Nineteenth Century Today: In My Own Backyard

As you can imagine, I spend a lot of time envisioning life in England in the early nineteenth century. So, finding touches of nineteenth century England in the Pacific Northwest is quite exciting! And to find them in my own backyard, here south of Tacoma, Washington, is priceless.

My search took me to the north end of Tacoma today, to Wright Park. In 1886, Charles Wright, through his company, donated approximately 20 acres of land in what was then the center of town for a public park. The idea was to mimic Central Park in New York. He even stipulated that at least 300 ornamental shade trees were to be planted in the first four years. The city hired a landscape architect to design the park and set about clearing stumps and bush. At first, the “park” looked like nothing so much as bare ground, but the second landscape architect on the project saw to the planting, beginning in 1890, of more than 350 varieties of trees from all over the United States and eventually the world. Many of the trees in Wright Park today are more than 100 years old.

But trees weren’t the only things to spring up in Wright Park. Tacoma businessman Colonel Clinton P. Ferry encouraged the city to include classical art in the park as well. In 1891, he brought back from Europe nine statues patterned after those sculpted by Italian masters and cast in a sandstone/concrete composite. Five still survive today.

Here’s where the early nineteenth century and England come into the picture. Two of the statues are of “dancing girls.” The originals were sculpted by Antonio Canova between 1806 and 1810. He is the highly celebrated artist who sculpted Napoleon as Mars the Peacemaker, which was given to the Duke of Wellington after his victory at Waterloo; the statue currently resides in the museum that was once Wellington’s home in London. I’ve had the honor of viewing it there. Canova himself visited England in 1815 to view the Elgin Marbles and was instrumental in the British Museum's purchase of them.

One of the two statues in Wright Park is a copy of “Dancing Girl with Hand on Chin.” You might notice in the picture above that her hand is most definitely not on her chin. Apparently, it was when she arrived and was installed in 1892. Since then, she was broken (haven’t found anyone willing to fess up to how and by whom). Whoever fixed her (also unknown), put her hand across her waist instead.

There’s a historical reason behind their nicknames as well, for they were quickly called Annie and Fannie. Annie Wright was the daughter of Charles Wright. Her name also graced a girls’ seminary nearby. The heroine of my October 2021 book, A View Most Glorious, was graduated from that school. Fannie Paddock donated land for a hospital that would bear her name until it was transferred to Tacoma General Hospital.

Of course, once I learned this history, I had to go visit them. When the nineteenth century comes this close, you embrace it. Or at least marvel.

Drew Wallin's Cabin Stands Today!

Like many authors, I scour the internet for period-correct pictures to use as writing aids.  They help me envision how my hero and heroine looked, what they wore, where they lived, and how they lived.  I had chosen a very special cabin as my inspiration for the home of Drew Wallin, my hero in March’s Would-Be Wilderness Wife.  I’d never seen one like it.  It was originally built by David Denny in the late 1800s in Seattle, so I knew it was not only fairly close to my time period but also perfect for the frontier Seattle that is the setting of my story. He built it originally as a real estate office to interest people in land, coincidentally land that the Wallins would have owned. It was later used as a school and another business, and a rumor circulated that Chief Sealth, for whom Seattle is named, built it.

Yes, it was a lovely cabin.  I was happy to write about Drew living there.  What I never expected was to find it.  Here.  Now.

I was driving my husband to Federal Way to meet up with a friend who was taking him to a workshop.  “We’ll pass a park,” I said, nose glued to the map on my smart phone, “and then you turn left.”  Glancing up, I saw we were passing a park.

A park with Drew’s cabin sitting on the grass.

I gasped.  I choked.  “Did you see that?” I demanded of my husband.  “That cabin!  That was Drew’s cabin!”

“What cabin?” my husband asked.  “Am I supposed to turn left somewhere?”

I got him safely to his friend’s, then turned the car around.  All the way back, I kept watch, and when the driveway opened up for the park, I pulled in.  There it was, just as I remembered it.  It had to be a replica, right?  I mean, two-story log cabins from the 1800s don’t generally survive in our world.  And it hadn’t been built in Federal Way, nearly 30 miles south of David Denny’s claim.  How could it have made the trip? 

Scrambling up to the cabin in the early morning light, I peered into the windows.  A sign proudly proclaimed it the restored David Denny cabin.

I was stunned.  I was delighted!  It was as if a little part of Drew and Catherine had found its way into my world.

And now yours.  If you ever get to West Hylebos Wetlands Park in Federal Way, Washington, you can see it for yourself.  The cabin has been lovingly restored by the Federal Way Historical Society.  Drew’s box bed is missing, alas, but you can imagine them sitting around the hearth, planning the next day’s adventure.  I certainly did!

Nineteenth Century Today: The Dreams of Port Townsend

One of the things I love about my new home is all the history surrounding it.  Anglo-history was a little scarce where I came from, with most of the structures dating to no earlier than WWII.  That’s why it was such a treat recently to visit Port Townsend.

Located at the northwest corner of Puget Sound, Port Townsend was original named in 1792 by Captain George Vancouver for his friend the Marquis of Townshend.  Its sheltered, deep harbor welcomed the sailing ships of the day and inspired the first settlers in 1851 to dream of its being the largest harbor on the West Coast.  In fact, the early settlers called it the City of Dreams for the prosperity they hoped would follow.

The town saw rapid growth throughout the 1800s in anticipation of being the terminus for the Northern Pacific Railroad.  Dozens of homes were built along the hillside overlooking Puget Sound, along with many civic buildings.  Fort Worden was built along one end to protect the entrance of Puget Sound from hostile forces. 

But Port Townsend’s dreams were dashed when Tacoma, more than 80 miles and on the other side of the Sound, was chosen as the end of the rail line. People began leaving down in droves.  Only the opening of a paper mill kept Port Townsend alive.  Now, the town thrives on boat building and a growing tourist trade.

My cousin once removed (known as Aunt Mary to my brother and me) lives in the area and took us on what she called her nickel tour.  Everywhere I looked were fine examples of Victorian architecture.  Like this.

And this.

And this, the district courthouse.

And it doesn’t hurt that the deer come right down into the city and roam, even in broad daylight!

It wasn’t hard for the City of Dreams to set me dreaming about owning one of these homes.  In fact, I picked the perfect house for me.  This beauty stands on a bluff alongside Puget Sound, with a commanding view of Port Townsend Bay and Marrowstone Island.  Can’t you just see me sitting in my office, gazing out at the blue, blue waters, the passing ships?

Hm.  Maybe I ought to stay in my little cottage.  At least then my dreams are more likely to get down on paper as books!

What about you?  Any of these houses set you to dreaming?

Taking a Writer Back in Time: Pioneer Farm Museum

For a historical writer, first-hand accounts of the time period and well-researched history books are wonderful resources, but sometimes the answer to a pesky question can only be found by going back in time.  I would have loved to hitch a ride with the Doctor or hop into Mr. Verne's time machine, but for my current work in progress, set in Washington Territory in 1866, I opted for something a little more easily obtained:  a trip to Pioneer Farm Museum near Eatonville, Washington.

Pioneer Farm is one of those wonderful museums geared toward children, so everything is very hands on.  That’s an incredible bonus to a writer.  In a more traditional museum, many things are behind glass, so you can describe what your eyes see but only guess at the other senses.  At a museum like Pioneer Farm, you get to touch and smell and taste and hear what life was like in the late nineteenth century on the frontier.  I gleefully followed our tour guides around from the general store to the school house to the three cabins, barn, and blacksmith’s shop, peppering them with questions and poking my nose into everything.

So, what did I learn on my visit?

Planked wooden floors creak.  With every step. 

 Forges fired with coal really stink.

Oil lamps aren't really bright enough to read by, but they do warm up a curling iron nicely.

It takes a lot of time and work to grate enough cinnamon for one pie.

A lady could lay in the bottom of a wagon bed and not be noticeable from the street (key plot point, there!).

Pioneer Farm Museum is a non-profit organization dedicated to providing living history, environmental, and cultural education through hands-on activities.  If you happen to be in the area, I highly recommend a visit. 

I know some of you have been to great museums in your area.  Any recommendations to share?

Nineteenth Century Today: All's Fair in Puyallup

Our new State Fair in Puyallup starts today.  Yes, the massive, impressive, stupendous Puyallup Fair is now officially Washington's State Fair.  Having grown up not too far from it, I'm inordinately proud.  And though it started in 1900, just after the nineteenth century and on another continent from our beloved England, I thought it worthy of comment.

The Puyallup Valley runs from Mt. Rainier down to Commencement Bay in Tacoma, following the path of the glacier-fed Puyallup River.  The area has been growing crops since it was settled in the 1850s and was home to the Puyallup Tribe before that.  In 1900, local residents banded together to charter a "Valley Fair" to showcase area agriculture, horticulture, dairies, stock raising, mining, and manufacturing.  The small fair, which ran for three days, cost each family a dollar to attend.

But what really put the Puyallup Fair on the map was horse racing.  In 1901, the fair expanded to include a race track and was held over four days.  That original race track was used until 1977.  So many people came from far and wide that in 1902 the fair added parking lots for the jalopies. From there, the fair continued to expand, to more days, more acreage, more activities affecting more people in more areas.  In 1913, it became the Western Washington Fair, but even when I was born more than four decades later, everyone still called it "the Puyallup."

Attendance in 1922 was at 130,000, which skyrocketed to nearly 400,000 by the late 1930s.  Sadly, the federal government commandeered the fairgrounds for much of World War II.  It served as a camp for an army unit, then a relocation center for Japanese-Americans, and finally home to a Signal Service Battalion.  The grounds were closed until 1946, but it has continued its momentous growth since then, with attendance now in the millions.

One of the mainstays of the Fair was Fisher scones, fresh made and dripping with raspberry jam.  That tradition started in 1915 and continues today.  Another tradition was lost in a fire in 1970.  That was a ride called The Old Mill Stream, where couples could ride on boats through a shadowed waterway that included vistas from exotic locations.  It was all terribly romantic, except for the last scene.  All you saw was the back end of a donkey that kicked out at the boat.  It was supposed to drive the girl squealing into her boyfriend's arms. Though I was in elementary school, I loved that ride!  I couldn't wait until I had a boyfriend to throw myself at. All's fair in love, after all.

Welcome to statehood, Puyallup Fair!

Nineteenth Century Today: Historic Dayton

I love finding little snippets of the nineteenth century in our world today. I know that may not be so unusual for some of you, but in my neck of the Pacific Northwest, anglo-history past about a hundred or so years is rare. So I thought I’d start an ongoing blog series about where I’ve found the nineteenth century, today.

About an hour east of home lies the town of Dayton. It is named after early pioneer Jesse Day, who rolled into the area with his brother and their herd of cattle in 1859. Shortly afterward, S.L. Gilbreath brought his wife to settle nearby. At 16 years old, Mrs. Gilbreath is said to have been the first anglo woman in the county. Her daughter, born in 1860, was the first anglo child. Others must have followed, for Jesse Day and his wife Elizabeth platted the town of Dayton in 1871. The town grew slowly, until German native Jacob Weinhard decided that all that barley was good for more than making bread. He started a brewery that grew into a business spanning saloon, hotel, theatre, and partial ownership of a bank.

Many of the beautiful Victorian homes built during the town’s heyday still stand. Every October, Dayton opens the doors of a few of these homes for the curious and reverent. Won’t you join me?

Let’s start with a stop at the train depot, the oldest in the state.

Or perhaps you’d care to take other transportation.

From the depot, you can see the Columbia County Courthouse, the oldest working courthouse in the state (photo courtesy of Steven Pavlov).

And as for homes, you could stop at Boldman House, now a wonderful museum.

And even the garden sheds are lovely!

And then there’s this more modern marvel, just coming up on its centennial—a 1913 Craftsman. More than 3,000 square feet, lovingly restored, gorgeous grounds on a half an acre, and a servant’s quarters out back. It’s for sale, even.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite convince my husband to relocate to the nineteenth century.