Just a portion of Karl Harrar's antique bottle collection.
When Karl Harrar left the message on my voicemail that he wanted to stop by my house to probe my privy, I was understandably wary. He was a recent acquaintance, and a well-bred girl doesn't just consent to that sort of thing without a little more information.
Thankfully, it turns out that Karl is an amateur urban archaeologist, and part of a small but passionate group of "privy diggers" who plumb the depths of turn-of-the-century outhouses looking for historical treasures. Really, it's not at all gross, even though the perverse fourteen-year-old boy deep inside me was kind of hoping it would be. In fact, he may have recruited another participant in this highly addictive pastime that's a combination of "C.S.I."-style detective work, ditch-digging and treasure hunting.
After the Civil War and before the proliferation of indoor plumbing, the privy (the preferred nomenclature among diggers) did double duty as a general garbage disposal for most households. Kitchen scraps, ashes, pottery and miscellaneous smallish junk all got pitched down the hole. It's antique bottles, however, that most diggers prize, largely just for the cool factor of these quirky artifacts that once contained ominous-sounding, pre-FDA concoctions like "Dr. J. Hostetter's Stomach Bitters" or "Simmons" Liver Regulator. (Judging from the number of antique bottles found for gin, whisky and other members of the hooch family, turn-of the century folks were probably in dire need of some liver regulation.)
Crafted before the mass-automation of bottle making, the bottles are full of asymmetry and imperfections, adding to their old-fashioned charm. They are also surprisingly durable, often surviving in tact under four feet of dirt and other refuse. Their value is mainly aesthetic and historical, but the rare bottle can fetch thousands of dollars in the collectors' market.
