Tourist Season has arrived once more in Oysterville. Not that we don’t have visitors all year long. But, as the weather improves, their numbers increase. And, of course, they show themselves more.
During the rainy months, the vehicles pull up in front of the church, there is a bit of a pause while the occupants adjust their raingear, and then the doors open and there is a careful-not-to-slip dash up the walkway and into the church. Sometimes, only one person emerges to brave the elements and have a closer look at the old building; companions are content to wait. Even such intrepid souls seldom linger for very long.
But, during these sunny days, visitors come and stay awhile. They stroll along Territory Road with their Walking Tour brochures, wander up and down the lanes and along the bayshore. Usually they have cameras and are taking pictures – often of their companions posing in front of the church.
Other things catch their attention as well. The doorknobs or other church hardware are popular subjects for camera closeups. Or the primroses along the inside of the picket fence around the churchyard. Or even the fence, itself. Sometimes, it’s the “Tsako-te-hahsh-eetl” sign over our gate and yesterday I noticed a woman taking quite a few photographs of Nyel’s truck which was parked in the lane. Who knew?
Almost invariably, the visitors are friendly. If we are out and about, they nod and smile. Often they have questions – about the village or about our garden or the cannon or the “Tsako-te-hahsh-eetl” sign. I enjoy talking with them almost as much as I enjoy hunkering out of sight among the weeds and rhodies and eavesdropping on their conversations. (Remember Art Linkletter’s Kids Say the Darndest Things? So do tourists!)
When I overhear something ridiculous – like “I wonder where everyone keeps their boats” or “When do you think the houses are opened up for tours? They are required to do that, you know.” — I want to leap forth and answer. But, I don’t. I think, instead, of all the speculations I’ve made about the people and places I’ve visited in my lifetime and vow to keep my thoughts to myself ‘next time’ I’m the tourist. You just never know who might be listening.
Seriously? The tourists think that Oysterville is there for the express purpose of letting people poke around in other people’s homes? Well, maybe you should be like Highclere Castle where Downton Abbey is filmed and open a gift shop in the kitchen a few months out of the year. You could get your back porch entirely replaced. Note my tongue firmly implanted in cheek. And speaking of cheek, why did this woman find Nyel’s truck so facinating? It’s not old enough!
I think that people confuse our National Historic District Designation (which is totally honorary; no compensation) with the National Trust in England. In that case, the National Trust actually owns the abbey or manse or whatever, and bears all the expense for its upkeep and taxes etc. The original owners gift their place to the National Trust in excahnge for a lifetime tenancy and the responsibility of opening the property to the public periodically. I truly wish we had such an arrangement in the United States. It would save many old structures from being converted into commercial properties or, even worse, from the wrecking ball. Times have changed and many families just can’t keep up the old places. It’s a pity. We have at least one place here in Oysterville suffering a similar fate, though on a much smaller scale than some.
What does that sign over your gate mean? I’ve always wondered.
Here is what the Oysterville Walking Tour brochure says:
“For generations before the pioneer settlers arrived, Chinook Indians gathered oysters in this part of Willapa Bay and camped in the area that is now Oysterville. They called it “tsako-te-hahsh-eetl” which, like many Indian words, had two meanings – “place of the red-topped grass” and “home of the yellowhammer.” (Yellowhammer is the local name for the red-shafted flicker, a woodpecker common to this region.)”
Most of the visitors who ask me have the brochures in their hands… (smile!)