The Illusion of Boundaries

May 9th, 2012

Oysterville Fence by Peggy Blekov

     Among its many distinctions, Oysterville is known for its picket fences.  We have lots of them.  Some are painted; some are not.  Some are tall; some are short.  Some are pointy; some are squared-off.  Within a few years of their installation, most sport tufts of lichen.  And, periodically, some fall down.
     To me, and probably to most people, our fences delineate property boundaries but, when push comes to shove, that is often not the case.  Every time someone has their property surveyed, we find that everything is just a little “off.”  Fence lines that we’ve known and loved for a lifetime are six feet this way or two feet that way from the actual boundary.  How can that be?
     I admit that that I don’t really understand the intricacies of surveying,   One definition I read says, “starting from a position with known location and elevation, the distance and angles to the unknown point are measured.”  I think it must be “known location and elevation” that are the sticking points.  If whoever did the initial surveys here in Oysterville was off a little, we’ve apparently been off ever since.
     Isaac A. Clark, co-founder of Oysterville in 1854, did the initial platting of the town.  I’m not clear whether that means he also did the surveying.  If so, we know where to squarely place the blame.  And, as far as I understand, the boundary errors don’t just occur in Oysterville.  The entire north end of the peninsula is affected.  Maybe the entire peninsula.  There is lots of job security here for present-day surveyors.
     The maddening part, at least to me, is there seems no clear solution without starting all over.  Now that we have satellites and GPS devices and other space-age equipment, perhaps we could get it right.  But then, how many fences and maybe even buildings, would need to be taken down or moved or deeded to a neighbor?  I say, let’s just stick to the fences where they are.  It seems easier all the way around (so to speak.)

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Posted in Community Spirit, Oysterville National Historic District | 2 Comments »

Super Hype

May 8th, 2012

For some reason this blog entry written on May 6 went into another zone and never got published.  So, pretend that the date says May 6 which was the day after the Super Moon.  Then it will make sense.  Maybe.

     The moonrise over the bay last night was lovely, as it always is.  It was a full moon and perhaps a tad larger than usual, but certainly not huge like some of our “harvest moons” are.  The perigee or super moon as the scientists call it was way overrated, at least from our viewpoint here in Oysterville.
     I guess all the hype served its purpose, though.  Like millions of other people (at least if you believe this morning’s news), we interrupted what we were doing to go outside and have a look.  I’d like to say that we would have done that anyway but, truth to tell, we don’t always remember when it’s a full moon night.
     My cousin Ruth and her friend Cindy were here from Mercer Island and we were eating dinner as the sun set, so we took a quick break and trotted to the east side of the house.  Clouds covered the Willapa hills and the horizon so we went back to the sunset (and dinner) side of things.
     A few minutes later we tried again and were rewarded by the top edge of the moon just beginning to peek over that line of clouds.  For a few moments, until it was fully emerged, it gave a rosy glow to the perimeter of the cloud bank and then it was up, up and away.  Clear skies and a full moon with its light softly reflected in the bay!  Well worth letting our ice-cream melt a bit.
     Had I not known that this was a “super moon,” I might have been more impressed but, as it was, I was a tad disappointed.  Presumably, the phenomenon occurs only once a year when the moon is closest to earth in its orbital path and is most noticeable when that proximity happens during the full moon phase.  The moon under those conditions is supposed to appear 14% bigger and 30% brighter than other full moons.
     Optimum time for viewing said the scientists was at “11:34 ET” (eastern standard time?) which is just about when we were waiting for the super moon to clear the cloud bank.  So, I think what we saw was pretty much what all the hype was about.  As noted in the fine print, when something is 221,802 miles away, its hard to tell.
     Even in this morning’s news, I thought the media was making a lot out of very little.  One woman was quoted as saying, “The super moon is a natural phenomenon, and that is what is so awesome about it.”   Deep, very deep…  Super deep, I guess.

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Posted in Springtime in Oysterville | 3 Comments »

on the disappearance of Oysterville…

May 8th, 2012

     We finally put out our hummingbird feeder on Saturday.  Not that we have seen any hummingbirds here in Oysterville yet this season.  But our friends Les and Kaye in Seaview say that they have so many vying for a chance at their feeder, they are going through a quart of sugar-water a day.  Kathleen and Frank who live just two miles south of us say that the feisty little birds are putting on quite a show at their feeders, too.
     But not here in Oysterville.  It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if Oysterville is beginning to disappear Brigadoon-like into the mists of Shoalwater Bay.  Perhaps the hummingbirds are the first to notice – or not notice, as the case may be.  Sort of like the canaries in the coal mine only backwards.
     Certainly, our population is disappearing.  Within the last year, four houses have sold or have sales-pending.in our little National Historic District.  The ultimate result will be the loss of two part-time and five full-time residents and the gain of one almost full-time resident (three weeks out of four here) and five part-time residents.  We are excited for all the people involved.  The changes are milestones they have looked forward to.  Plus, we are always pleased to welcome new neighbors, no matter how frequently we see them.
     I suppose we are – and probably have been for some time – a really-truly ghost town.  About what constitutes a ghost town, Wikipedia says:
     A ghost town is an abandoned village, town or city.  A town often becomes a ghost town because the economic activity that supported it has failed, or due to natural or human-caused disasters such as floods, government actions, uncontrolled lawlessness, war, or nuclear disasters. The term is sometimes used to refer to cities, towns, and neighborhoods which are still populated, but significantly less so than in years past.
     We definitely qualify on the last point – significantly less population.  A hundred years ago there were more than 160 Oysterville residents;  now only a fourth that.   And, the jury’s out (so to speak) on whether or not the economic activity that supported us has failed due to “government actions.”  The County is still messing with Oysterville Sea Farms and the U.S. Congress seems to be giving our Post Office only a year’s reprieve.  Besides, the majority of the population are retired, so the economic picture is totally skewed.  Oysterville hasn’t been a blue collar, working class town for more than half a century.
     We haven’t even seen the deer people in town lately.  Of course, I must admit that we discourage their coming into our yard.  But, without deer and hummingbirds and people, I feel like we are, indeed evaporating.  Thank goodness for the swallows!  They are everywhere — even in Oysterville.

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Posted in Country Living, Oysterville National Historic District | 2 Comments »

A Voice from the Past

May 7th, 2012

 

Oysterville Boys’ Club c. 1947

     Just after World War Two, back in 1946, Floyd Day and his sister Dorothy moved to Oysterville.  Their dad was working for Les Goulter.  I remember their names and I’ve seen their pictures in the old Oysterville School photographs.  But until last week, that was all I knew.
     Then, out of the blue, we had an inquiry on the Oysterville Restoration Foundation website.  Floyd Day wanted to know if we had a museum here in town.  He had found some photographs in his mother’s album and wanted to send them to us.  I e-mailed him; he e-mailed back.   And Saturday morning… a phone call and a voice from the past!
     We visited for a long time, sharing our memories and trying (in vain, it turned out) to remember one another.  I doubt if our paths crossed much back then.  For starters, I was a ‘summer kid’ which limited our chances of shared memories.  For another, he lived near the Carl Andrews Garage for awhile and, later, out on Stackpole Road – both places out of my ‘neighborhood.’  Mostly, he was three years younger and a boy, at that!  But he had some great memories – things I’ve never even heard of.
     “Do you remember when the elephant washed up on the beach?” he asked.
     “An elephant!?” I said.  “Are you sure it wasn’t a whale?”
     “No, it was an elephant.  We have a picture of it somewhere.  I’ve been looking for that other album but so far it hasn’t turned up.  If I find it, I’ll send it.”
     Another thing he remembered was when a fresh load of sand was dumped in the schoolyard and the first kid to dig around in it found a ruby.  “A real ruby!” he said, the wonder of it still echoing in his voice.  “The teacher took it and said she’d find the owner…”
     The Day family moved away in 1947 or 1948 and Floyd said he’s not been back since.  He’s thinking of making a trip here this summer and he promised to be in touch if he does.  In the meantime,          he asked if I would mind if he sent the pictures to me.  “If you know those folks at the museum in Ilwaco, you could give them the photos for me. If you wouldn’t mind.”
     I don’t mind at all!  In fact, I’m thrilled to have the opportunity.  I do hope he finds the elephant picture.  That, I’d really like to see!

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When a neighbor is in denial…

May 5th, 2012

       At the ‘Read to Me’ evening Thursday, my selection was an old (1942) article of Willard Espy’s about “The Aunt House.”  That’s what he called the Heckes Inn just up the road from us because it was run by “four inseparable and unresting sisters – Aunt Ev, Aunt Anne, Aunt Nanny and Aunt Rye.”   There were many ‘newcomers’ in the group who really weren’t sure which house I was talking about.
     “Some people call it the Bottle House,” I said.
     “You mean that one with the roof that’s falling in?”
     I cannot tell you how that stung.  Even though it’s true, it felt like someone saying something mean about an old friend.  As a matter of fact, I’ve known that house for almost all of my 76 years.  I remember the Aunts; I know the ‘kids’ who grew up there; I know their cousins.  I consider the house a family friend.
     And now it’s falling to pieces.  I’m not blind to its condition, yet people tell me about it all the time as if I hadn’t noticed – as if there is something I can do about it.  Two years ago, ‘The Annex’ had to be taken down.  It was the companion building to the Heckes Inn, built in the 1920s to house the overflow summer boarders.  It had been let go, like the house, and finally was such a hazard that it had to be dismantled.
     About that time, someone contacted me and said he’d be interested in buying the place and did the owner want to sell.  (Like, why would I know??? )  I did write the owner, Mike Gray, and asked.  I knew he had been very ill and I thought maybe, just maybe, a buyer for the house would be a welcome thought.
     “Absolutely not!” was his response.  End of discussion.
     Last spring I saw Mike again.  He doesn’t come to town very often and when he does, he keeps a low profile, but this time he came visiting.  I like Mike.  We’ve always had an easy relationship and I knew I was pushing when I asked about his roof.
     “The roof?” he responded.  “There’s nothing wrong with our roof.  It’s just fine.”
     I guess it’s a form of denial.  If Mike was a care-giver for a family member, I think I’d report him.  But, who do you report a falling-down house to?  Never mind that it’s on the historic register and is the second oldest house in Oysterville.  Never mind that everyone is concerned.  It’s not our property; not our business.
     When you live in a small community, it’s sometimes hard to know when to speak out and when to keep your own counsel.  I’ve been quiet for a long time.  We all have.  But now might be the time for an intervention…

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Posted in Friendship, From the Past, Oysterville National Historic District | 3 Comments »

“Read to Me”

May 4th, 2012

     We hadn’t been to one of Diane and Hal’s “Read to Me” evenings for a long time but last night our stars were aligned and we were able to attend.  It apparently was a good night for lots of folks, for there were nineteen of us gathered in a spilling-over circle in their cozy living room.   There may have been almost as many people who couldn’t make it.  I know that from those who didn’t answer the call.  The format of the evenings works like this:
     1.       People gather at 6:30, reading material in hand.
     2.      On the coffee table is a bowl containing little pieces of paper, each with a name on it.
     3.      Diane pulls out the first name and that person reads.
     4.      The reader then pulls out the next name and that person reads.
     5.      If no one answers to their name, the paper is set aside.
     By the end of the evening, there were a number of ‘extra’ names on the table.  I was amazed at how many.  And, I must confess to feeling a tad bit relieved that not everyone had come…  It was a long evening.
     As has always been true when we’ve been in attendance, we knew or at least had met everyone there.  We were an eclectic group and, predictably the reading selections we shared were disparate – from the story of Cinderella in “Politically Correct Bedtime Stories” to excerpts of translations of Pushkin’s poetry.  There was even an original essay by one of the guests and a sort of book report about guardian angels by another guest who had come away from home without his book.
     I wished, as I always do, that there was time to ponder and discuss each selection but that, of course, would have taken us well into the wee hours. So, we toddled home and off to bed and put our thoughts on hold for awhile.  I wished, too, that I’d written down a few of the titles but, as usual, I thought of that too late.

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Posted in Books and Reading, Community Spirit | Be the First to Comment »

Worth Every Penny!

May 3rd, 2012

Northern Oyster Company, 1940s

     Wednesday is Paper Day in our house.  It’s the day the Chinook Observer is waiting for us in our Oysterville postbox.  It’s the only newspaper we subscribe to.  We read it from front to back and, finally, recycle it in all the ways that only discarded newspapers are best for.  Some weeks, its pages contain just the ho-hum.  But sometimes an issue is packed with so much information and thoughtful commentary that it is worth the price of the entire year’s subscription.  This was one of those weeks
     For starters, there were names of people we know on almost every page…  Right on the front page was the tantalizing headline, “O’ville Farms reopens to more strife” – a story about our neighbor Dan Driscoll’s ongoing problems with the Department of Community Development, the County Commissioners, the Army Corps, his relatives and everyone, it seems, except god.  Cate Gable (also a friend) did a masterful job of presenting the non-understandable in an understandable way.
     On the other hand, I didn’t really get the point of the two photographs that accompanied Cate’s article.  Taken by Oysterville resident Michael Parker, they showed the old cannery building in different years and taken from different angles.  It seemed to me like comparing oysters to clams.  I wish they had used the old 1940s postcard picture of the Northern Oyster Company in comparison to Oysterville Sea Farms of today.  It would have made more sense.
     Then, in Letters to the Editor, was the delightful reaction to the proposal for Tsunami berms, written by my friend-since-childhood, Anne Cannon Nixon.  “…I’ve watched normal ocean waves flatten my sand castles for over 70 years,” she wrote.  Right on, Anne!  We made a lot of those sand castles together and I couldn’t agree more.  Besides, if Long Beach does build that berm east of Long Beach School and the worst happens… Is there a risk that the children will be saved and the adults of Long Beach won’t?   What will happen to all those orphans?
     And there was Cate’s “Coast Chronicles” column about her reunion with her Camp Fire group who were together from second grade through high school.  My kind of story!  I loved it!  I, too, was a Camp Fire Girl back in the fifties and sang the Wo-He-Lo song around the campfire.  And I, too, have kept in touch with a group of friends from those years.  Cate’s comment, “We fell in together as if absolutely no time had elapsed,” spoke not only to me, but for me.
     Wayne Downing’s column “An Old Dog’s Tale” also was about a subject close to my heart – the remnants and ruins left from the past.  Wayne and I met as cast members last fall in PAPA’s production of “Shoalwater Shenanigans.”  We talked about old places we loved, the Oysterville Cemetery for one.  I am crazy about his column.  Invariably, I wish I had written it, myself!
             There were more names of friends and acquaintances and of places and events that were not only familiar, but part of our everyday lives.  Every page mentioned something that had meaning for us.  That’s the beauty of a local paper in combination with a small community.  In our lives, it makes Wednesdays special.

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Posted in Community Spirit, Springtime in Oysterville | 2 Comments »

Shameless Self-Promotion!

May 2nd, 2012
Medora and Me

     Back in February, I posed the idea of doing a book talk modeled on our House Concerts.  The proposal came from my knee-jerk reaction to receiving the news that my Dear Medora book had earned less than $10.00 in royalties for the year.  Obviously, I need to generate some interest and get a resurgence of sales out there in the world.  It’s not something that small publishing houses do these days — WSU Press isn’t coming to come to the rescue!
     So, in the spirit of “raise the flag and see who salutes,” I blogged about the possibility of doing a Mother’s Day “event” here.  After all, Medora grew up in this house and the book is based upon letters between her and her mother (my grandmother).  Here, surrounded by the things she grew up with, I could read from the book and tell some of the ‘back stories.’  What better way to honor mothers?  And maybe regenerate interest.
     And, thought I, while I’m at it I could talk about the book I’m currently working on.  It’s about Medora’s younger brother, Willard Espy.  He, too, grew up in this house.  Plus, he spent a great deal of time in Oysterville over his 89-year-lifetime.  There are undoubtedly folks who still remember him and would enjoy hearing me read excerpts from this fledging book about him.
      Much to my gratification, I received quite a bit of encouragement for the idea.  People wrote and said, “Do it!  I’ll be there!”  Plans were laid.  And when I still hesitated, a very successful author friend said, “Don’t give it a second thought, Sydney.  This is what authors have to do these days.  The publishing/book marketing world is now in a totally new dimension.”
     So, shameless self-promotion began.  But, it may well turn out to be one of those “best laid plans” kinds of things.  Invitations have gone out and RSVPs are coming in – mostly negative. When push comes to shove, many of the very people who were so encouraging now have other obligations…
     Another author friend (who can’t come) loved the idea and asked to be considered as one of the presenters at this “new series.”  Wow!  A series!  Now that’s a thought that hadn’t occurred to me.  I’m still stuck on getting enough bodies gathered for this Mother’s Day presentation…  Wooing people into this new book-selling dimension is more difficult than it appears.   

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Posted in "Dear Medora", The Writing Process, Willard R. Espy | 3 Comments »

Mrs. G. W. Leak

May 1st, 2012

     She’s pink and showy and feminine, but she is dark at the core.  When she’s in our house, be it in the library or the dining room, she tends to dominate the conversation.  And, she has great staying power – fresh and perky for days at a time.  She is Mrs. G. W. Leak, one of my favorite rhododendron friends.
     I’m ashamed to say that, though she has been visiting us each spring for twenty or thirty years, I just learned her name day before yesterday.  Suzanne Knutzen was here for our House Concert on Sunday and she turned to me during a period of prolonged applause and said, “Mrs. G. W. Leak.”  I had no idea what she was talking about, but at the intermission she explained.
     “Those rhodies with the dark centers on your mantle are Mrs. G. W. Leaks.”  Suzanne worked at Clarke’s Nursery for several years (before she started teaching?) and she knew Mrs. Leak very well, indeed.  I was happy for the introduction.
     We have several big – make that really big –  Mrs. G. W. Leak rhododendron bushes.  Even though their blossoms come on shortly before the Jean Maries, I have to admit that I pay a lot more attention to the latter variety. When it comes to cut flowers, though, there is no comparison.
     The bright red Jean Maries go limp within a day or two.  I’ve never found a way to keep them from withering almost before they are in the vase. The Mrs. G. W. Leaks, on the other hand, stay plump and lush looking for up to a week.  They are lovely, long-lasting, and a bit taken for-granted in this household, I’m afraid.
     But, you know how it is.  The lady in red gets all the attention, whether or not she has much staying power.  Or at least that’s the way it is among our rhododendrons here in Oysterville.   And why is that that Mrs. Leak is known only by her husband’s name, anyway?

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Posted in Garden Notes, Springtime in Oysterville | 1 Comment »

James and the Giant Bull

April 30th, 2012

James Hurley in Oysterville

     Singer/songwriter James Hurley spent the night here after his House Concert yesterday.  We hadn’t met James before but he came highly recommended by other musician friends like Larry Murante and Jill Trenholm and Carolyn Cruso, so we already thought of him as someone we knew.  And as we often do for musicians who are on the road, we offered him a room for the night.
     The concert was fabulous but I have to say that my favorite part of yesterday was sitting around talking to James afterwards.  We lit the fire – not that it was chilly (though it was) but more for the ambience of the snap and crackle – and we sat and visited for a few hours.  As I often tell people who are interested in hosting House Concerts, it’s the getting-to-know-the-musicians that’s the best part.  And getting to know James was no exception.
     As part of his patter during the concert, James mentioned that he’d dropped out of school ‘back in the day’ to ride the rodeo circuit.  It was an argument with a bull that put him out of commission for a couple of years and led him to follow a totally different path – music!  So, during the course of our fireside chit-chat, I asked him about that.
     He described how he got into bull riding in the first place.  He was sixteen and, basically, he did it for the money.  He was living in Salinas, California, home of one of the biggest, most prestigious rodeos in the circuit.  From his first “very short” ride on a bull, James found he loved it. With the proverbial “get back on the horse” attitude, he got back on bull after bull until he began to get it right.  Until he and the bull became dance partners.      “It’s only an eight-second ride,” he chuckled, “but that eight seconds lasts an hour.”
     He compared it to an automobile accident and, having been in a couple of bad ones, myself, I knew exactly what he meant.  Time slows down and every nano-second becomes etched in your mind.  But, as he talked, his eyes glowed, his hands and arms described the scene, his body leaned and twisted.  He used words in ways I’d never heard, yet his descriptions were so clear I was practically on that bull with him.  I was reminded of Geno Leach, our local Fisher Poet, when he’s in performance.
     James, or “Jimmy Hurley” as he was called then, found he was good at bull riding.  In fact, very good.  In fact, he was a first-place winner in ride-after-eight-second-ride.  Until that one time that the bull ended up on top and Jimmy was put out of commission for three years.  He was nineteen years old.
     “I’d always fooled around with my dad’s guitar,” he said, “but when it wasn’t until I was flat on back with nothing much else to do that I got serious about it.”  He loved it and made the decision to give up the rodeo and follow a different dream.  But when he finally healed, he went back to the rodeo arena for awhile – just to make sure that he was basing his decision on the right reasons.
     Well, I never saw him ride, but after hearing his music, I’d say he made the right decision.  I didn’t think to ask him, though, if he’s put any of his rodeo experiences into his compositions.  I hope so.  If he has, I’m going to request those as a theme in his next House Concert here.  Rodeo poetry set to music would be a first in Oysterville, and with James Hurley in the saddle, it would be another winner! 

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