Outhouses and Churches

While we were growing up, we lived the life of nomads, traveling every weekend and each vacation. At first we were Bedouins, all of us living in a tent at Tionesta Lake every Spring, Summer, and Fall. Then, after Grandpa bought the property for a cabin at Skinny Timber, we travelled there, even in the Winters. We did not wander off the path, just repeated the same trip over and over. It was a long trip when we lived in Cleveland, but when we moved to Fredonia, PA, it made for a way station for Grandma Kay and Grandpa Joe to take a small break on the journey.

Gramma Kay and our "Circus Tent" on the Dam.  Chippy Chihuahua in the corner.

It was a great adventure for a city kid. It was still a great adventure once we became country kids. Every weekend, we lived a frontier life, gathering wood so that we could cook over a campfire. We went for daily hikes in a place where wild animals outnumbered people. We used 4 wheel drive vehicles like our Scout before anyone else had even heard of them, and we traveled by boat and motorcycle, as well. There was hunting and fishing for food, and gathering of wild berries.

Charlotte and Scotty Joe on the Red Scout tailgate at Skinny Timber.
A little work has been done on the driveway since then.

Every basic need becomes more complicated when you remove the trappings of civilization. At the lake, we had a private little grove of bushes where our camp toilet was kept. It was an open seat on folding legs with a very heavy duty bag underneath it. It could be treacherous to sit on it if the ground was wet after the rain- you definitely did not want to fall over if two of the legs started to sink into the ground. Digging a hole to bury the blivet bags was an unpleasant part of the chores. Until writing this and looking up the term “blivet” for proper spelling, I did not know it was a WW2 term describing “ten pounds of manure in a five pound bag.”  It must have been a term introduced by Uncle Bud, our family war hero. The sound of the word itself was always very funny, but now it's hilarious. I remember Dad or Grandpa saying, “Everyone out of the way! Blivet! Blivet coming through!” The more “modern convenience” of having an outhouse came when Grandpa bought the property.

The infamous toilet and blivet bag.  Sniffy Beagle on guard- or perhaps passed out?

If anyone has been to St. Anthony's Catholic Church in Tionesta, you have been the beneficiary of our outhouse. Quite a statement, but I have the story to back it up. First of all, there was no church when we first started camping in Tionesta. Father John Kuzilla held Mass for residents and campers in the Fire Station. What little boy wouldn't like going to church where you could sit on the bumper of a fire truck?

 

 

Father John Kuzilla was Grandma and Grandpa's favorite priest. He had a modern outlook that they liked- they were used to the pompous and stodgy priests in Cleveland. Grandma would sing modern songs like "Shout from the Highest Mountain" even after church. Fr. John was a humble priest who was so accessible. He sometimes came back to camp with us and took off his collar to have a beer with the fellows. We were not overly religious, but he made it worth the trouble- since it was not an easy task to go to church while camping.

We had to get ready at camp with no running water, with the women doing hair and getting dressed up a bit, then the hike down the trail to the Lake to get in the boat. It would take several trips ferrying everyone from our campsite to the docks at the Dam. Ron was not supposed to drive too fast, which would mess up everyone's hair. Then the hike up the cliff to the cars. A short trip into town to hear an inspiring but short sermon. Then reverse the procedure to get back to camp. After Mass, Father Kuzilla would have to be transported by boat to and from our campsite.

Unlike modern ones at parks and events, using an old-fashioned outhouse was never an enjoyable experience. There was the smell of course, and the flies, and even the occasional surprise of a wild animal. When we first got the property, there was no electricity, so this meant flashlights or the lantern. Everyone learned to do their “business” during daylight hours.

The Outhouse at Skinny Timber  (more inspirational than it seems.)

 

Dad is quite a creative builder, so we had a long spring on the door which creaked as it opened and caused it to slam shut with a bang, but reduced opossums and raccoons visiting. We had a regular toilet seat bolted over the hole, which still had to be lifted each time to check for spiders and other bugs. There was a regular toilet paper dispenser bolted to the wall- no Sears catalogs- we weren't that rustic! There were triangular panels of screen below the sloped roof to help with ventilation while keeping the wasps out, but the most innovative feature was the skylight. Dad figured it was scary enough to have to visit this little hut in the woods, so why make it dark and dismal? He used a piece of heavy-duty colored plastic with textured circles molded into it for the roof.

So Father Kuzilla continued to visit the Preisels after Mass at the new property. He even had to use the “facilities” upon occasion. He told us that one time he was greatly amused that while he was sitting there in this most human and un-glorious position, a beam of dappled sunlight came streaming down from above, causing him to look up at the outhouse roof shining like stained glass. He said that God's blessing could come at any time, not just when we felt prepared, and that it was an amusing reminder that God loves us, even at our worst moments.

 

St. Anthony's in Tionesta, PA

For years, Father Kuzilla struggled to prove that there was a need for a church in Tionesta, which didn't have enough Catholic residents, but had a huge influx of campers in the Summer months. Donations kept pouring in and eventually he got approval to use the building fund to construct a church. He was so excited to give us the tour and to show us that he had asked the designers to put a skylight over the altar, remembering his day in our outhouse, and joking that he was hoping to have those rays of sunlight inspire him during a slightly better activity. Until he was transferred to Clarion, we enjoyed our private “privy” joke with him weekly as he looked up during Sunday Mass.