When I was a kid we had a three holer...one for the adults, one for the teens and one for the youngest ones...it sure made it nice not to have to use an oversized hole especially when you weren't even in school yet. One thing I learned very early on was to remember to check if one of the boards had a split in it. When you put your weight on it, it would make the crack open up and if you weren't careful dismounting the crack would close up and you got such a pinch!
The outhouse was not without its drawbacks...as I recall, wasps were ever present...and, I always kept a stick handy to make sure that the BW spiders were kept at bay. Although rare, snakes...were another matter.
Here is a little think I wrote some time back; I'm sure that I posted it here somewhere, but just for kicks I'm posting it again. It's entitled "Lanny and the Snake". Lanny was my brother, four years younger.
Back in the olden days, my Dad was the supervisor of a sand pit, that
shipped sand by rail all over the Southwest, and our house was on the same
property. It was so sandy, that nothing would grow except maybe a few sand
burrs. Out little "house beyond the house" was close by, and surrounded by
ankle deep sand. We also were blessed with an abundance of rattle snakes,
which tended to hang out in the outbuildings. We found quite a few that
didn't quite make it across the RR tracks that serviced the sand pit. My
younger brother, who was deathly afraid of snakes, had the experience of
entering the facility, shutting the door, only to find a hog nosed snake
behind the door. Having had this experience, he was always on the alert, and
very, very cautious.
One morning before school, I saw him enter the privy. After he shut the
door, I sneaked up behind, waited until he got settled and all was quiet,
and then I made a "snake hissing sound" as loudly as I could. He yelled at
the top of his voice: " AWWWWWWWWWW", I heard the door bang open and he came
running, best he could, in the ankle deep sand with his jeans down around
his ankles. Of course I laughed my butt off, but he wasn't amused. When he
turned around all red faced, he made some remark akin to "I'll get you for
that you SOB, if it's the last thing I do". I still think it was funny. He
never got over his fear of snakes, and dispatched quite a few in his
lifetime. He died a couple years ago and I really miss the little ****.
At his funeral, I met his boss and some of the folks he worked for (this
company recovered explosives from old ordinance). They told me that when he
went into the field, he always took his shootin' iron and shot every snake
he saw. His boss asked me why he was so afraid of snakes...
