Water closet chronicle

The property on Fort Peck Lake that my wife and I bought last year included a cabin, a dock and assorted outbuildings. Foremost among them is an outhouse.

It’s grandfathered into the covenants. I can’t move it or tear it down and rebuild it, but I can sure use it.

I’ve always enjoyed the outhouse experience and it certainly beats leaning up against a tree.

There’s a one-holer up on the border at an old homestead I visit a few times every fall. It’s miles from anywhere, yet offers a civilized sit-down to the needy passerby. There’s always toilet paper hidden inside under an empty coffee can. I leave a fresh roll if it’s running low.

When I used to hunt up the West Boulder I always started the day with a trip to the outhouse at the campground there. An older Forest Service model, it has but one small, screen window that lets in little light. Usually arriving there before dawn, I’d prop open the door so I could see what I was doing.

I did the same thing with my outhouse at the lake until the crowds began arriving this summer.

When Barb and I stayed at the cabin last winter the water was turned off so we couldn’t use the inside facilities. But because nobody was around, we’d leave the outhouse door open and enjoy the view while we took care of business.

Now that it’s summer we’re more discreet. We close the door.

Besides offering a seat with a view, our outhouse at the lake also provides a place to visit. It’s a three-holer, however, we haven’t yet found a trio that’s comfortable sharing that setting.

And there’s only one padded toilet seat. Plop down over one of the other two holes and you risk splinters in your backside.

Although I can’t change the exterior, which is clad in old corrugated tin roofing, I plan to do a bit of work on the inside, add a couple of toilet seats and maybe hang a painting to give us something to talk about when we’re packed inside.

We haven’t had any critters in the outhouse that we know of, but the privy at the boat ramp less than a mile away has a sign on the door cautioning users to check for rattlesnakes before stepping inside. I always expect something to bite me when I’m in an outhouse anyway so I always look in all the corners before sitting down. If there’s a snake inside, I’ll head for the house.

As much as I like my outhouse, I’m positively giddy over indoor plumbing.

Parker Heinlein is at

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