- Mother Nature at Work
When it comes to gardens and landscaping, it does not take much imagination to know what will happen as a result of benign neglect here in Oysterville. The salal and the blackberries, the ivy and the sword fern, the willows and the alder are always waiting to take over. They lurk patiently just beyond the cultivated garden beds and painted picket fences.
Once when my mother was asked what happened to all the old houses that were still standing when she was a girl here in the early 1900s, she responded in a rather offhand way, “Oh, they just went back to nature.” When I see some of the abominations that are built in other parts of the peninsula, that thought is very comforting.
Another Oysterville story is of old Jimmy Anderson who lived in a shack about a mile south of town. He played the violin, rumored to be a priceless Stradivarius. (It wasn’t.) Jimmy had a heart attack standing at his sink and died there, propped up by his elbows. By the time he was found a few days later, the brambles had already grown through the open window and were twining round his arms. In a way, that is a comforting thought, as well.
Our across-the-street neighbor, Bradley, has been doing a lot of brushing out behind his house – reclaiming the site that was once Tommy Nelson’s cannery. Besides the huge oyster shell pile that he has uncovered, Bradley has found just one remnant of the cannery buildings – a section of the peaked roof. His plan is to spread the oyster shells in the location that will be a turn-around and parking area. He’s not sure about the roof part.
Sue Holway and I have been pleading with him to keep it. After all, it’s an historic ‘artifact,’ or so we tell him. More importantly, it’s a remnant from those precious long-ago years of our childhood when Tommy and his wife, Irene, were still canning the best smoked oysters in the Northwest. Right here in Oysterville!
Toward the end of the Great Depression my grandfather bought a beach house in Seaview for back taxes. I don’t know who owned it then, but supposedly it had been built by a Loomis decendent in 1891 and a ship’s captain was supposed to have hung himself in the carriage house. The carriage house was where an oil drum was kept for the oil stove in the house. It was spooky and dark, but my younger cousin and I would go with our fathers to fill the oil can for the stove. When my aunt and uncle moved there full time in the early ’70s they had electric heat put in, a mistake in my opinion, and the carriage became more lonely than ever. My uncle soon passed away and with no one to beat them back the blackberries gradually consumed the carriage house to the point that nothing is left of it unless there are artifacts in the brambles. My older cousin keeps them from taking over the house and the deer love the berries in the summer. So do I, but I’m sorry about the carriage house. Even in Ilwaco we fight them all the time. They are very hardy!
Hmm, It’s probably just me, but there is something Stephen-King-esque about the Jimmy Anderson story.
Jimmie Anderson was one of my favorite Oysterville characters. Some time befors the end of WWII – as nearly as I can recall – he had to go away for a few months. He left his violin with us for safe-keeping. While he was gone, Sis (Alberta) taught herself how play the violin and became quite good at it. Jimmie was really pleased when he got back and she played it for him. Dad told about what a fast runner he was. He said that Jimmie loved a race and when anyone challenged him to race he would pull his hat down and take off in a running squat. Nobody could beat him (according to Dad)