier households provided a more decorative CHAMBER POT for their household. No matter what they called it or how pretty it looked, it smelled the same.

Whichever type of SLOP JAR your hostess offered, it was not a fun experience.

I will never forget the cold winter nights when I stayed at my Granny’s house. Since she only had a fire going in the pot-bellied stove in the front room, the heat didn’t make it back to the bedrooms. I climbed into the cold bed and Granny piled quilt after quilt on top of me to keep me warm.

Those quilts were so heavy I couldn’t move at all. In the middle of the night, when nature called, I had to get desperate before I would attempt to slide out from under those quilts and run to the SLOP JAR.

Man, oh man, those ceramic metal pots were COLD! I hurried as fast as possible and then started the process of trying to slide myself back under those quilts. At least I worked up a sweat in the process.

These days, as an old woman with mobility issues, I would never be able to adequately utilize the SLOP JAR. Even if I got down to it, I would never get up again. Today, I would have to have a SLOP JAR CHAIR.

Funny, but it sort of resembles the chair I had parked next to my hospital bed when I was hooked up to monitors for heart failure and they gave me huge doses of diuretics to remove the fluid around my heart.

We definitely have it good these days with indoor plumbing, electricity, and heat. There’s always something to be thankful for and to be joyful about.

Have you ever had to use a SLOP JAR? What were your experiences? I’d love to hear your stories.

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.