Having been born in 1930 at the start of the depression in the United States, I was able to write this poem drawing from past experience. I was also raised on a farm which meant we were a little behind the “city folks” when it came to modern conveniences. . . . . .
I remember the winters with the cold and snow . . . . Sometimes we didn’t make it all the way to the outhouse. Besides it was fun to write your initials in the snow…HA!
Enjoy the poem . . . . . . .
An icon of old is fading away
It filled a great need in its day
Found in every yard out back
A special purpose little shack
Twas a ritual most every morn
On a foot path so heavily worn
Dreaded by every sleepyhead
That trip to the one-room shed
When entering, one had to be alert
One hornet can mean a world of hurt
The catalog was usually found in there
Could be read or used with care
The wooden door was badly sagging
A rusty spring kept it from banging
When opened, it made one cringe
At the squeak of an un-oiled hinge
The seat made with the finest pine
Was fitted tightly and sanded fine
A centered hole was cut with care
The future spot of a “bottom”, bare
A crescent moon for air and light
Was cut on the sides, left and right
Miss the “privy”? You’re not alone!
Twas such a peaceful place . . . . .
Poem by Herm Meyer
I had a friend, who is now deceased, that had a vacation place on the top of a small mountain within the White Mountains of Arizona. It was a beautiful spot with the tall pines and a view that extended for miles. He had an outhouse (with no door) that overlooked the valley below. . . . .
He called it . . . . . . “CONSTIPATION POINT”