Remember the day and those of today

I was raised with an out house I don't know how many on here where.. We had a a two holer for the boys one large seat and one small.. And the girls had the same thing..Our's was located of the back end of the house for easy cleaning.. How many folks that vist here had an out hourse present or Present?
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This looked like the ones we had and for winter we would have cardboard cut out with your name on it . It would help you keep to the job and get it done fast....lol Those were the days.. the good old days

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.

  

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.

 

This Old Outhouse

Written by Barbara Rimkunas

It can be so easy to overlook the changes in our landscape. It's probable that most people today, viewing the picture above, would see the falls at String Bridge with some cute little woodsheds in the foreground. Of course, those are not woodsheds. They are a rarely photographed, but always present necessity of life, the lowly outhouse. A small crowd of people gathers along the falls at the String Bridge in Exeter in the1880's to watch ice floes head downstream. Unregarded, but caught inelegantly by the photographer are two structures in the foreground undeniably necessary for everyday life. Outhouses stood behind nearly every business and house in town. Quietly tucked out of view - far enough away to prevent detection on hot days when the windows were open, yet close enough to encourage use during those retentive frigid days of winter - the outhouse was the only option before the coming of sewers and indoor plumbing. Modern indoor bathrooms were not commonplace until the early 1900's. An outhouse didn't have to be pretty, but it did have to be sturdy. If one's lot was large enough, the outhouse was simply picked up and moved to another spot if the contents threatened to meet the users. In tighter spaces, the pit had to be emptied by a specialized team of workers who arrived at night and gave the lyrical name of "night soil" to the material they carted away. Although one might think that the outhouse was no place to linger, an awful lot of activity went on in there. The standard twoseater (one large, one small to prevent the terrified child from "falling in") was the scene of many family dramas. Farm kids avoided work by hanging around the outhouse. Teenagers would sneak a forbidden cigarette. Parents could drop in for a quick nip in those days of legal temperance. The outhouse was also the place to get rid of unwanted evidence. It's no surprise that the ax used to murder Lizzie Borden's parents was found in the privy pit. Less notorious crimes were also hidden in the pit - the broken remains of grandma's favorite teacup, the empty bottle of Lydia inkham's Vegetable Compound, and the shattered head of your older sister's favorite china doll. As such, the privy is a goldmine for historic archaeologists who happily trowel away to discover our secret past. But before we get nostalgic about those simpler times, let's not avoid the health risks involved in our sturdy little structure. Night visits to the outhouse were rare, most people utilized an indoor chamber pot. Each morning, the thunder pot had to be emptied and unfortunately this was done after washing up. Breakfast would then be served with a hefty dose of potentially lethal typhoid bacteria. As late as the 1880's, Exeter still listed an average of three typhoid fever deaths per year. The number of recovered cases is unknown, but even one bout with this disease was debilitating. Typhoid is passed only through people and requires direct contact with substances we only discuss with toddlers and medical personnel. The outhouse and its little brother, the chamber pot, were the perfect vectors to aid in transmission of this disease. The close proximity of the outhouses pictured to the river has not missed anyone's notice. It's no wonder the Squamscott River was rarely used for recreational swimming. Fouling one's drinking water was a way of life back in the good old days, as the farmer's outhouse was usually located conveniently near the well. As quaint as it was, it's probably a good thing that the outhouse has vanished from our landscape.