You Can't Make That Up!

I’m researching my next series, which I hope to propose to my publisher this summer. You know I love the Regency period, but so many places call to me right in my own backyard. The famed Pig War in the San Juan Islands, the orphans who traveled the Oregon Trail alone to be adopted at the Whitman Mission, the soldiers who were dispatched to the forests during WWII when loggers couldn’t chop down trees fast enough for the war effort. You can’t make this stuff up!

Most recently, I’ve been concentrating very close to home. I live in an area south of Tacoma, on the way to Mt. Rainier National Park. Our local library had a number of books you likely won’t find elsewhere. One was a collection of remembrances from those who were children of the first pioneers, along with newspaper clippings and bits of state- or census-compiled data. I found a couple of surprises there. One was that school lasted anywhere from 3 to 6 months, and children as young as 4 and as old as 21 were admitted. I don’t know about you, but my vision of a pioneer schoolhouse featured children from about first through fifth grades. Not here!

Another surprise had to do with immigration routes. As you may know, the famous Oregon Trail led valiant travelers down the Columbia River and into the Willamette Valley of Oregon Territory. Getting from there to the towns along Puget Sound was difficult. For one thing, you have to cross the mighty Columbia, no small feat when there were no bridges or ferries. For another, there were no roads or trails leading north. Most people took a ship up the coast, through the Straits of Juan de Fuca, and down into Puget Sound. However, the Longmire Party blazed a trail over the Cascade Mountains, through what is now Naches Pass, to be among the first to come straight into the south Sound area in 1853, less than 2 years after the Denny party landed on Alki Beach (the start of Seattle). The book gave the location of a marker to commemorate the achievement.

It’s six blocks from my house. (It’s also on private property, so I haven’t found a way to take a picture of it, but I will!)

Another book was a Master’s Thesis by a student at Pacific Lutheran University, just north of me. He chronicled the life of one of the local pioneers, a man named James Sales. Sales had quite an impact on the area, selling his original Donation Land Claim for schools, starting civic and professional organizations, and chartering churches. But what I found most fascinating about him was his beginning.

You see, before James was born, his parents moved to the new city of Tacoma. They lived next to Ed and Martha Croft. The poor Crofts had had a difficult marriage, having lost two babies before the baby they currently had. That boy died shortly after they moved to Tacoma. Mrs. Sales, pregnant with James, was so saddened by the couple’s loss that she offered to give them James when he was born. After all, she reasoned, she already had a healthy son.

Now, I’m struggling with this concept. I cannot imagine the sacrifice of the woman, giving away one of her children to a woman who had none and likely never would. But James was born, and weaned, and given to the Crofts to raise. They moved out my way, a distance of some 15 miles from Tacoma, to the cabin you see above. While James kept his birth name, it appears he never saw his parents again.

You can’t make this stuff up!

Little House, on the Spanaway Prairie

Over the holidays, I had the privilege of visiting a local museum. I know, you’re shocked. I mean, I never spend my free time in lovely, lovely research. J

By local, I mean just down the road from me. The Prairie House Museum, operated by the Spanaway Historical Society, tells the story of the area just south of Tacoma, Washington, on the way to Mt. Rainier. Though tall firs surround the house now, when it was built the area was entirely prairie, hence the name.

The house, which looks similar to the one in the picture, was originally built in the 1890s and has been lovingly restored by the society. It was named a historical landmark in 1989. The displays focus on different eras of history, from the early farming days to World War I and World War II. Clustered around the Victorian farmhouse are a smithy, milk and wash house, a large covered shed holding early farming machinery, and a two-story barn.

I have only lived in the area for 2 years, so much of the history the well-informed docent shared with me on my guided tour was new to me. I knew about the large lake at the edge of the community—I live about 3 miles from its shores. But what I didn’t know was that the area was quite the resort at the turn of the century.

It had its own railway that brought visitors in from downtown Tacoma twice a day, led by Old Betsy, the steam engine. There was a streetcar as well, all coming down Park Avenue. (Regina Scott connection—I attended Park Avenue Elementary School in Tacoma.) The lake shore featured the largest open-air dance pavilion in the state, shooting galleries, a bathhouse, a boathouse, hotels, and numerous summer cottages of the rich and famous. 

The community that grew up around the resort included grocery stores, taverns, a cooper, a slaughter house, a creamery, a livery stable, and a sawmill and furniture factory. The area, which the developers hoped would be called Lake Park instead of the native name that had been Anglicized to Spanaway, even had its own newspaper, The Sentinel.

In 1922, a huge fire swept the area, taking with it many of the buildings in the business district. Spanaway never fully recovered. When I was a youngster, it was a wild place, known only for the large city park on its shores. The park still stands, but businesses once more clog it on the north and east, with a residential area to the south and Joint Base Lewis-McChord near the west. The homes that once belonged to the rich and famous for the summer now house more modest families year round.

But walking through the museum, you can hear the whispers of splashes from swimmers, the faint strains from the band at the pavilion. And you can catch a glimpse into a lovely past others might never know existed.

You can learn more about the Prairie House Museum at its website.