The Blues of the Black River: A Walk Through Snohomish’s New Frontier

Mr. Editor: Did you ever have the blues? Well, if you never did, may you never be troubled with it. I had a slight attack on Saturday. I concluded to take a stroll out into the ground old forest, thinking that 'communion with nature' would in a short time heal my pain. Taking the first toll lane to, I ventured along in a very sloppy way when all of a sudden, upon mixing my eyes, I beheld home and a clearing, which upon entering, found to be Mr. Stephenson's. I sat down and had a pleasant chat with the family, and then was shown around the premises. Mr. Stephen owns his a fine place on the Black River, which extends from Eldredge's Well to Lowell, a distance of nearly nine miles. He has about 170 acres, at least half of which is under good cultivation. He says only help is 'the three little lots and two girls,' and my it be him only been there two years, we think some of them must have considerably on the 'help.' He has a fine orchard started, and everything about him so homelike that we are sure in a very short time he will be very comfortable with his home. His home, made of wood, is surrounded and roofed by ivy.

Mr. Editor, it is an honor to say, that 'but just as expected' our intention was the large and timely kept flower beds, and lavender mounds. Mr. S. told me there are at one time, stunningly Mounds where the Indians were; he cut them down and made the mounds over then. Really no one would ever have thought that anything had ever been there but the mounds. They were evenly made, nice clear creeks runs close to the house in front, and they have a fine arbor on the little bridge that falls it. With thickly covered will grow there home truly the limit of enchantment.

Well Mr. Editor, our lines had tumbled, and at Mr. Stephenson's request, we started in company with him and one of his sons to interview Mr. Larimer, their next neighbor. Here we were kindly greeted by Mrs. Larimer, who spoke in glowing terms of the country and their home, which anyone might be proud of, now comfortable and better than they will average on the 'first.' Large enclosure all filled with all kinds of fruit trees and vines, a nice picket fence, wide gate and walk to the gate. So full of fair appearance, now illimitable! The first thing that I noticed was the windows full of honeysuckle plants. Surely I thought, I can judge the advancement by the wish to make home pleasant, attractive, and happy.

Mr. Larimer has worked but one summer and two winters on his place, and has over 20 acres cleared and piled for burning, several acres made good cultivation. I thought to myself, 'these are the men we want in this new country,' men who fall love with a determination to make a home, 'chop it out with an axe in hand,' who are not afraid nor ashamed to work, but who by their industry and perseverance have made the 'dirt' turn him the 'gold.'

At Mr. Larimer's place, but not all did we make a promise to call again, we took our leave. It was getting into A.M. As we were going back to Mr. Stephenson's house he told me that there were many other families on this Black River, who we hope it will be our lot to see and get acquainted with. Bidding goodbye, with much regret, to our kind friend, we turned our steps homeward. But Mr. Editor, our visit, or rather our reflection upon our visit, nearly gave us a 'second attack of the Blues,' for our minds now wander back, look over mountains, ridges and plains, to many bright spots which had been so dear to us in 'long ago.' Many a bright cottage, nestling in the dimly groves, with their beautiful flowers glinting; we could almost smell their delightful odor.

How strange it makes one feel to awaken from such a blissful reverie and find yourself plodding along, knee deep in the mud, with bow on one side and a devil's weed club in your hand for a cane. 'Twas thus I awoke and after getting fairly settled upon the trail, I come to the conclusion that 'things are not all glory.'