Ode to a Toilet

At our little piece of land up north (it’s not nearly in the northern half of Ontario, but it’s in a northerly direction and that’s good enough for me and most of the population of Southern Ontario who all love to rape the land just north of us for fun and profit, but I digress…)* we’ve built one structure. It’s the most important structure, of course: the outhouse. But it’s not the typical outhouse of yore. It’s an outhouse-shed combo! Imagine the possibilities! The benefit of this arrangement is the size. Instead of a claustrophobic, dark and dingy 3 x 3 building full of spiders and bugs, we’ve got enough room to do some basic yoga if we’re so inclined.

Earlier today my guy was lamenting childhood summers full of terror in the dark walk to the outhouse at a friend’s cottage. At a cottage with his parents, his mom gave him a pot to pee in at night (luxury!) so afraid was he of the dangers of the night. When I was a kid, I once stayed at a friend’s island. Her folks had a set of cabins with a path to the shitter. I was so scared to go in the night, I just peed the bed. I didn’t intentionally decide to, I just kept ignoring the pains waking me in favour of sleep, and in the morning, I didn’t have to go anymore. In fact, I don’t think I used the outhouse once during the entire week I was there. And the lake was that much warmer for my efforts! But I don’t like swimming as much as I did as a kid, so you can see the importance of some lavatory niceties here.

Visible from our campsite through a short, winding trail, the soft gray of the six-panelled door welcomes the weary into 64-square-feet of soothing relief. To the left of the door, two large shelves act as kitchen cupboards in the summer and cradle our gear in the long, cold winters. In a pinch, the shelves can even double as a bunk-bed. The options are limitless! To the right, a stylish laminate countertop runs the length of the room for maximum space for all those necessary vanity items. A sink at one end has running lake water on tap (from a bucket) that drains into a self-contained unit below (another bucket). Above the sink, a mirror provides for some accuracy when self-administering medicated lotions to myriad bug bites. Beside the mirror, a window lets in sunshine filtered through the trees and fresh air from a cool breeze off the lake. Solar power collected during the day allows for lights and electricity at night (unless the battery’s in the tent attached to the DVD player as we struggle yet again to get through Dogville). Finally, deserving of center stage, the vented composting toilet silently waits for visitors with bated breath.

I really can’t say enough about this toilet. I wish I had one in my place in the city. For some reason, being out in the woods tells our bodies it’s time to clean house. We did our best to stink up the place, but it’s absolutely unstinkable! You could stick your face in the opening and eat a sandwich at the same time with no ill effects. When my guy empties a load at home, I leave the house. But here, I was brushing my teeth moments after he finished. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a miracle of technology. The toilet seat sits on an open drum. After use, we put in equal parts of a peat moss mixture to solid waste, crank the handle to turn the drum a few times, and Bob’s your uncle. After a month of use, the drum empties into a “finishing drawer” where the compost sits for another month before it can be tossed into the woods. When I know I’ll be going up, I make a more concerted effort to be vegetarian just to improve the quality of fertilizer I’m producing. Funny what can motivate me to actually abide by my principles.

Time in the woods this week really illuminated my waning environmentalism. There, I’m aware of every drop of water I use and every bit of garbage I produce. My next project there will be to make a compost box for food scraps. I hate filling bags with apple cores, corn husks, and cucumber peels. I didn’t think it was possible to compost in the woods because it would attract animals, but I’ve been assured to the contrary. It makes sense when I think of my sister’s farm. I use to have a tiny vegetable garden at home, but every year everything would get eaten down to the ground before I could harvest it. I couldn’t keep the animals out. But at my sister’s farm, she has a huge vegetable garden that goes untouched because the animals have tons of food elsewhere. That’s the theory I’m going on, anyway. At the very least, I’ve been reassured by several sources that it won’t attract bears unless I’m compost-challenged and cheese or eggs or, god forbid, meat makes its way into the mix.

Back in the city, my composter’s been out of service for the past year. I’m making that my next priority here too. Pre-children, I was down to one grocery bag of garbage each week. Now, even with cloth diapers, I’m up to a full-size garbage bag and then some. I feel horrible for slipping so much. Having kids to teach good behaviours to should, in theory, make me work harder at doing right by the world. Instead, it’s made me too tired to give a shit anymore. Even in my precious outhouse.


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*Apologies to all grammar types – I have no idea when to capitalize directions or when to capitalize in a parenthetical comment within a sentence (it just seems wrong to add a capital to a principle clause within a sentence – like the clause is getting too big for its britches or something), and I’m not about to learn now. Don’t even try.