The Wool Seller’s Thanksgiving: A Farmer’s Wallet Meets Reality
In a moment of pure 1876 optimism, a local farmer bursts into a Seattle restaurant celebrating his wool sale—only to realize that luxury costs more than he thought.
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.
Yesterday forenoon a farmer entered a restaurant on Griswold street, hat on the back of his head, and a joyful look in his eye, and flinging his hat on the floor he exclaimed 'Whoop! Sold my Wool, and now I want a Thanksgiving dinner!' He was invited to sit down to a table, handed a bill of fare, and asked to name his dishes. 'I want chicken, turkey, oysters, fish, quail, snipe, pie, cake, soup, wine—bring on the best you've got in the shanty,' he said as he pushed the bill away. The waiter started out, and the farmer hauled out his wallet and counted his money. His face grew serious after a moment, as he began to realize that luxuries cost money, and in another minute he pounded on the table and called out 'I want to see that waiter!' The waiter entered and the farmer continued: 'You hold on a little. You may scratch out that other order and bring me in some meat and ’taters and bread. I’ve sold my wool, as I said before; but I just happened to think that the corn crop may bust on me, and where’d quail and toast be then?'
This vignette captures the precarious nature of agricultural livelihoods in the 19th century, a theme that resonates deeply with modern farmers facing volatile commodity markets. The farmer’s rapid shift from euphoric spending to frugal realism mirrors the economic anxiety felt by many today who live paycheck to paycheck, where one bad harvest or market dip can turn a windfall into a deficit.
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