Huff Highwater Puddle

We loved seeing the King Tides come galloping into our garden.  Yes!  Galloping!  Usually, those high tides creep along, relentless but fairly slowly.  Not last week’s however.  The 12.7 foot tide on Monday afternoon was scheduled to reach its apex at 1:15, but by eleven that morning it was already noticeably high.  And on and on it came, oh so quietly.  No wave action to speak of.  Just creeping along, through the picket fence on the east side of the yard and halfway up to the house by the time all was said and done.

Reverend J. T. Huff

Although the tide table said there were higher tides last week, it’s the only one that actually came onto the premises — at least that we could ascertain.  But, somehow, it must have been filling up whatever spaces there are underneath the lawn (is that even possible?) and by yesterday there was standing water in a big area of the yard.  Maybe it’s just a gigantic grass puddle (as opposed to a mud puddle) caused by all the rain, but somehow I think of it as visiting tidewater that hasn’t wanted to leave.

I’m calling it the Huff Highwater Puddle after the Reverend J. T.  Huff who came to preach to the Baptist congregation here in Oysterville in 1878.  That was before the Oysterville Baptists had built their church and were meeting each Sunday at the R.H. Espy House.  When they were lucky enough to have a visit from an occasional itinerant preacher, he stayed with the Espys as well.  Pastor Huff must have found the accommodations to his liking for he stayed for eight (my mother said twelve) long  years!

R.H. Espy Family and Rev. Huff c.1895  l to r Top: Susie, Ed, Harry, Dora; Middle: Rev. Huff, Julia (Mrs. R.H.E.), R. H Espy; front: Cecil, Will, Verona.

Huff came back to Oysterville in June 1892 and, as far as is known, stayed with the Espys for another few years, lending his assistance at the church when necessary (as in the months after Josiah Crouch’s sudden departure.)  That has always been the family’s explanation for why the family patriarch, R.H. Espy donated the property and the funds to build the Baptist Church and also purchased the Crellin House right across the street to serve as a parsonage.  Enough, apparently, was enough even for a strong-minded Baptist like my great-grandfather!

Hopefully the visiting Huff Highwater Puddle will not be around quite so long as its namesake!

Ocean Park Methodist Church (1914-Present)

The trouble with a lot of people in the here and now is that they don’t know squat about the there and then.

And just to be clear,  I’m talking about the Methodists — particularly those involved in leadership positions in our Ocean Park Methodist Church.  If you live on the Peninsula, you’d really have to exist under that proverbial rock not to be aware of some of their problems — problems so serious that the church is closed for worship services and it’s every sinner for himself — or something like that.

I can’t help but think of  the very first church in Pacific County — the Methodist Church in Oysterville built in 1872.  According to an article in the Winter 1967, Volume II issue of the Sou’wester magazine:

OYSTERVILLE METHODIST CHURCH

Oysterville Methodist Church (1872-1921) – First Church in Pacific County

1872
PACIFIC COUNTY’S FIRST
“We now desire to raise $500 to place us out of all embarrassment,” the
trustees, John Briscoe and I . A. Clark, and Board Chairman-Circuit Rider
Minister J . N. Dennison reported at the 4th Quarterly Meeting in 1872 .
“We have procured a lot valued at $200 from I . A. Clark and erected thereon
a plain, substantial building . . . 40′ x 28′, 18′ story . We now propose to
build in front an anteroom 10′ x 12′, 12′ story and finish well the belfry,
all of which will probably cost when finished $1500 .” The bell was
presented by the Crellin family, the golden cross by George H. Brown of
Tokeland. This church stood for the best interests of Oysterville until it
was blown down in the gale of January 29, 1921.
The Rev. John F. DeVore (December 7, 1817 – July 28, 1889)
was the presiding elder of the Methodist Church in 1872, his flock spreading
from his residence in Olympia south to Astoria. Called the John Wesley
of the Northwest, his vigorous 36-year ministry spanned the whole era of
Washington Territorial history. From Rock River, Illinois, in August
1853, he was appointed circuit rider at Olympia, but on the voyage up the
coast he found himself in company with Steilacoom City promoters who
insisted that a church in their wild, untamed community was more sorely
needed. Being of keen mind and ready wit, he immediately drew up a subscription
contract and by docking time on the 23rd the promoters, ship’s
captain and crew, army officers and men, and passengers had pledged
Donations. He preached his first sermon at Steilacoom on August 28 and
within six months the first Protestant church north of the Columbia was
dedicated.
In 1855, when the Olympia congregation was still without a church,
he built one. Captain Clanrick Crosby was approached for a donation of
lumber. Humorously questioning DeVore’s ability to do a day’s work, he
promised to donate all the lumber the minister could transport to Olympia
in a single day. One morning when the tide was right, DeVore went to
work; by evening he had landed a raft of lumber at Olympia. History
repeated itself 17 years later, when he appeared at the old South Bend mill
in a nearly-new frock coat and kid gloves, his lanky 6’2″ frame appearing
frail, and departed with a plunger load of lumber for the Oysterville
church.

Rev. John F. DeVore 1817-1889

Western Washington was, fortunately, sent ministers with broad
vision with a great capacity for work, men who prepared their sermons
while earning a living by the labor of their hands. They assisted in organizing
schools and city, county and territorial governments. The benefits of
their work will live forever. This was especially true of DeVore, whose
sense of humor never failed him. When a bishop once joked that he was
appointed presiding elder, not because he was the best man for the position,
but because he was the only one available, he replied:
“I understand; we had the same problem when we elected you bishop.”

It seems to me that it’s all a matter of leadership.  Either that, or they just don’t make ’em like they used to.

My Great- Grandmother, Annie Medora Taylor Richardson (1856-1902)

Not long before she died in March of 1902, my great-grandmother, Annie Medora Richardson, called her daughter Helen into her bedroom, summoned the last of her strength, and  said:  “That woman may take my place in the marriage bed, but she is NOT to take my jewelry.” Annie was 46 years old; her husband Dan was 47; Helen (my Grandmother Espy) was 24.

“That woman” was Eva F. Gaches  of La Conner, Washington.  She was Helen’s best friend, though perhaps a year or two older, and had been boarding in the Richardson household for several years while attending nearby California College in East Oakland.  So, too, had several members of the Espy family of Oysterville, Washington — including Harry (to whom Helen had been married since 1897), his older brother Ed (also in love with Eva) and their younger sister Susie.  Helen’s 21-year-old brother Sid was also hopelessly smitten with Eva.

Eva Gaches Richardson c. 1915

Although my grandmother never talked about the “situation” directly, the story of Eva and her swains was well-known in the family.  No sooner had Annie Medora died, than widower Dan asked for Eva’s hand.  For propriety’s sake, they set the date for a year hence —  April 3, 1903.  Young Sid also asked but, apparently, Eva’s rejection did not feel final.  He stuck around until the eve of the wedding and then left California, “never to return as long as his father was still living.”  Or so the story goes.

Whether or not Ed Espy spoke to Eva about his feelings for her is still a matter for speculation  Not too long after Dan and Eva’s marriage, Ed contracted tuberculosis, and although he continued working as an attorney for several years, he finally succumbed to the disease in 1906.  Or… did he die of a broken heart?

My Great-Grandfather, Daniel Sidney Richardson (1851-1922)

My grandmother Helen and her sister Ruth both adored their father.  He could do no wrong.  Nevertheless, there was the feeling in the family that they both blamed Sid’s “lack of ambition” on their father, thinking him too wrapped up in Eva to give proper guidance to Sid and to see him situated in a suitable profession.  Apparently, neither raising cranberries nor growing pear trees was considered “suitable,” no matter how successful Sid was at either or both.

Sid did marry and although we all liked and respected Aunt Bu, she was not Eva.  And Eva, despite all, was considered infinitely more suitable  — whether for father, son, or best friend’s brother-in-law.  Her story and that of the men who loved her is probably the closest we have to a skeleton in our family closet.  But the best part of the story is that Dan and Eva had a son and that son had several kids of his own — among them my cousins Eva and Lina in Austria!  Since neither Sid nor Ed had children, we can only believe that Eva’s choice was exactly right — especially for ensuing generations!

Ambrose Greetings From The Past

A very young Ambrose (Gordon’s alter ego), sporting full seashore regalia, looked at us from the greeting card which said, “If you’re careful on the beach…. nothing BAD will happen.” Printed on the back: BEACH BUNNY CARD, The Gull Motel, Long Beach, Washington.

Ambrose, accompanied by two tissue-wrapped packets, came out of a plain brown shopping bag, left on top of our piano by Gordon’s niece, Karen.  “Open it later,” she said.  “It’s part of my down-sizing program.”  ‘Later’ turned out to be after dinner when Nyel and I were reviewing the fun we’d had at Gordon’s 95th.  We were pretty sure the package would contain Christmas ornaments.  Karen had inherited hundreds of them from Gordon and Roy’s collections and, in the course of the afternoon, she mentioned that she was in the process of finding homes for them as she and Bill were preparing to move to a smaller house.

Roy’s Bear

And right we were.  Two ornaments!  A gorgeous bear collectible from the Christopher Radko Collection which, no doubt, was once Roy’s as he was an avid collector;  and, a fabulous rabbit sitting on a checkered wooden egg — Gordon’s, of course.  “Collectible” to Gordon meant rabbits and OZ memorabilia, never mind name brands.

Gordon’s Rabbit Ornament

Also, never mind that we, too, are down-sizing.  Or that we have switched from 11-foot-high to table-sized Christmas trees.  We were delighted.  And for a few moments we were transported back to the days when ‘Gore and Roar’ owned the Gull Motel in Long Beach and to the years of Christmas parties which, eventually, required three trees to hold all the ornaments!!  It was a lovely Christmassy remembrance in July!  Thanks, Karen!

The power has been out.  There was a wedding at the church across the street.  Mike Lemeshko came calling and brought iced coffees.  And we’ve just been lazing around enjoying the excuse to do absolutely nothing on a Sunday afternoon.

I can’t remember a day this hot here in Oysterville.  Ever. The house stays relatively cool — 83º right now and holding steady.  Those old builders of 1869 knew how to construct for the weather — hot, cold, rainy or whatever.  Mostly, we don’t have any huge expanses of “picture windows” anywhere.  It makes it dark and cozy by firelight in the winter and, apparently, bearable when under a summertime heat dome.  Good to know!

I see online that my friends are covering their hydrangeas and taking their potted plants inside.  Mine are taking their chances.  No way am I going out there to rescue the garden.  I was going to water, but I see that that is a no-no as well.  Not until the sun goes down — by which time, I’ll probably be sound asleep.

Who knew?  I’m a California girl.  The hotter it got, the more we watered.  I don’t remember ever frying a plant, but maybe it’s a matter of acclimatizing.  (Them as well as us.)   We’ll see what the next few days bring…  I hope it’s not higher numbers.  And even more fervently, I hope there are no crazies setting off early fireworks or disregarding the burn ban.  This place is a tinderbox!  Stay cool, everybody!

I began blogging late in March 2008.  My original intent was to post a new entry every single day.  I’ve not quite made it, but today’s Number 3985 isn’t far off the mark.  I haven’t counted the actual days so I’m not sure how many I’ve missed.  And, truth to tell, I’m no longer sure why.   Maybe sickness — mine or Nyel’s.  For sure the week we were off on a cruise with my old high school friends.  It probably bothered me at the time but I seem to have survived.

Though blogs had been around since 1994, the idea was new to me (and to most people) when I began.  Even so, by 2008 blogging had evolved from a sort of personal diary that people shared online to a new way to communicate information.  I saw it as an opportunity to convey information about this little corner of the world and, most especially, about Oysterville.  Oh, and of course shameless advertising about my books!

For me, of course, Oysterville includes my family (past and present) as well as all of the events and stories and slices of life (past and present) that have come to my attention during my long life.  All things Oysterville… or at least almost all.  “Oysterville Daybook” is meant to be part journal, part commentary, part advertisement and as interesting as I can make it.  Except when I can’t.

At first, I posted each day’s entry on my website, www.sydneyofoystrville.com.  Soon, in order to become more visible, I began to post the Daybook on Facebook, as well.  That has been fabulous — lots of feedback and great clarity as to favorite topics.  Chickens win hands down!

But my facebook blog posts have led to a bit of confusion, too — especially if I am on a rant about something-or-other.  Yesterday, for instance, I was sounding off a bit about the dangers of parking at the Oysterville post office and suggesting that speed bumps on the other side of Davis Hill might help slow things down.

In good FaceBook modus operandi, I received several responses to that blog that suggested how I might solve the problem.  Sorry.  While I’d love to see the problem taken care of, I do not in any way see myself as the one to do anything about it.  My role is to observe, inform, report, and perhaps to lament or castigate or criticize — sort of in an editorial sense.  If a problem needs “fixing,” my fondest hope would be to inspire someone to do just that.

Concerning those speed bumps, though…  I haven’t much hope.