It was either Trains, Trucks, Cars, Dogs, Bulls, Cows, or the Familiar Noise from the Bridge, and then off to Sleep-
These are the sounds I heard when very young while falling asleep in the northeast corner, upstairs bedroom of the McGinnis farm house that I loved to visit each summer. The small farm in Florence was maybe a half mile away from the rail tracks across the river to the north of us that ran between Vancouver, Canada and Seattle, and to points far south and east. The nostalgia produced today here in Georgia whenever I hear the distant sound of a modern train in the evenings takes me directly back to those years of the late 1940's and early 50's. Lying in my own bed these days I hear sounds of the modern day diesel trains moving north and south thru my small town, going to and fro from the northeast to Florida. When hearing the distant fading call of the modern air horn of the diesel engines I am reminded of the wonderful sounds of the whistles of the old steam engines, again moving north and south, but between Canada and all points south along the Pacific coast.
I loved my time on the Island of Florence back then. What follows is but one narrow facet of my recall of those days and a meager effort to tap some very nostalgic feelings, the memories of sounds of the night ,and oh, how they have remained so vivid in my mind.
During the hot summer months this small farm house, built in the 1890's before insulation of houses became feasible and economical, the upstairs rooms of the house could become extremely uncomfortable when night descended. The upstairs windows would be thrown wide open during the summer heat in hopes of capturing a bit of breeze to bring some sort of relief to a long uncomfortable day.
But when in the dark one settled finally into their bed for a night of sleep, the silence could become almost extreme, nearly sullen deadness of the air, until the sounds of the night would begin, sounds nearly ignored during the daylight hours. But when a young mind is drifting off to sleep, the sounds would gradually grow in strength until you might hear a fish jump in the river or even a muskrat scoot itself down the river bank and enter the water with a near silent splash. A young curiosity then would take over and all sounds became louder by the minute as one attempted to relate to just what was occurring outside in the darkness. Safety demanded facts. Not knowing what a sound really was might send one off on a journey of unnecessary anxiety and mental anguish. Knowing exactly what was heard did bring comfort and a feeling of safety. Realizing we were not under attack by strange animals or mean looking criminals carrying daggers was always a good thing to know. Sleep would then come on very peacefully once all the sounds were sorted out, explained and any new strange sounds cataloged for future reference and identification.
One thing that always had me frightened was the winged bats of the evening. One early but dark evening in particular, while outside with the adults, one small tiny bat swooped by me with a near silent flutter of it wings and quickly whisked off into the darkness. “What might that be” and I was told it was a bat. Knowing at the time that the most dreaded fear of a bat was to have it alight in one’s hair for it would become entangled and cause a great ruckus was something to be carefully avoided at all times. Knowing this, it was added to my possible sounds of the night, and due to an over active imagination, what could be a worse possible scenario than a bat entering the house through an open window and causing havoc. That possibility was always near the top of the list to be something to always watch for. Alas no bats entered, lucky for them, more lucky for me though.
The trains of the time were still steam driven and at night their sounds, while on their journey north or south could disrupt the evening darkness but there was safety in knowing the tracks were somewhat distant. Regardless of how the breezes might be carrying the sound of the wheels on the tracks, and the blasting of the steam whistle to announce the approach to those of interest in East Stanwood, one could easily catalog this sound as a common occurrence and certainly not a threat to worry about. Always on schedule and at a certain place the steam whistles would begin their lonesome wail. It really was such a unique and combined sound, the lonely, groaning sound of a giant mechanical struggle that only a steam engine distant in the night could create along with the whistling it emitted as if to warn one to stay away, there is danger. Alas, there was no danger, but today it seems to have been a real mechanical struggle I was hearing, steel against steel, as if struggling to resist any human influence every mile of the way. In recalling it now, it is so distant but yet distinct. I suppose a pleasant, haunting memory would be a valid description of what it is to me personally today .
Another sound of the railroad that I am not sure is in use today and that is the loud explosive sound coming from what was called a railroad torpedo. This is something that might occur both day and night but it was sure to bring one from approaching deep sleep.
A description of the device as found recently on the internet……………….
The following explanation and illustrations for the device are copied from an Internet Wiki page,
http://www.thefullwiki.org/Detonator_(railway)
This illustration from an 1882 Leslie's Monthly portrays an engineer (fireman) finding a torpedo on the track.
A railway detonator (called a torpedo in North America) is a device used to make a loud sound as a warning signal to train drivers. The detonator is the size of a large coin with two lead straps, one on each side. The detonator is placed on the top of the rail and the straps are used to secure it. When the wheel of the train passes over, it explodes emitting a loud bang. It was invented in 1841 by English inventor Edward Alfred Cowper.
The sound was not an everyday or night occurrence but when it did occur it was very noticeable. Obviously as with it’s common usage, as a passing train was approaching East Stanwood from the south and there was reason to warn the approaching engine of a possible danger or at least to let an engineer know of something out of the ordinary was present just ahead an activated Torpedo would emit it’s explosive warning. Day or night, due to our nearness to the tracks approaching East Stanwood, we would also be warned of something different present along the tracks. Without ever knowing exactly what was happening the adults would explain it away as a way for track construction crews to caution the train engineers that there was probably some sort of work occurring along the tracks. Since track work did not occur at night it was probably just a warning to slow down for repair equipment may be temporarily placed near the tracks and thus served as a notice for the train to proceed with caution. But when the devices exploded there was no doubt what it was. Again, another sound of the night I shall not forget.
I have to add that during the daylight hours sounds seemed far different than was noticeable of the same causes during the night. As an example, the sound of the trains shuttling back and forth seemed different in daylight in that they did not interrupt ones activities or thought processes. Difficult for me to explain exactly what the difference was back then but the trains could not be seen easily from our side of the river. Occasionally and only if at the right place one might be able to get a glimpse of one passing by to the north but the tall trees and the brush on both banks of the river obscured the view but you knew they were there of course. But to me, the sound of the trains coming and going were different at night. The darkness seemed to always amplify the powerful sounds of a passing train.
On occasion, one might hear the loud bray of a bull confined to his small pen adjacent to the barn on the farm directly across the river from Uncle John's home, the home where Uncle John, his brothers Tom, Jim and Mother grew up. Perhaps even a lowing call from a milk cow might come drifting across the still air, or a barking dog in the distance. A barking dog with their warnings of the night was not all that usual, but the sound of the bull as I recall was far more usual. The cows were usually quiet at night unless something was disturbing them, but for the most part all was peaceful at night for the several small herds in the vicinity. Contented cows, and most of those I was familiar with were “Carnation Contented Cows”, were good producers so their evenings were necessarily peaceful.
The sound of milk cans being transferred from the milk stand at the road into the metal bed of the Carnation Dairy transport truck is another memory, but that is a sound of the daylight hours, and not to be dwelled on here. Thousands and thousands of gallons of milk were placed at the road but a few feet from the front door of the house over the years. I live far too much in the past, but that is my special weakness and I would not have it any other way.
Of course the house being situated next to the river road leading into Stanwood over the bridge just downstream would produce the noise of the traveling vehicles, trucks and cars going back and forth. It is surprising how the noise of tires traveling across the cement paved road from a distant approaching car would carry on the night air. One could seemingly hear a car coming for miles depending on the direction of the night breeze. But as evening slowly turned into night the road traffic became less and one could fall asleep quite easily. But occasionally the tranquility would be gently disturbed but it was always just temporary.
As Mother explained though, it was somewhat different when she was growing up. She would tell of the Indians in canoes, in a hurried pace, rowing downstream to Stanwood in the daylight hours, only to hear them come rowing back upstream much later in the night, in a very happy boisterous mood, singing quite loudly. Most likely a rather effective method to sober up I would suggest. The sounds of Steamboats, of various sizes, in the river were common I am sure. Inconceivable today at least to me. These were the times and events that Mother experienced but I am sure so very difficult for anyone new to the area today to even conceive of and rightfully so. But the river of the time was so different than it is today, even the main stream that was captured by Hatts Slough will never bear the importance the original river had to the early settlers. It was a lifeline of commerce, up and downstream. Goods coming up from Puget Sound, logs and crops coming back down. That’s what it was and the sounds I heard in my youth were certainly far different than what the McGinnis families heard and even far more different during current times.
The bouncing of the loose planks at the center of the bridge when passed over by a moving vehicle was a most telling sound, both day and night, but most remakably so on a quiet night. A period of absolute stillness followed by the warning from the bridge might awake one from a light sleep. The tell-tale sound coming from the bridge was always a signal of an approaching vehicle. Any vehicle crossing the bridge would reliably produce the distinct sound, a rather lonely sound in the middle of the night. Every vehicle of any size crossing the river always produced a warning of it's approach created from the purposely placed loose timbers at the center of the bridge being jostled about.
Florence Bridge Under Construction
1908
It was a most distinctive tell-tale "Ker- Boom” followed immediately by a “Ka-Thunk” each time a vehicle passed over it. The deck timbers may have had to be loose in order to allow the bridge to rotate on it's center pier when required to be opened, removing the obstacle to river traffic and allow a boat to pass thru. This procedure is something that ceased before my time as the river slowly lost it’s importance for navigation. It was not a drawbridge as the topographical maps state, it was on a swivel with a large steel encased concrete pier in the center of the river, allowing it to rotate and allow boat traffic to pass on either side of the center pier. it was such a narrow channel and to this day it’s difficult to imagine it ever provided enough room for any boat of any size to traverse. Of course the river began to silt up after the main current of the river was diverted to Hatt’s Slough and by the time I was aware of my surroundings the river had seen many seasons with each year depositing a little more silt with very little flow to carry it out to Puget Sound.
You could tell a vehicle was approaching from Stanwood by the sound. If the vehicle did not roll by the front of the house within a very few minutes it was assumed to be headed to farms down river. And the opposite was of course true if after a car or truck passed the house going down river on the route to Stanwood the sound of the loose bridge planks rumbling did not come thru the night soon.
I would go to sleep sometimes counting the minutes and seconds between the rumbling of the bridge planks and the passing of a vehicle in one direction or another. My young way of counting sheep perhaps, but more out of curiosity I believe, for I was the sort that tended to delve into minutia. One could almost determine someone traveling at a high speed just by noticing the period of time produced at the bridge and the corresponding sound of the vehicle passing the house.
The area of Florence remains an agricultural community today and since it all lies within the Stillaguamish River delta, it will probably always remain primarily dedicated to farming. It really is not an area conducive to subdivisions and large housing developments. For that reason in many respects what one might witness during a following of the seasons in Florence today, more than likely it probably remains much like it has always been. A farming community dedicated to the growing of crops that thrive in the rich soil deposited by the flooding river over many centuries.
Outside of the bridge noise, the sounds of the night may be very similar today only with the near musical tone of the trains steam whistles being replaced with the throaty blast of a modern air-horn.
