The Claret Rebellion in 1870s Seattle
At a meeting of the King County Farmers Club, a local leader tried to replace the frontier staple of 'bald-face' whiskey with homegrown wine, igniting a fiery debate about culture and grit.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
The King County Farmers Club meeting on Saturday last was of more than ordinary interest. In the absence of the President, Col. Larrabee, the Vice President, took the chair. The Chairman stated that he had received from the Commissioner of Agriculture a quantity of 'Cooley-Corn,' a variety which ripens in the unprecedented time of thirteen weeks. It was his opinion that the Statute of Limitations did not apply to this corn. He had, he was sorry to say, distributed all he had among a lot of outside farmers, so there was none left for those present.
Col. Larrabee stated he had also received seed of the tea plant and well-rooted grape vines of high-quality varieties, including Concord and Clinton. It was his opinion, as the result of experiment, that the grape known as 'Ives's Seedling' makes a first-class claret and has a tendency to drive out whiskeys—and the variety known as 'bald-face.' The Chairman expressed his gratification at this introduction of hardy grapes, noting they should be planted with a southwestern exposure to gather ground warmth. If this were done, he had no doubt bald-face would become extinct.
A farmer present doubted the policy of driving out bald-face. He had seen this country from the sun up, and was quite sure the early inhabitants could not have existed on such thin drinks as claret. 'No claret for whiskers. No, sir.' The Chairman regretted such objections, in view of the independent stand taken by the Grand Jury at Olympia. He thought that even the hostile forces of that metropolitan city of vacant lots would compromise on claret. As for him, give him claret every time. The Chairman deprecated all politics, and the meeting adjourned.
“He had seen this country from the sun up, and was quite sure the early inhabitants could not have existed on such thin drinks as claret. No claret for whiskers. No, sir.”
In 1872, Seattle’s agricultural society was already debating the identity of the region—torn between the rugged, hard-drinking survivalism of the frontier and an aspirational, refined future. Today's Seattle, with its artisanal wine culture and high-end tech-driven demographic shifts, is still wrestling with that same transition from a rough-and-tumble boomtown to a place of aesthetic polish.
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