I’ve often thought that Oysterville exists in some parallel universe.  Or maybe it’s just this house   Yesterday was no exception.  The winds gusted and whipped and whistled most of the day to the point that I chose to forego the mail run and just wait until Monday.  I fully expected that our power would go out at some point.  I mean how hard can those poor old trees hang onto their limbs, anyway?

But the power stayed on.  The house stayed warm(ish) and the PUD crews lucked out — at least with regard to our little Brigadoon.  Out of curiosity, I checked what the wind gusts measured here yesterday.  “16.1 mph S at 12:13 PM” was the Wind Gust High, according to a site that gives daily weather stats for the Long Beach Peninsula!  If that statistic isn’t proof that Oysterville exists on some other plane, I don’t know what is.  I’ve been in this house through many a storm with “hurricane-force winds” and yesterdays gusts were right up there.

Perhaps the stats were for Long Beach, itself, and not for the Peninsula as a whole.  That would not surprise me.  The weather patterns change every few miles along the Peninsula’s 28-mile-length.  And, of course, even though “Oysterville” may be the only community with that name in our whole wide world (except for Oysterville, Oregon, which has been under water for a century or so) it’s still hard to get any information specific to this little enclave.

In my head, anyway, yesterday’s gusts were more like 61.1 mph.  I choose to believe that the weather stats reporter had a slight attack of dyslexia when he entered his numbers for the Long Beach, WA area.  Just sayin’…

It’s not nice to be smug. I’m not sure why.  And neither, apparently, are the many online writers who, nevertheless, consider it a failing right up there with jealousy, cowardice, avarice, sloth and a whole host of other undesirable traits.  So… today when I felt smug several times in a row, I cut myself a little slack.

At issue was the internet which apparently was “down” here at the north end of the Peninsula — at least to CenturyLink customers.  I first became aware of the situation when I ran across my neighbor at the Post Office this morning.  “Internet service?” she asked.  “Yes.  Or at least I have had most ot the morning. No problems with Star Link.”  And I felt a slight tingle of smugness begin.  (Ironically, she was the one who turned Nyel and me onto StarLink a year or more ago, but it seems that she hooked up her business, but not her home.)

Cash Register

Later, when I was at Jack’s in Ocean Park, credit and debit cards were being handled sort of semi-automatically.  “The internet is down,” they said, “so we are having to do a work around.”

“Until 5:30,” another clerk chimed in.

“Yeah.  It’s CenturyLink again,” added someone else.  “It’s the whole north end.”

“But I live just across from Okie’s,” said another voice.  “And we’ve had interet all morning.  “But here we have CenturyLink…” said someone else.  “What the heck?”

Smugger and smugger, I tell you.  I do hope it’s not a sin…

Oysterville Sign

In Oysterville, there are a lot of “fine lines.”  Like are we a village or a hamlet or a tref?  Here are the definitions of those designations.  But do they fit us?

Village – a group of houses and associated buildings, larger than a hamlet and smaller than a town, situated in a rural area with a population of 500 to 2,500.

Hamlet – a small settlement, generally one smaller than a village with a tiny population (fewer than 100), with only a few buildings.  Generally a maximum size of 30 to 50 people; consisting of a small kin group, no larger than an extended family or clan.

Tref – The meaning of TREF is a homestead or hamlet under old Cymric law.  Said Merriam-Webster:  a group or area acting as a single community as regards cattle and plowing, constituting a taxable unit, and consisting typically of nine houses, one plow, one oven, one churn, one cat, one cock, and one herdsman.

One way or another, whichever term you choose, your designation seems to boil down to population.  And, as about “All Things Oysterville”, there is continual and ongoing discussion about the numbers (and area) involving our population.  Full-time residents in the national Historic District of Oysterville: 15, most days.  Include part-timers and the population can soar to 50 — but seldom all at one time!

Or… if our population includes everyone who gets their mail at the  Oysterville Post Office, I believe the number is now about 200.  That of course means the number of boxholders, not necessarily the householders involved.  And so the confusion mounts.

However, I think we can safely conclude that Oysterville is closer in size to a tref than to a village or a hamlet. To find out exactly what the modern interpretation of a tref would be, we’d no doubt need to consult a present-day Welshman.  (The modern Welsh name for themselves, incidentally, is Cymry but I’m not just sure what a modern name for a tref might be.  Perhaps my friends Suzanne and Doug Knutzen might know; they are just back from a vacation in those parts!)

There’s another fine line I’ve been thinking about lately — what constitutes a lane, a path or a road?  Does it depend on its size?  Or maybe its use?  Or even upon who is responsible for its maintenance? Does it change from century-to-century or even from decade-to-decade?  These can be weighty questions here in our little village/hamlet/tref, you betcha!

Mr. and Mrs. Stevens – September 13, 1967

September 13, 1987.  It was a Sunday and, in Oysterville it was misting heavily at first light. I remember “knowing” that the day’s events would proceed NO MATTER WHAT!  It was the day of the 3rd Annual Oysterville Croquet and Champagne Gala.  More importantly, it was our wedding day– though only a half dozen people besides us knew it.

We had decided on the spur of the moment.  “Why not at croquet?” we said.  “All our friends will be there.  We’ll be in our croquet costumes — totally suitable for a wedding.  The champagne is ordered.  The food is planned.  Yes!  Why not?  And let’s keep it a secret until the time comes… for fun!”  And so we did.

Sealed With A Kiss!

Joel Penoyer (and presumably his wife, Betsy) knew it.  They had already reserved their space for croquet when I called Joel and asked him if, in his capacity as Judge, he would prepare the paperwork and marry us just before the Awards Ceremony.  And “Sh.  It’s a secret.”

My son Charlie was coming up from L.A. I phoned him the previous week and he made hurried arrangements. I knew even then that it would be the only Croquet Gala he would ever attend (there were 16 in all.)  And “Sh.  It’s a secret.”

Gordon Schoewe and Roy Gustafson knew about it.  I had called asking if they would stand up for us.  They, also, had reserved their places as they did every year (plus Gordon had created the logo on the croquet trophy and he and his alter ego, Ambrose, designed the croquet invitation every year.) And “Sh.  It’s a secret.”

Afterwards – Dad Made An Impromptu Speech Welcoming Nyel to the Family

Plus, Dr. John Campiche knew.  I was unclear about Washington’s marriage requirements.  In California where my only previous experience had been, you were required to be screened (for VD I think) but Dr. John said “No such requirements here.  You’re good to go.”  He and Val, too, were already coming.  And “Sh.  It’s a secret.”

No one else… not even my folks or my beloved Uncle Willard (the Master of Ceremonies) knew.  For me, the day went by in a blur — not a misty one, thank goodness.  Although the day stayed gray, it cleared enough for us to rush around before the 2:00 opening and get the signage and balloons up, the champagne and food in place, put on our croquet costumes and proceed.  Mostly I remember Charlie taking pictures of me at work at the Registrar’s Table and of Nyel, clipboard in hand, as one of the judges on Croquet Court One.

Wow! We even made the local papers!

When the time came, Willard balked at giving center stage to Gordon (for whom I had to intercede — another story, entirely!);Gordon presented me with a nosegay (read: bridal bouquet); my mother had a case of the vapors, and the crowd gradually realized that a marriage was really, truly taking place.

Last Spring, Nyel and I talked a bit about how we would celebrate this day — our 35th anniversary — but we never really made a plan.  That was unusual for us.  Perhaps we knew, somehow, that another plan was in the works for us…