When was the last time you thanked God for your toilet?

I admit, this isn’t something I make a regular practice of. But of all of the advancements of modern man, the two that are the top of my list are indoor plumbing and electricity, in that order.

I just returned from a two-day trip with my mom so she could get her weekly high vitamin C treatment in Edmonton. (The treatments are helping her body deal with the cancer she’s fighting.)

On this particular trip, we were also hauling a rather unfortunate-looking Jeep down to my cousin Colby, who’d purchased it from someone near where Mom and I live and who happens to be pretty talented at turning unfortunate-looking trucks and jeeps into lean, mean, off- and on-roading vehicles. I haven’t seen Colby much in the last, oh, two decades, and I’d never met his wife, Emma. So after the delivery was made, Mom and I were grateful to have a visit and get to know the two of them better.

And that’s when Emma told us about the year her and Colby lived off the grid.

She’s writing a memoir of the experience (which I very much look forward to reading someday), but it was clear from the few stories she told that dealing with outhouses and chamber pots in Ontario winters is going to play a major role in the narrative.

A very funny one.

It reminded me of the stories my dad would tell of using the outhouse in the winter for his family of eleven. So I asked Mom (from a family of seven) about whether or not she’d had an outhouse growing up.

Yes. Yes, she did.

Apparently, to prevent the whole “having to go outside” thing, though, they also had a pseudo-toilet in the house, which was essentially a holy chair (see what I did there?) over a metal bucket. One of her older brothers was responsible for emptying the bucket before it got too full—and sometimes he’d leave it a little too long. This usually resulted in a mess on the stairs or some such.

I don’t think you need that much imagination to feel a little dry heaving coming on.

I’ve used outhouses, obviously. They’re the most practical form of pit stop in national parks and permanent camps, and the bright blue (or pink, or whatever colour) plastic port-o-potties are a vital part of every temporary public event like fairs and concerts. I’ve even used Indian toilets, which is essentially an outhouse you squat over instead of sitting on.

But you use those in warm weather. Yes, they stink. Yes, I’ve tested my lung capacity holding my breath just so I can relieve my bladder. But I’ve never had to bare my behind in the middle of the night at -40 just so I don’t have an accident.

I’ve even used less advanced restroom facilities than an outhouse—namely, going au naturel. Sometimes, you gotta. But that’s definitely not my first choice. An outhouse is still preferable to mooning oncoming traffic next to a road, or heading into the trees while camping in the wilderness (or your own yard, say, if you’re setting up a homestead from scratch *cough*) and using a leaf to clean yourself up with. I’ve hauled my own toilet paper in and out of places.

But, if your outhouse is down a steep hill in a part of the world where “winter” means layer upon layer of ice, and you have to clip on ice picks to your boots just to go pee? And then, on the way down to the outhouse at 1 a.m., you slip and end up sliding all the way down the hill on your elbows, and no one but you knows that if you don’t get up, you’re going to die from hypothermia if your bladder doesn’t explode first?

Well, thank God for my toilet.

Of course, this may be a specifically female concern. For a funny take on the travails of finding an appropriate place to pee for women, check out the Where to Pee sketch from Christian & Nat.

(In case you’re interested, Emma makes beautiful crystal jewellery that she sells on Etsy. Check out Earth & Elm Jewellery on Instagram.)

Do you have any weird things you’re grateful for? Or funny outhouse stories to share? Leave them in the comments. I’m always up for a good laugh.

Happy Friday!