Red Cottage 1973
During the Christmas holidays of 1956, my son Charlie, his father and I stayed in the Red Cottage. At that time, it was owned by my grandfather who, at age 80 was “in his dotage” as the family said, and was being cared for by my aunt Mona in the white house across from the church where he had lived since 1902. Charlie was seven months old and had come to Oysterville to pay his respects to his great-grandfather. I have a picture him being tenderly held in Papa’s arms.
I think it was felt that it would be less confusing for Papa if we stayed in the cottage across the way. It was not yet red and, as I remember, we just called it “the old courthouse” for it had served that purpose back in the 1860s before the two-story courthouse was built in 1875. I do have a photo of the cottage as it looked when we stayed there – the outside, of course. We didn’t often think to take pictures of interiors in those days.
What I do remember of the inside is that it had a chemical toilet in the hallway outside the bedroom and a pitcher pump affixed to the kitchen sink. The house was not plumbed. I don’t remember if it had electricity, but I doubt it. I imagine we more-or-less camped there and spent most of the daytime hours visiting neighbors and showing off our new baby. I do remember that we ate at Papa’s every night – lots of pot roast. Mona was big on pot roast.
Red Cottage 2006
Twenty years later, Willard and Louise Espy bought the cottage and painted it red. They spent some weeks during the summer of 1976 ‘making improvements.’ Here is what he wrote to his friend Dr. Dorothy Page:
22 July, 1976
Dear Doctor Dorothy,
…We had a marvelous time at Oysterville. The family owns a tiny cottage, built in 1860 – the oldest house in Oysterville, and certainly one of the oldest in that part of the state; it served for a time as county courthouse – and we are remodeling it – though that is perhaps too big-sounding a word – to make an occasional retreat. It had a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and two tiny bedrooms. A year ago we knocked out the partition between the living room and one of the bedrooms, creating an L-shaped study-living room. We installed a sizable fireplace in the south wall, and put up bookshelves – too many, I’m afraid; there is space for more than 1,000 books, and so far we have found only about 100 that we felt like sparing from the New York apartment. We also exchanged the single window before my desk for a double one, tempting me irresistibly to look out across the fields and bay when I should be writing.
This year we spent virtually our whole stay at Oysterville painting spackling, puttying, laying carpets, and the like. All that remains to be done in terms of basic changes is to double another window (over the eating area), knock a French door into the west wall of the living room, and add a deck out back so that we can enjoy the afternoon sun in privacy. The furniture is only left-overs now, but we’ll change that gradually, as we can afford to. We’ve already picked up a rather nice sideboard, 1890 Vintage, in Seattle…
I haven’t been inside the Red Cottage for many years and I imagine it is quite different now. As they say, “Change happens…”
My Uncle Willard Espy, son of Harry and grandson of Robert Hamilton was the genealogist of our branch of the family. He spent more than sixty-five of his eighty-nine years tracing lineages and writing up his ‘discoveries’ for the edification of Espy family members, their spouses, and progeny. It was his fondest wish that the Espy name be perpetuated through the R.H. line and he was hopeful for many years that he would be instrumental in that endeavor.
Yesterday’s mail brought the unwelcome news that my book about Willard Espy “in its current form is not one that fits the current WSU Press publishing goals.” The letter, while disappointing in the extreme, contained good news as well as bad. Or at least it seemed so to me.
My intent (and the main reason for submitting the book to this particular publisher) was to write Willard’s biography in such a way that it would become a companion piece to Dear Medora: Child of Oysterville’s Forgotten Years. That book was published by WSU Press in 2007. Unfortunately, it has sold sparingly; it hasn’t flown off the shelves. It is definitely a “niche book” and, no doubt, was an unusual choice for an academic press. Perhaps the fact that they had a different editor then had bearing on that decision.
I grew up thinking of January as a long, dark penance between Christmas and my birthday at the end of February. These days it seems even darker and, actually, it is, given the contrast in day length between the Bay Area of California and Oysterville. But now I can substitute “dreary” for “long.” As I age, the days pass more quickly but they are definitely colder, rainier and grayer here on the northwest coast.
Yesterday on NPR’s “Weekend Edition Sunday” host Rachel Martin talked with book critic Ron Charles of The Washington Post about the literary and linguistic phenomena which have sprung from the ‘romantic’ (some say “soft porn”) novel, Fifty Shades of Grey. They talked about all the spin-offs – the articles, commentaries, and books that are Fifty Shades of Nearly Everything – of Tax Reform, of Grey Matter, of Santa, of Crazy.
I could start things off with this excerpt from my Uncle Willard Espy’s 1977 book, Oysterville, Roads to Grandpa’s Village:
Until his death in 1999, my uncle Willard Espy was the go-to person in our family with regard to Espy and Richardson history. Willard had spent three-quarters of his life chasing our forebears back through time – in some cases back to the sixteenth century.
In the years since that time, Ralph has often referred (with absolute clarity of memory) to what he saw and read during his short access to the files. I, on the other hand, am consistently fuzzy with regard to names, dates, and relationships, though I have spent years working with the same information. So, a month or so ago, when I became satisfied that my memoir/biography of Willard was nearing first-draft stage, I asked Ralph if he would be willing to read it, particularly with regard to accuracy of family information.
I can hear my mother’s admonishing voice saying, “When you speak, speak the truth but don’t always speak.” I’m quite sure that she would consider any thoughts following the words “I told you so” right up there with what should remain unsaid. But… I always was a ‘handful’ when it came to following good advice. And, having long since passed the three-quarters of a century mark, I’m tired of ‘sucking it up’ and ‘moving on’ and all those other well-meaning but totally inane bits of advice.
Sunday’s performance at the 75-seat Fort Columbia had 35 audience members by one count, 25 by another. Of those I knew in the audience, at least four had come from the north end of the peninsula because they’d been otherwise occupied on Saturday and couldn’t attend in Oysterville. Another five or six were ‘worker bees’ who were at both shows, anyway. Several were relatives of the cast members and had also been at both performances. One woman was a friend of mine from Astoria. That didn’t leave a very big “hoard” from the south end of the peninsula.
For one of my bits – the one where the Reverend and Mrs. Crouch approach center stage together in the second act – I was to ‘find’ the blue light. A piece of masking tape was placed on the floor to assist me. Okay. However, when the time came – after intermission and a set change—a table covered my tape and, in order to “find” my light, I would have had to stand on the table.
This is one of those days I wish I could clone myself. No matter how hard I try, I cannot quite visualize what the audience is seeing when I am on stage and it’s me they’re looking at. Of course, in the case of this weekend and our two performances of “Shoalwater Shenanigans,” my fondest desire is that they don’t see me at all.
Once again, “Shoalwater Shenanigans” is all costumed and rehearsed and ready for presentation. It’s a new production of last year’s very well-received show about long dead people of the peninsula. I say “new,” not only because with live theater every show is new, but also because this year’s “Shenanigans” features some interesting cast changes plus one additional venue.
I think that I am one of the few people who really 
On Saturday the cast of “Shoalwater Shenanigans” gathered over at the church to begin rehearsing for our November performances. It was our first get-together and run-through of the show in almost a year. Some of us were letter-perfect in our lines; some of us not so much! I was somewhere in between. On a scale of one to ten, I’d give myself a seven.