The good old days are alive and well in Florence, Colorado.

When we went fishing the other day in Florence at the Founders Park, we happened to stumble upon this little artifact.  For those of you who have grown up with tiled floors and enameled fixtures in your bathroom, you are in for a rude awakening.  This is what is known as an outhouse.  The out house is a little house behind the big house where you lived.  We have come a long ways since these days and I did not even dream there were still such things around.  Here is living proof.

This is the floor of said outhouse.  Now be aware that beneath this floor is a very messy pit where human waste is/was collected.  I do not know if this is a working outhouse and I did not step inside and peer down the hole so I can not even venture a guess.  No, I am curious, but not that curious!

The wood looks old and weathered enough to make me think this is the authentic outhouse, but since there was no sign of a homestead any where near here, I think it was placed here more as a piece of history.

And there you nave the bench upon which one perched to do one's business.  I myself would be scared to assume that position since I am deathly afraid of spiders and I am pretty sure this would be a perfect place for one to lurk.  Probably a very large family of the arachnids could be located under that bench.

So, kiddies, what do you think?  I do know that visiting this little building the other day sort of knocked my longing for the good old days right in the keester.  I long for the tranquility that came with the life we lived back then such as no ringing phone, no blaring television,  no interstate outside my door, but I have become quite accustomed to running water, both hot and cold, and the gentle swish of water when I flip the chrome handle of my pretty white commode.   I can stand for hours under the hot shower and never miss that aluminum tub on Saturday nights.

Yep, I have become a slave to modern conveniences.  And so it goes.

The Outhouse seems to be a thing of the past!

I fell to reminiscing today with a fellow and how we got on the subject of outhouses escapes me.  We did seem to be of the consensus that we did like the fact that they now seem to be a thing of the past that will not be repeated in today's world.  For those of you who do not know what an outhouse is, let me tell you.
Way back in the days before indoor plumbing the restroom "facilities" were located in a small building out back which was perched over a deep open hole in the ground.  Inside the building was a raised plank which had one hole cut in it and you can just imagine what went on in there. Some of these were constructed to be very sturdy and actually had hooks on the inside of the door to keep intruders out while you did your business.
Ours usually had a Sears & Roebuck catalog on the floor and that was what became known as "toilet paper."  Now, I am here to tell you that I much preferred the old catalogs that were printed on cheap paper as opposed to the newer ones with colored pictures.  Colored picture are slick, in case you wondered.  My brother could often be found gazing at the section where the women were modeling bra's and such.  That was his idea of pornography.  It was my idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up.  No, not a model, but a woman with those bumps on her chest.
I did not ever spend much time in that little "outhouse" as I lived in mortal terror of many things in that building.  The first was that I could be attacked by a giant spider and I had seen black widows out there so I could only guess where they were lurking when I was at my most vulnerable.  The second was that you can imagine how fragrant the whole mess was.  And thirdly, there was always the possibility that the floor could collapse and I could plunge into that mess and die a very untimely death.
This trip was always made its most horrific by the setting of the sun.  I would wait until right before the sun went down to make my last trip out.  I have heard that motto of the mailman about how neither rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night shall stay the faithful mailman from his rounds.  I adopted the same as my mantra for my last call of the night.  It was always a good thing to have a full moon.  Course then I had to worry about vampires and werewolves.  And snow.  No one ever seemed to shovel a path "out back."  At our house, nobody ever shoveled a path anywhere.  Just put on your old buckle up galoshes and hit the trail.
Why am I telling you all this?  Because it is the truth and the truth is often brutal.  Outhouses were a way of life back then and I remember my joy when we moved to Hutchinson when I was 16 and we had an honest to God bathroom with running water and a flushing toilet, and all of it was inside with a door that closed and a lock that kept people on the other side of the door.
And a stove that was powered by gas that came into the house through a pipe from the street.  Lights were turned on by a switch on the wall.  I was amazed to find that other people had these things for a long time and took them for granted.  Hutchinson even had parks where we could play instead of playing in the cemetery.
Don't know what brought all this to my memory tonight, but just wanted to share it with you.