Did I mention that in the past two years I have become quite the good stripper?  Of wood, that is.  My laptop and notebooks were traded in for a scraper and heat gun as we added exterior building maintenance to the weekend routine (back story: we sold our house a few years ago and have been renovating/remodeling the apartment and third floor of the doggy daycare).  Saturday and Sunday were spent dividing my time between an unusual mix of canine guests and stripping the back porch and door on the second floor.  As a city dweller, the upper back porch is my only outside space not accessible to my canine clients.  Right now the space is very small, not allowing for the humans and the family dogs to fit out there comfortably.  We also have no space for our grill, as my husband fears that I will burn the house down if we use it in such a confined space.  Extending the deck on to the remainder of the flat roof will give us plenty of room for people, pets, plants and patio furniture, thus creating a fine outdoor space to be enjoyed with family and friends.  My husband, and builder of this new sanctuary, is reluctant to take on such a large project, so for now we are painting and repairing, while I carefully drop comments here and there about how much fun we used to have entertaining outside at the old house and how nice it will be to sip gin and tonics outside after a long day at work.

I spent my break this afternoon going through the Keepers Reports for the Erie County Poorhouse so that I could summarize the living conditions throughout the institution's history (1829-1926) for our book chapter.  I am beginning to realize that an entire book could be written on the subject, although we are limited to a few paragraphs in a single chapter.  There is a tendency in both the scholarly literature and in the fictional literature to paint a bleak picture of life at the poorhouse (any poorhouse).  However, the issue of quality of life is considerably more complicated than one might think.  The driving forces in many almshouses were cost cutting and deterrence.  All able bodied inmates were expected to help in maintaining the facility to keep costs down.  Men did repairs and farm labor and women did domestic chores, tended the sick and cared for the children.Children were often separated from their parents in an effort to shield them from destructive habits like idleness, and drinking, which most certainly (so policy makers thought) lead to a life of dependency.  The possibility of being separated from one's children often made families think twice about seeking relief at the poorhouse.

The Erie County Poorhouse was not without its problems.  The institution experienced several fires over the years and dealt with issues of over crowding (particularly in the insane asylum), drainage and clean water availability.  However, for an individual or family whose only other choice was begging on the street, the almshouse was seldom a horrible place.  It was a working farm, so with the exception of drought years, fresh food was available.  It had an associated hospital that evolved over the years to meet the needs of its patients (a consumptive ward and maternity ward were added, and accommodations were made in later years to separate out those suffering from acute infections diseases).

So on the one hand, a pauper seeking institutional relief would have better access to food, medical care, and a relatively clean and safe place to live compared to life on the street.  On the other hand, families were often separated and children were bound out as cheap labor.  I am now wondering how I am supposed to objectively evaluate the quality of life at the Erie County Poorhouse one hundred and seventy years later, having never been without a roof over my head or a full plate at my table? Clearly this is going to be harder than I thought!