The Perils of the Domestic Ideal
A satirical poem from 1882 paints a brutal portrait of the 'married life' trap awaiting the youth of frontier Seattle.
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.
I. Shady tree, babbling brook, girl in hammock, reading book, golden curls, tiny feet, girl in hammock looks so sweet. Man rides past, big moustache; girl in hammock makes a 'mash.' Mash is mutual, day is hot, man and maiden married get. II. Married now, one year ago, keeping house on Baxter Row. Red hot stove, beefsteak frying. Girl got married, cooking, trying, cheeks all burning, eyes look red; girl got married, nearly dead. Biscuit burnt up, beefsteak charry, girl got married, awful sorry. Man comes home, twirls moustache, mad as blazes, got no hash. Thinks of hammock in the lane, wishes maiden back again. Maiden also thinks of swing, wants to go back, too, poor thing! III. Hour of midnight, baby squawking, man in sock feet, bravely walking. Baby yells on. Now the other twin he strikes up, like his brother. Paregoric by the bottle, knitted into baby's throttle. Naughty tack points in air, waiting some one's foot to tear. Man in sock feet—see him—there! Holy smoke! Hear him swear! Having crazy, gets his gun, blows his head off, dead and gone. IV. Pretty widow with a book, in the hammock by the brook. Man rides past, big moustache; keeps on riding, nary mash.
“Girl got married, nearly dead. Biscuit burnt up, beefsteak charry, girl got married, awful sorry.”
While Seattle’s 1882 economy was built on rugged industry and rapid land expansion, this poem reveals the exhaustion beneath the era’s rigid domestic expectations. It captures a 'marriage squeeze' that resonates with modern discussions about the cost of living and the crushing labor of maintaining a household in a high-pressure city.
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