4/13/24
Introducing: Our Outhouse
Spiffying up the outhouse was my first solo project out here. Although it’s considerably the least glamorous part of our home, it is one of the most frequented locations, so I thought it worth putting a little love into.
Now, she’s a modest little thing, our outhouse. She’s not much more than 4 walls, a roof, a bench with a hole cut out of it and a toilet seat to sit on. What lies below? Nobody truly knows. Your gift to the Earth falls deep below the surface, never to be seen again.
Don’t get me wrong, there was nothing wrong with the outhouse. It had actually recently undergone renovations.
A new door was installed after the previous one, hanging pitifully off its hinges, rotted to bits.
And a small overhang was added over the door, to help direct rain water away from the entrance.
We’d even just added a new squatty-potty. Well, an upside down plastic bin that we use as a squatty-potty.
No the outhouse was doing just fine how it was, but I knew it could do even better. So I gathered my materials and got to work.
The Process of Spiffying the Outhouse
After spending a considerable amount of time brainstorming how to go about this, and an equal amount time doubting my skills in this department, I began the process of fitting some linoleum to the bench.
It wasn’t until after I cut and pieced together a mosaic of linoleum pieces around the toilet seat that I realized a much better, efficient way to do the job:
(1. Remove toilet seat 2. Lay linoleum over entire bench 3. Cut hole in middle where toilet seat goes 4. Reattach toilet seat). A moment of reflection. A deep sigh. And onward we go.
Next, I applied the adhesive between the linoleum pieces and the bench. To maximize the effectiveness of the less than adequate adhesive, I collected and laid big, heavy rocks on the bench. Give that baby 24 hours to set and we are on our way to being awarded fanciest outhouse in the holler.
When I returned the next day, removed the rocks, and gave it a nice lil sweep, I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results. And with myself, honestly. The outhouse looked like a whole new place. The linoleum offered a nice pop, a lil something different amongst all of the wood. An easier surface to clean, to set your things down on. I’d say it went from looking like Shrek’s outhouse to the type of throne designed for princess Fiona.
I’d gotten one good use out of it.
Wasp Invasion
One morning, mother nature made her call, and on quick feet, I made my venture out.
Ready to do my business in my newly done up space, I pulled open the door, and just as I was about to take my seat, I paused.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, as a threat was detected.
On the back wall, a few feet above the seat, was a wasps nest, thriving with it’s new residents.
I weighed my options.
But I didn’t have long.
I decided to take the risk.
I sent a prayer to God, and only the best, most peaceful vibes to the wasps above my head, while I proceeded to take the most scared shit of my life.
I can say that I’m a better woman now because of it.
I knew the courage wouldn’t last though, and sharing an outhouse with a bunch of wasps was not a sustainable option.
So I did what any young woman in my position would do, and I phoned a friend.
Not just any friend though. I called Jenn, one of the bravest, strongest women I know.
Wasp Eviction
You see, Jenn is 20 years my senior. And she’s been living out here for years. To her, a wasps nest in the outhouse just means it’s getting warmer outside; that the seasons are changing.
She told me that all I had to do was wait until night, then knock the nest out with a broom. Give it a day for the wasps to evacuate, then stomp it out.
The idea of doing any of that terrified me, so like the good woman she is, she said she’d take care of it when she was back around.
Lucky for me, I was on my way out of town as this was all unfolding.
After a few days of enjoying the spoils of an indoor commode, I caught up with Jenn about the status of the wasps nest.
I was fortunate enough to have her handle it this time, but I know that won’t always be the case.
One day, I’ll be the one, broom in hand, knocking down a nest of predatory insects.
“We just knocked it down into the hole” she told me. I gasped, thinking about the horrors those wasps must have seen down there.
“You don’t think they’ll come back?” I asked “With a vengeance?”
“No, it’s alright” She reassured me. “We’ve used it a couple times since.”
I have to admit, I was relieved. If those wasps were to make a return, a butt would have been stung by now. I felt at ease knowing it wouldn’t be mine.
Where are they now?
It’s now been a couple weeks since the nest was dismantled.
I’ve not let my guard down though. If there was one, there could be more. I check every wall and corner much more thoroughly than I used to.
It wasn’t until yesterday, when I was hammering a nail into one of the outhouse walls, that I noticed two lone wasps, nestled in the place where 2×4 meets wall. Had my hammering brought them out from some undetectable nest within the wall? I scanned every inch of the place, found nothing.
When time came for me to use the outhouse again, I kept an eye on those two buggers.
Made sure they didn’t make a move on me.
When I was vulnerable.
Fear quickly turned to irritation, with a hint of rage.
Not on my watch.
In my outhouse.
Once safe, I pulled out my phone, opened my Notes app and added to my grocery list: wasp spray
When I returned home this evening, wasp spray now in my possession, I told myself I would wait until I was feeling more courageous.
I acquired the wasp spray today. That’s a step in the right direction. I’m not ready to come face to face with these SOBs.
What if I spray, and they come barreling towards me? I do NOT want to get stung.
As I emptied my car of my groceries and things, contemplating where to keep this wasp spray until I was ready to use it, I felt it.
The bravery that I needed, to do what must be done.
I decided the best place for it was in the outhouse, sprayed all over them pesky bitches.
I felt empowered.
I was ready to take them on.
Well, not really, but for these kinds of things you just have to start doing it. Start doing it and don’t psych yourself out.
So I did it.
I swung open that outhouse door and I let the wrath of God come over me as I sprayed, first where I saw those two lone wasps, and then, every other inch of that baby that I could get.
It’ll probably be a day or two until the outhouse is no longer a chemical war zone, but so long as it keeps the wasps out, I do not mind one bit.