My mother, Dale Espy Little, was truly an amazing woman. She accomplished many notable things in her lifetime, not the least of which were spearheading the formation of the Oysterville National Historic District, helping in the foundation of the Oysterville Restoration Foundation, and working tirelessly to restore and, later, maintain the Historic Oysterville Church.
She is probably best remembered for her elegant outfits and especially for her hats, many of which she made from scratch and most of which she trimmed according to her own special flair. It was her idea to establish Music Vespers at the church on summer Sundays and for many years she attended every service, sharing a story or memory about the early days of her childhood here.
Besides all that, she was positive and fun, outspoken but kind, and a loyal friend and neighbor. Since her death four years ago at age 97, many, many people have approached me with ‘Dale stories’ and I am always reminded of how many lives she touched and of my good fortune to have been her only child. But… she’s a hard act to follow.
Take the mention of her in the just-out freebie, Our Coast Magazine, that was included in all the issues of the Chinook Observer this week: Decades ago – how could it be so long? – Dale Little used to host late-summer invitation-only croquet parties at the home of her grandpa R.H., Espy, founder of the village writes editor Matt Winters. NOT TRUE, MATT. NOT EVEN CLOSE.
For nineteen years Nyel and I single-handedly put on the “Annual Oysterville Croquet and Champagne Gala” as a fund-raiser for various non-profits in Pacific County. My mother and father were among the invited guests and it was in their garden that the event occurred – not at the R.H. Espy house two blocks to the north.
My mother, of course, was always dressed to the nines and strolled amongst the throng meeting and greeting and having a grand time, as was her style. I can almost understand why someone’s memory might play tricks and she would mistakenly be given credit for hostessing the event. And it’s probably uncharitable of me to point out this error of fact…
When it’s my turn to be remembered, it will no doubt be for my nit-picking about erroneous information that is ultimately destined to become part of the historic record. Or, more likely, I’ll simply be remembered as Dale’s daughter. Either way would be fine with me.
Dear Sydney: If you should depart this incarnation before I do, and if I am able to move around, I will be honored to speak at your memorial which will, I am almost certain, will be held at the Historic Oysterville Church. Please make a few notes which contain both factual information and Oysterville lore . Should we both exit at the same time, would it be possible for you to assign a trusted friend or relative to share what you, the ultimate historian, feels is both true (the truth) and entertaining to those who will mourn your passing? Dale is smiling in approval as is my mother who lamented that you were not her daughter. Not to imply that I am a dud, but your lifestyle and flair for living la vida plus the fact that you were are are a published author pleased her very much.