By Joann M. Ringelstetter
In last week’s blog post, Ruth shared photos from our trip to the Northwoods at the end of September. On the first day of that trip, as we made our way north, we stopped in the middle of the afternoon at Jordan County Park near Stevens Point to have a late picnic lunch.
After enjoying the beautiful autumn reflection on Jordan Pond, we left the picnic area to visit an old brick schoolhouse that is now the park’s nature center. When we arrived at the nature center, we discovered that the school’s matching brick outhouse was still standing behind the school.
Usually when I photograph an old outhouse, I take a look inside, so that’s what I did. This outhouse was a two-seater, so I decided to take a picture of them. I set up my tripod, lined up my shot, and snapped the first image. Then I realigned my camera and shot another image.
It was obvious by the rundown condition of these toilets that the outhouse had been abandoned for quite some time. Then again, maybe not. When I finished, I saw a chipmunk dart out of the pit of the toilets. What I didn’t realize until I processed these outhouse photos was that the chipmunk was peeking out of the pit toilet when I took those first couple of shots. If you look closely at the previous image, you will see him at the bottom left.
He then ran from the left side of the outhouse to the right…
Up onto the right toilet seat…
And then he sat there looking at me like I was invading his space and I should leave immediately.
But before I left, I wanted to photograph the door knob on the outhouse door. It was a very decorative door knob for an outhouse.
My little chipmunk friend, however, was not happy that I was still there. He had gone back to the left pit and sat there watching me with disdain while I finished my work.
When I was done shooting the door knob, I left the outhouse, taking a few parting shots of the door, and leaving that poor chipmunk in peace.
As we headed off to hunt up the old Jordan power plant on the nearby Plover River, I filled Ruth in on my encounter with the chipmunk in the outhouse.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label outhouses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label outhouses. Show all posts
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Sunday, July 17, 2011
American Gothic
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
Grant Wood was born four miles east of Anamosa, Iowa. One of his best-known paintings is American Gothic, which depicts a man and woman standing in front of a small white house. The man is holding a pitch fork. They look like a typical Midwest couple of the early 20th century when life was hard.
In the summer of 2008, as Joann and I headed to Cedar Rapids to stay the night, we passed a barn with scaffolding set up along the front of it. We both looked to see what the painting was and were surprised to see that it was a replica of the American Gothic Painting.
We stopped and took a few pictures with the scaffolding, fearing that we would not get back to see the barn before something happened to it. I made a note of the approximate location of the barn and we continued on our trip.
In June of this year, we had the opportunity to return to Iowa to hunt up some barns and Joann asked if we might be able to find the American Gothic barn again on the trip. We planned for our circle to take us down to Davenport, then up past Cedar Rapids to Anamosa and then east to Dubuque. We decided that we could definitely make this barn a stop on our trip.
On Saturday night, we checked into our motel at Mount Vernon and then decided to go out in the evening light and check out the barn. The lighting was good, so Joann pulled over on the highway, and then crossed over to the other side to take her photos. The barn now has murals painted on three of its sides.
The following morning, we headed out bright and early as usual. Our first stop was Stone City and as Joann photographed an old stone church from various angles, I read a visitor board about Grant Wood. He had helped to found the Stone City Art Colony near his hometown to help artists get through the Depression. Sitting next to the visitor board was a building that was a replica of the house from the American Gothic painting.
The real Carpenter Gothic style house that Grant Wood used for the background of his painting sits in Eldon, Iowa. The house has a visitor center with vintage clothing and pitchforks available for photos.
As we headed east from Anamosa, we came to the Antioch School, which Grant Wood attended from 1897 until 1901. The school is restored and is on the National Register of Historic Places.
Behind the school was the restored outhouse, and Joann can never resist adding another outhouse to our collection.
Grant Wood is one of the Midwest’s most prized artists. He was born February 13, 1891, and died on February 12, 1942. From 1920 to 1928, he made multiple trips to Europe, where he studied different styles of painting. On his return to Iowa, he was widely quoted as saying, “All the really good ideas I’d ever had came to me while I was milking a cow. So I went back to Iowa.”
You never know what you’ll find along the unassuming backroads, so keep your eyes open.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Grant Wood was born four miles east of Anamosa, Iowa. One of his best-known paintings is American Gothic, which depicts a man and woman standing in front of a small white house. The man is holding a pitch fork. They look like a typical Midwest couple of the early 20th century when life was hard.
In the summer of 2008, as Joann and I headed to Cedar Rapids to stay the night, we passed a barn with scaffolding set up along the front of it. We both looked to see what the painting was and were surprised to see that it was a replica of the American Gothic Painting.
We stopped and took a few pictures with the scaffolding, fearing that we would not get back to see the barn before something happened to it. I made a note of the approximate location of the barn and we continued on our trip.
In June of this year, we had the opportunity to return to Iowa to hunt up some barns and Joann asked if we might be able to find the American Gothic barn again on the trip. We planned for our circle to take us down to Davenport, then up past Cedar Rapids to Anamosa and then east to Dubuque. We decided that we could definitely make this barn a stop on our trip.
On Saturday night, we checked into our motel at Mount Vernon and then decided to go out in the evening light and check out the barn. The lighting was good, so Joann pulled over on the highway, and then crossed over to the other side to take her photos. The barn now has murals painted on three of its sides.
The following morning, we headed out bright and early as usual. Our first stop was Stone City and as Joann photographed an old stone church from various angles, I read a visitor board about Grant Wood. He had helped to found the Stone City Art Colony near his hometown to help artists get through the Depression. Sitting next to the visitor board was a building that was a replica of the house from the American Gothic painting.
The real Carpenter Gothic style house that Grant Wood used for the background of his painting sits in Eldon, Iowa. The house has a visitor center with vintage clothing and pitchforks available for photos.
As we headed east from Anamosa, we came to the Antioch School, which Grant Wood attended from 1897 until 1901. The school is restored and is on the National Register of Historic Places.
Behind the school was the restored outhouse, and Joann can never resist adding another outhouse to our collection.
Grant Wood is one of the Midwest’s most prized artists. He was born February 13, 1891, and died on February 12, 1942. From 1920 to 1928, he made multiple trips to Europe, where he studied different styles of painting. On his return to Iowa, he was widely quoted as saying, “All the really good ideas I’d ever had came to me while I was milking a cow. So I went back to Iowa.”
You never know what you’ll find along the unassuming backroads, so keep your eyes open.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Is Your Trip Necssary?
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
In February of this year, during a visit with our aunts and uncles (our dad’s brothers and sisters), somehow the subject of going to the outhouse came up. And, at one point, one of them began telling the story of how our Uncle George, one of our favorite uncles, had painted a funny message on their outhouse when he was a kid.
From 1942 to 1945, as the Second World War raged on, the United States government found it necessary to ration many things due to shortages in the supply of these items. The list of rationed items included coffee, sugar, meat, cheese, shoes, cars, tires, and gasoline. In 1943, the U.S. Office of Defense Transportation published a poster showing a train car overcrowded with passengers, many of them servicemen in uniform. The rest were civilians. In large letters at the top of the poster, it said, “IS YOUR TRIP NECESSARY?” At the bottom, it said, “NEEDLESS TRAVEL interferes with the War Effort.”
Even though Uncle George was just a kid at the time, he found humor in this serious message and decided to paint it on the side of the outhouse.
Speaking of uncles, another of our dad’s brothers, Uncle Vic, owned some vacation property when we were kids. This property had a cottage or cabin on it (which we called “Vic’s shack”), along with a two-seater outhouse.
We visited this property and stayed overnight once and Ruth and I couldn’t resist having our picture taken inside the outhouse. The following photo was scanned in from our collection of old family photographs, so the quality isn’t very good, but we wanted to share this humorous moment with you.
There’s an old schoolhouse in Richland County, Wisconsin that we have visited numerous times. Down the hill from the schoolhouse, an outhouse sits amidst some sumac, which turns red in the fall. On one of our more recent visits, I decided to check out the inside of the outhouse and I discovered that it was actually a three-seater to which modern toilet seats had been added.
Even more interesting than it being a three-seater outhouse, was the hand-written sign on the wall. It said the following:
PLEASE
Put the toilet paper back
in the coffee can. on
account of the mice!!
THANKS
The way this note was written, with a period after the word “can,” it appeared as if the author had written the instruction to “put the toilet paper back in the coffee can” and then returned later to explain why.
Last fall, Ruth and I spent the day with our sister, Peggy, who lives near Beloit, Wisconsin. She took us to the Hanchett-Bartlett Homestead, an 1857 Victorian farmstead. In addition to the original stone house, stone barn, and restored one-room schoolhouse, there is a large outhouse. Since it was late in the fall, the homestead buildings were all locked, but when I peered in the window of the outhouse, it appeared to be a seven-seater. Talk about a family affair! We hope to visit the homestead in the near future during their open season and see for ourselves.
In the meantime, Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
In February of this year, during a visit with our aunts and uncles (our dad’s brothers and sisters), somehow the subject of going to the outhouse came up. And, at one point, one of them began telling the story of how our Uncle George, one of our favorite uncles, had painted a funny message on their outhouse when he was a kid.
From 1942 to 1945, as the Second World War raged on, the United States government found it necessary to ration many things due to shortages in the supply of these items. The list of rationed items included coffee, sugar, meat, cheese, shoes, cars, tires, and gasoline. In 1943, the U.S. Office of Defense Transportation published a poster showing a train car overcrowded with passengers, many of them servicemen in uniform. The rest were civilians. In large letters at the top of the poster, it said, “IS YOUR TRIP NECESSARY?” At the bottom, it said, “NEEDLESS TRAVEL interferes with the War Effort.”
Even though Uncle George was just a kid at the time, he found humor in this serious message and decided to paint it on the side of the outhouse.
Speaking of uncles, another of our dad’s brothers, Uncle Vic, owned some vacation property when we were kids. This property had a cottage or cabin on it (which we called “Vic’s shack”), along with a two-seater outhouse.
We visited this property and stayed overnight once and Ruth and I couldn’t resist having our picture taken inside the outhouse. The following photo was scanned in from our collection of old family photographs, so the quality isn’t very good, but we wanted to share this humorous moment with you.
There’s an old schoolhouse in Richland County, Wisconsin that we have visited numerous times. Down the hill from the schoolhouse, an outhouse sits amidst some sumac, which turns red in the fall. On one of our more recent visits, I decided to check out the inside of the outhouse and I discovered that it was actually a three-seater to which modern toilet seats had been added.
Even more interesting than it being a three-seater outhouse, was the hand-written sign on the wall. It said the following:
PLEASE
Put the toilet paper back
in the coffee can. on
account of the mice!!
THANKS
The way this note was written, with a period after the word “can,” it appeared as if the author had written the instruction to “put the toilet paper back in the coffee can” and then returned later to explain why.
Last fall, Ruth and I spent the day with our sister, Peggy, who lives near Beloit, Wisconsin. She took us to the Hanchett-Bartlett Homestead, an 1857 Victorian farmstead. In addition to the original stone house, stone barn, and restored one-room schoolhouse, there is a large outhouse. Since it was late in the fall, the homestead buildings were all locked, but when I peered in the window of the outhouse, it appeared to be a seven-seater. Talk about a family affair! We hope to visit the homestead in the near future during their open season and see for ourselves.
In the meantime, Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Saturday, August 28, 2010
When Ya Gotta Go, Ya Gotta Go
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
When we were little, we lived on a small dairy farm north of Sun Prairie, Wisconsin. There were numerous outbuildings, one of which was an old outhouse, painted red to match the other farm buildings. The outhouse stood very close to the back of the machine shed, with the door facing the shed. There was basically only enough room to swing the door of the outhouse open. The photo below, taken several years ago in Trempeleau County, Wisconsin, shows an outhouse in a similar setting.
The outhouse on our farm was pretty important because there wasn’t a bathroom in the old farmhouse when we moved there. It was several years later that our dad added a bathroom to the old house. And what a glorious day that was when the bathroom was finally finished! No more long trips to the outhouse. No more being scared of the spiders and bees that were often in the outhouse. And no more being afraid of what might be lurking down in that creepy pit.
Did I say “No more trips to the outhouse?” Well, in spite of all the major advancements in just about everything over the past several decades, many of the backroads we travel in our quest for rural scenes are just that – rural. And, often, the best we can come up with for a restroom is an old outhouse. We find them in parks, behind churches, at old schoolhouses and town halls, or in cemeteries.
Speaking of outhouses in cemeteries, I’m reminded of a funny incident many years ago at the old cemetery in the town of Hyde, Wisconsin. Just inside the gate, down the hill from the chapel, sat a dilapidated outhouse, which is now long gone. We had been out early, as usual, and I was in desperate need of a restroom. Since there are no parks or gas stations anywhere near there, I decided to use the old outhouse. Meanwhile, Ruth was wandering around the cemetery...or so I thought.
Most outhouses are very dark inside because there are no windows or there is only a small moon cutout in the door or side of the outhouse. This outhouse, however, was very bright inside because there was a very large window on the side facing away from the church. This is quite unusual for an outhouse, but what was even more unusual was how low this window actually was, which I didn’t really pay any attention to.
One thing you should know about Ruth is that she has a memory like a steal trap when it comes to movie lines. And she often throws them out during the course of our adventures, after which I usually ask, “Okay, what movie is that from?” Do you remember the scene at the end of the Wizard of Oz movie, where Dorothy is lying in bed after the storm, mumbling, “There’s no place like home” over and over? Just then Professor Marvel leans in the window and says something like, “Anybody home? I just dropped by because I heard the little girl got caught in the big storm.”
Anyway, a few seconds after I sat down on the worn wooden outhouse seat, Ruth suddenly leaned in the window (with our eyes meeting at about the same level) and said, “Anybody home? I just dropped by because I heard the little girl got caught in the big storm.” At this point, all I could do was to start giggling and we both laughed about this for a long time afterwards.
Having to use an old outhouse isn’t all that bad in the spring, summer, or fall. But winter is a different matter – trudging through knee-deep snow to get there, only to find that the door is drifted in or the outhouse has a padlock on the door (after all, no one will be needing it in the dead of winter, right?). And then there’s the cold blast of air from the pit or the need to bring your own toilet paper. But we manage to deal with it. After all, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go!
We hope you enjoy this view of a simpler time.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
When we were little, we lived on a small dairy farm north of Sun Prairie, Wisconsin. There were numerous outbuildings, one of which was an old outhouse, painted red to match the other farm buildings. The outhouse stood very close to the back of the machine shed, with the door facing the shed. There was basically only enough room to swing the door of the outhouse open. The photo below, taken several years ago in Trempeleau County, Wisconsin, shows an outhouse in a similar setting.
The outhouse on our farm was pretty important because there wasn’t a bathroom in the old farmhouse when we moved there. It was several years later that our dad added a bathroom to the old house. And what a glorious day that was when the bathroom was finally finished! No more long trips to the outhouse. No more being scared of the spiders and bees that were often in the outhouse. And no more being afraid of what might be lurking down in that creepy pit.
Did I say “No more trips to the outhouse?” Well, in spite of all the major advancements in just about everything over the past several decades, many of the backroads we travel in our quest for rural scenes are just that – rural. And, often, the best we can come up with for a restroom is an old outhouse. We find them in parks, behind churches, at old schoolhouses and town halls, or in cemeteries.
Speaking of outhouses in cemeteries, I’m reminded of a funny incident many years ago at the old cemetery in the town of Hyde, Wisconsin. Just inside the gate, down the hill from the chapel, sat a dilapidated outhouse, which is now long gone. We had been out early, as usual, and I was in desperate need of a restroom. Since there are no parks or gas stations anywhere near there, I decided to use the old outhouse. Meanwhile, Ruth was wandering around the cemetery...or so I thought.
Most outhouses are very dark inside because there are no windows or there is only a small moon cutout in the door or side of the outhouse. This outhouse, however, was very bright inside because there was a very large window on the side facing away from the church. This is quite unusual for an outhouse, but what was even more unusual was how low this window actually was, which I didn’t really pay any attention to.
One thing you should know about Ruth is that she has a memory like a steal trap when it comes to movie lines. And she often throws them out during the course of our adventures, after which I usually ask, “Okay, what movie is that from?” Do you remember the scene at the end of the Wizard of Oz movie, where Dorothy is lying in bed after the storm, mumbling, “There’s no place like home” over and over? Just then Professor Marvel leans in the window and says something like, “Anybody home? I just dropped by because I heard the little girl got caught in the big storm.”
Anyway, a few seconds after I sat down on the worn wooden outhouse seat, Ruth suddenly leaned in the window (with our eyes meeting at about the same level) and said, “Anybody home? I just dropped by because I heard the little girl got caught in the big storm.” At this point, all I could do was to start giggling and we both laughed about this for a long time afterwards.
Having to use an old outhouse isn’t all that bad in the spring, summer, or fall. But winter is a different matter – trudging through knee-deep snow to get there, only to find that the door is drifted in or the outhouse has a padlock on the door (after all, no one will be needing it in the dead of winter, right?). And then there’s the cold blast of air from the pit or the need to bring your own toilet paper. But we manage to deal with it. After all, when ya gotta go, ya gotta go!
We hope you enjoy this view of a simpler time.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
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