There are several things I tend to take too seriously — history, my family (and its history), and myself (when it comes to history and my family.) As Dorcas-the-Postmistress said in “Larkrise to Candleford” — it’s my one weakness. Of course, like Dorcas, I have been know to claim different things to be “my one weakness.”
I gave that weakness considerable thought when reading my friend David Campiche’s article in Wednesday’s paper. It was the lead story in the second section of the Observer and was titled “QUEEN OF HEARTS – The Oysterville Spring Garden Tour.” It began full of soft-sounding sentences and descriptive adjectives creating a lush gardeny mood — the kind of writing David does best.
But then came the sentence: “Isn’t Oysterville a delight, always a delight, always Grandpapa Espy’s road that leads to where?” Huh? I read it again. My grandfather was Harry Espy. His seven children all called him “Papa” as did his grandchildren. No one to my knowledge called him Grandpapa. Or maybe David meant R.H. Espy, co-founder of Oysterville and my great-grandfather. But no. He was a stern, matter-of-fact man, already 44 years old when the first of his eight children were born. They called him “Father” and my mother’s generation called him “Grandfather.”
No. There was no Grandpapa Espy in our family. (Although it must be said, that my uncle Willard did use the term “Grandpa” in his book title, “Oysterville: The Roads to Grandpa’s Village.” Hard to say if the title was his idea or Clarkson Potter’s or even the marketing folks. Publishers do put their feet down now and then.)
Perhaps David is thinking of another Espy — though he makes a clear connection to Oysterville. Or perhaps it’s wishful thinking on his part — wanting an Oysterville “Grandpapa” of his own. Go figure.
And what is this “Grandpapa’s road” of which he speaks? Or “Fifth Street” for that matter? We’ve never had a “Fifth Street.” Fourth Street, yes. It was once the name of present-day Territory Road — so named when we became a National Historic District. Proceeding east, toward the bay were Main Street (which still exists), First Street (now reverted to meadowland) and Front Street which my mother said was built mostly on pilings and was devoted to marine-related businesses such as sail-makers and boat-builders. That street has, indeed, been taken by the tides — but only one as far as I have seen documented; not four as David would have us believe.
All-in-all it was a charming article — flowery like the garden tour David described. But, in my mind, a bit of a mis-representation of both my family and the village that I have known for all my life.