SEATTLE'S HOUSEBOATS FEATURED ON NEIGHBORHOOD LIFE ONLINE JOURNAL

Jann McFarland's lifestyle includes close contact with wildlife, growing her own fresh produce, swimming, fishing, or a boat ride whenever she wants, right in the middle of a large city. McFarland lives on a houseboat in Seattle, on Lake Union. In some ways it sounds like paradise, but in the decades she has been there, she's seen and taken part in the fight to preserve what has come close to being lost because of political controversies, growth and development, and other threats. My recent interview with this lucky woman has been published in the online neighborhood improvement journal, Neighborhood Life, shown below. 

Seattle’s Houseboat Neighborhoods Stay Afloat on Seas of Change

by Candace Brown

 

Busy Interstate 5 runs right through Seattle, Washington, but below the freeway and crowded hills, close to downtown, the surface of Lake Union shines like a misplaced mirror. When the first white settlers arrived in 1851, a forest of giant old growth evergreens surrounded this 571 acre lake, but before long, the loggers’ saws would claim those firs and cedars. Settlement on the shores of Seattle’s bays, lakes, and waterways was soon followed by the appearance of houseboats—houses constructed on rafts and semi-permanently moored to a dock. Originally crude shelters on rafts intended for loggers, fishermen, and other workers, later ones were permanently occupied “floating homes” that ranged from makeshift shacks to regular houses. On Lake Washington, the wealthy built more elegant examples to use as summer homes.

  The former Hospitality House from Seattle's Alaska-Yukon Pacific Exhibition

Lake Union to begin to change from a pristine gem between forested hills to a scene of industry, commerce, and even military use. It had a Naval armory and training facility, a steam powered coal gasification plant, shipyards, such as Lake Union Dry Dock Company, which opened in 1919, a car assembly plant, shipping terminals, and more. Throughout all of that, the number of houseboats grew. It reached about 2,000 by the late 1930s and about 2,500 by the end of World War II. Many were occupied by respectable poor or working class, people. Later, the demographic changed to include a more Bohemian crowd—society’s non-conformists, those with radical political views, artists, musicians, and college students.

 

Older style houseboats

These days, all the houseboats must be connected to public utilities, including sewer. However, in the past, their raw sewage went straight into the water, in addition to industrial wastes already polluting the lake. That fact added to the controversy over their very existence. In the early 1960s, the future of these floating homes seemed grim, as development eliminated their moorages and they were considered to be eyesores and polluters.

As a long time resident of one neighborhood of floating homes on Lake Union’s east side, Jann McFarland has seen it all. In spite of the challenges, the lifestyle is one she and her husband, Sid McFarland, love. They wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

Looking down the dock 

To read the rest of the story, please click here.

"Bet: Stowaway Daughter" -- Young Adult Novel Offers Exciting Look at Northwest History

Available exclusively as an eBook beginning Sept. 29, 2011

Like waves on the oceans he loves, Seattle author Joe Follansbee's non-fiction books and web projects keep coming, one after another, as more form on the horizon. But his latest, an eBook due for release on Thursday, September 29, launches this Northwest maritime history expert off on a voyage into new territory: young adult fiction. I have a feeling plenty of readers will want to come along.

The drama begins and ends in Seattle in 1932, during the Great Depression, but most of it takes place on a sailing ship in Alaska. The young protagonist, a thirteen-year-old Norwegian-American girl named Lisbet "Bet" Lindstrom shares her story of adventure, mystery, loyalty, and love in Follansbee's first novel, "Bet: Stowaway Daughter." Bet takes huge risks to uncover evidence that will exonerate her sea captain father, who was convicted and imprisoned for a crime she refuses to believe he committed.

Curious? You can download the first six chapters FREE through this link, to read on your Kindle, Nook, iPad, or  personal computer.

Follansbee's writing career includes countless freelance articles for print and online venues and five previous books, including three on media streaming. But most recently, maritime topics seem to captivate him. His book "Shipbuilders, Sea Captains, and Fishermen: The Story of the Schooner Wawona" is now a priceless treasure for Northwest maritime history fans, because the once beautiful three-masted Wawona ended up being demolished, in spite of the efforts of Follansbee and other preservationists. At least the extensive knowledge he gained enabled him to write detailed and technically correct descriptions of the ship on which young Bet stows away, making the story of her experiences all the more realistic.

The Schooner Wawona        Photo credit: Northwest Seaport

 After writing about the doomed schooner Wawona, Follansbee's desire to make people care about such things led to the creation of his fascinating website called Fyddeye. Next he wrote "The Fyddeye Guide to America's Maritime History" which is available as an eBook or print version. Now his desire to expose younger readers to their country's maritime heritage, combined with all he knows about ships, history, and girls (as the father of two daughters,) have come together in this work of historic fiction.

I especially like the fact that the story will carry young people on a journey back into a time they might know little about, and forward toward enlightenment and maturity through this book's positive and inspiring themes. By traveling in either direction, they are guaranteed to learn plenty. That would include an appreciation for the hard lives of commercial fishermen in those days and the character of Scandinavian immigrants who settled in large numbers in what is now the neighborhood of Ballard, in north Seattle, once a separate town.

Those who know Seattle and its history will appreciate the realistic sense of place and time. Those who know something about commercial sailing ships will appreciate the author's extensive and careful research into every facet of life and work for the brave souls who fished for cod at the end of the age of sail. According to Follansbee, the final fleet of such vessels still sailed from San Francisco and Seattle to fish the Bering Sea into the 1930s.

Cod Fisherman       Photo credit: Northwest Seaport

Having grown up around the water, I can say that he definitely puts the reader right on location, with all five senses stimulated. I swear I could smell the salt spray, hear every hiss of the water and creak of the wood, feel the deck pitching and see the canvas sails fill with wind. And that's not all. It contains plenty of conflict and suspense.

After a beginning paced to reflect the slow torture of awaiting her father's trial, the action picks up dramatically. Follansbee gave Bet both vulnerability and strength, as she walks the fine line of growing up in a hurry. I felt her fears, sadness, determination, growing confidence and ultimate joy. And he surrounds her with other interesting characters based on real people.


I rarely read books in the "YA" (young adult) genre, but I'm glad I was asked to review "Bet: Stowaway Daughter." 

So mark September 29 on your calendar. Treat a young person who know, or yourself, to a novel that will educate while it engages and entertains, offering vicarious experiences not soon forgotten. I'm sure this book will succeed in the marketplace in fresh new ways. Even thought it contains many scary scenes, including one with a huge and aggressive sea lion, you won't find a single vampire in it anywhere. Imagine that.

What I Learned From Princess Kitty Muffin

Last week I left my home, husband, dog, and everyday life in Tacoma to spend the final three days of 2010 house-sitting in Seattle, with a companion I hardly knew. But I had plans.

Although  my destination was only about 45 minutes away from home, I packed like I'd be gone for a month. I brought my laptop, plenty of books, a knitting project, coffee, favorite herbal teas, and foods like Satsuma oranges, Rye Crisp, leftover turkey, and Belgian dark chocolate from Trader Joe's.

You see, I foolishly, selfishly, envisioned a private writing retreat. I had two articles to finish, but then I'd dive into the world of  my neglected novel. There I would be, all alone in the house with only my imagination and my new companion, Princess Kitty Muffin, the cat. How distracting could one cat be?

When I arrived, the little princess came to greet me in her own kitty cat sort of way. Her greeting did not resemble, in any fashion, the unbounded declaration of eternal love and devotion with which my greyhound greets anyone who comes to the door. This cat greeting could have meant "Pet me. NOW!" or "Where's my food?" or "Slave, let me out." She endured a few strokes of my hand, ducking as she did, but then ran to the door and demanded with her stern "Meow!" that I must open it at once. Of course I obliged with haste, as I would again, and again, and again.

There in a house not belonging to me―full of someone else's books, music, and favorite things, their posters and pictures on the walls, their Christmas cards on the fireplace mantel, their magnets on the fridge―I hoped, in my childlike way, to "play house" for a few days. I would pretend I lived there as a reclusive writer alone with my cat, not knowing the neighbors, just staying inside and making trips down the stairs in my slippers to put the tea kettle on again. I'd found a cozy spot in the guest room, where I felt less intrusive, and it would be all mine for three blissful days. So would Princess Kitty Muffin, I thought. But before long she would make it quite clear that, instead, I was hers.

She left me alone at first. She chose to remove herself to the top edge of the futon in an upstairs room across the hall from mine, a good vantage from which she could look out the window toward the street. With the best of intentions, I settled into the work station I'd set up in the guest room, consisting of a chair and table of the perfect height, a surface just large enough to hold my laptop, my copy of the Associated Press Stylebook, and a cup of tea. I needed to get busy writing.

But before long I succumbed to Princess Kitty Muffin's wise subliminal suggestion. I began to look out my window.

As a backdrop for the skyscrapers downtown, the mountains rose on the western horizon in all their snow-covered glory, wilderness and city juxtaposed. I imagined I could smell the forests of Douglas fir at their base or hear my voice echo in the loneliness of that alpine air.

"I wish you could see this," my fingers blurted out in type, right in the middle of an e-mail to one of my article's sources. He lived on the East Coast, a total stranger, a person I'd never meet. "Right now it's extremely cold in Seattle," I went on, "but the sun is shining on the Olympic Mountain range, right across Puget Sound from the city."

He didn't comment on my impulsive diversion. Maybe he didn't care about mountains or Seattle or how the winter sunlight seems so fleeting and dear in December's last days. But Princes Kitty Muffin did. She wanted out again. I knew her thick coat would protect her, so I went downstairs and opened the door. She soon found a spot on top of the fence on which to sit, absorbing the impotent but brilliant winter sun in perfect contentment. It beckoned to me too, and watching her caused me to feel restless. Her attitude told me, "It is important to live in the present and savor what pleasures we can, while we can."

It didn't take me long to drive down to the Leschi neighborhood's waterfront on Lake Washington. I buttoned my wool coat up tight and snuggled into it's hood. But the icy wind still slipped in around the edges. It ran cold fingers along the sides of my neck and made my ears ache. No matter. I didn't mind exchanging a  little discomfort for the chance to see the crayon-colored hulls of winterized sailboats, wrapped in their taut covers as if for warmth. Across the choppy water, the city of Bellevue glowed in the light of the winter sun. Already low in the sapphire sky, it slid behind the hill and the shadows grew longer.

When I came home, I made turkey soup flavored with curry powder. The aroma wafted through the house. Princess Kitty Muffin came downstairs. She "talked" to me, using a pattern of two or three assertive meows followed by a tiny, submissive, soprano squeak. It sounded like, "Do it! Do it! Please?" Once again, I refilled her four or five water dishes, including the one upstairs next to the bathtub, her favorite, I'd been told. But why? Only the princess knows. She did not want her dry food, so I treated her to some canned, and myself to some chocolate. "After all", she seemed to say, "small indulgences bring joy to the soul. We are worth it."


On breaks between my hours of writing, I read, sitting on her futon. Finally she came near and settled next to me. I missed my husband and dog. It felt good to pet a warm cat and hear her purr. I think she missed her people too and decided I would have to suffice. I could almost hear her thinking, "Appreciate what you have."

On the second night I brushed Princess Kitty Muffin. That changed everything. It sent her into a crazy frenzy of mewing, prancing, contorting delight and had me laughing out loud, taking in her message: "Sometimes it's good to be silly." Later, I sat on the futon and tried to write longhand in a notebook. I'm a writing workaholic, producing several pieces a week. But Princess Kitty Muffin wanted to be petted.  

"Slow down for a few minutes," her brain waves told me. Silence your jumble of thoughts and absorb the essence of our surroundings: the scent of old wood, the warmth of fabric, the touch of fur, the soft glow of the fading light at the end of another year."

When I went to bed, settling into my hours of repose as easily as the warm blankets settled over me, I heard a noise. First came the thump. Then suddenly the bed moved a little and the faint silhouette of a long-haired cat appeared beside my pillow.

"Meow! Meow! Squeak?"

She stood there for a full minute, just staring at me. I waited. Then, in the darkness, I sensed the warm weight of her little body as she found a spot alongside my thigh and curled herself into a ball. The purring began. By this time Princess Kitty Muffin could read my thoughts, and I could read hers.

 "Feline or human, man or woman, young or old, no matter who we are or where we live, our race or creed or even species, we all need shelter from the cold, food, comfort, warmth, companionship, love, and a little place that feels like home to call our own." In total agreement, we both closed our eyes and slept.


May the new year bring you good health, happiness, purpose, productivity, prosperity, and most of all, PEACE.

(a furry friend doesn't hurt either)

Copyright 2011 by Candace J. Brown

Time, Connections, and a Guy Named Joe

Time warped last Sunday, on Elliot Bay. It happened as I admired the view of Seattle's skyscrapers through the rigging of a 1913 schooner, and it made me ponder the nature of time and connection. Others aboard must have had those thoughts too. Like Joe Follansbee. We'd never met before but by strange coincidence both showed up for the public sail on the historic schooner ADVENTURESS, along with several people I know from Tacoma. It turned out he knew some of them too.

I was happy to see one of the teen-age girls from the Self & Sound program I've written about, with her family, and people associated with Tall Ships Tacoma. Somehow we had all ended up together on that gorgeous April day because of connection as strong and circuitous as a halyard around a sheave: our love of maritime history. That included the entire crew and Catherine Collins, Executive Director of Sound Experience, the not-for-profit organization that owns ADVENTURESS.

Everyone savored the afternoon, leaning against varnished surfaces that reflected the sun while holding its warmth. Enough of a breeze came up to arch out the yards of canvas and let us get a taste of what we'd come for: the timeless and organic triad of water, wind and wood. To the east the city spread out before us, so different now than the year ADVENTURESS was built. To the west the Olympic mountain range still white with snow, made a breathtaking border between blue water and blue sky. But of all the pleasures of the day, meeting Joe Follansbee and learning how deeply this man cares about Pacific Northwest maritime history, was one of the greatest. It seemed most fitting aboard a 96-year-old ship in the year 2009.

Joe Follansbee is a prolific writer and journalist with an impressive list of published articles in print and online, and four books to his name, including Shipbuilders, Sea Captains, and Fishermen: The Story of the Schooner Wawona. He was one of the people who tried to save WAWONA, and is one of many who now mourn the loss after her recent demolition at Lake Union Dry Dock. She’d been a celebrity since her beginnings in 1897: a three-masted beauty and the largest schooner ever built in America. On the deck of historic ADVENTURESS, wind in our faces, how could we not honor WAWONA’s memory and try to imagine her under sail?

Joe’s involvement with old ships goes beyond WAWONA. He’s project manager of the website Maritime Heritage Network, which is owned by 4Culture, King County's arts and heritage agency, and writes the MHN blog. He also serves as Director of Communications for the Grays Harbor Historical Seaport Authority, an educational organization that owns and operates two replica ships, the Lady Washington and the Hawaiian Chieftain. He keeps busy on issues of local history. He's one of the people who cares. Without people like Joe I'd never have had the chance to see the current Seattle skyline and the rigging of the historic ship juxtaposed.


After three hours on the water ADVENTURESS tied up again at the Elliot Bay Marina and we all went our separate ways. I turned to take a look at her among the modern yachts, the past alongside the present. But what of the future?

I don't know when, if ever again, I'll end up in the same place and time as Joe Follansbee. But I'm glad I met him. From the perspective of a writer, I admire and respect his work. As a human being I am grateful to him and all the others like him who are dedicated to preserving our past. Maybe we'll never truly understand the concept of time, but luckily for us, Joe Follansbee is making the most of his.

Confessions of the Scantily Scandinavian

I never claimed to be Norwegian. In fact, when my friend Chris started campaigning to get me to join the Daughters of Norway I protested.

“But Chris,” I said, hating to disappoint her, “ I’m not Norwegian.”

“It doesn’t matter! You’re part Danish and your husband is half Danish, so you’re more than qualified to join” she said. “Look at me. I’m Swedish!” It’s true that being strictly Norwegian isn’t strictly required. Next I heard (again) about all of the organization’s strong points: wonderful people, a century-long legacy, only one meeting per month, great programs, many fun activities, and all of it involving plenty of scrumptious Scandinavian desserts. That did it. Chris doesn’t lie. Now I’m an officer in the largest Daughters of Norway lodge in the United States, Embla No. 2, in Tacoma, Washington, and I love it. How did this happen?

I never claimed to be Norwegian, and to tell the truth, I'm only one-eighth Danish. But now, not only do I feel accepted, it’s scary how much I’m starting to feel Norwegian. Strangely enough, I learned Hardanger Embroidery years ago, and have always knitted Scandinavian patterns. I love snow, fish, and Edvard Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 16. I bake beautiful butter cookies. I even felt my heart rate quicken when I saw my Danish family name on genealogy websites as being also found in Norway. Those Vikings did get around. Despite my mostly English heritage, with equal parts of German and Danish thrown in, I can tell I’m becoming more Scandinavian all the time. Now I can’t wait to celebrate Christmas Scandinavian style.

Oh I know… it isn’t even Thanksgiving and I’m talking about Christmas. You’re already cringing when you go into stores where the Christmas cards, candy, and commercialism showed up magically the morning after Halloween. That’s not the kind of Christmas I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind with real evergreens, warm wool sweaters, home baked goodies, fiddle music, singing, wheat weavings, gifts carved of wood or crafted from silver: a more natural and simple Christmas. If you’d like to treat yourself to some of that and experience the holidays in a whole new way, take in one of the Puget Sound region’s many delightful Scandinavian festivals. Here are some good choices and remember, EVERYONE is welcome:

Thursday Nov. 13- Scandinavian Night (food demos, shopping) at the Garfield Book Company next to Pacific Lutheran University

Sat. Nov. 15-Scandinavian Fair at the Hampton Inn, Bellingham WA 10 AM-4 PM

Sat. Nov. 22- Yule Boutique, Pacific Lutheran University, Olson Auditorium

Sat. Nov. 22 and Sun. Nov. 23- Yulefest at the Nordic Heritage Museum in Seattle

Lately we’ve had plenty of bad news. Maybe you aren’t in the mood for holidays. Leave that cynicism behind and discover what warm hearts came from cold climates. It’s fun to be Scandinavian, even in scant amounts, or just your imagination.