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!
For whatever reason, for most of my life (and hers) I’ve identified closely with Queen Elizabeth II — not because of our similarities, mind you, but because of our differences. She was ten years older than I and my first clear recollection of her was in June 1953 — the year of her coronation. She was 27 and I was 17.
I remember sitting on a lawn chair in the yard (it truly wasn’t a “garden” then) of my grandparents’ house in Oysterville, pouring over the June 15, 1953 issue of “Life” magazine. Although she had been Queen for a full year, the coronation couldn’t take place until the mourning period for her father, King George VI, had taken place. As I read, I wondered over and over how it would be to know from your childhood what role you would play in the future.
Through the years, my admiration grew — except for the slight glitch when her sister Margaret was not allowed to marry Group Captain Peter Townsend. Surely the Queen could have interceded. And, again, her long silence after Princess Diana’s death… It has taken me years to understand that her reactions (or lack thereof, at least in public) were part and parcel of that steady hand that kept the ship of the realm on course for 70 years. At what personal cost, I’ve often wondered.
Queen Elizabeth wasn’t a role model exactly. More… the best possible example of making the most of the hand you are dealt and doing so with grace and persistence, sometimes against all odds. I’m glad I shared so many years with her — even if from afar.
