Sad irons a weighty topic

Antique sad irons make great doorstops.
(Photo: Gerri Bauer)

For some reason, sad irons intrigue me at the moment. No clue why. I have three I use as doorstops. I usually think about them only when moving them to vacuum.

The history of sad irons popped up instantly when I asked Google/AI. I asked myself whether to bother writing a blog post about them. 

But the AI overview neglected to say that sewists can buy fabric with sad-iron designs depicted on it. I found some on Spoonflower and Etsy. A while ago, Missouri Star Quilt Company released a fabric collection devoted to irons and pressing tools, both new and antique. 

I can't find that fabric line online any longer. That always happens with fabric collections released for quilters. The specific fabric is available for a short period of time. The collections aren't reprinted and are rarely reissued. Once they're gone, sewists hunt for needed pieces from second-market sellers. 

The fabric trail tells me other people are interested in antique irons, too. That's good, because this isn't a post about sewing. It's about those sad irons. 

The irons' "sad" moniker is believed to have evolved from an old English word that meant solid. And solid they are. All metal and of various weights - 4, 5, 6 pounds or so - depending on intended use. Lighter ones were for ironing thinner items such as delicate clothing; heavier ones for things like tablecloths. 

It's too easy to equate the word sad with the mood of people using the irons in pre-electricity Florida. We can't. Who knows what they were thinking. 

All we truly know is that ironing was a workout. Households usually had multiple sad irons because one or two would heat atop the stove while another was in use. They cooled fairly quickly and needed reheating. Their poundage seemed to increase the longer the ironing session continued. Arms and shoulders grew tired.

Many typical homesteaders did their own washing and ironing. Wealthier homesteaders often hired others to do those chores. I hope workers were paid a decent wage for the era, but suspect that wasn't always the case. I also suspect more than a few pioneers ironed only what was necessary. That's what I would have done.

Washing and ironing was such a big job it required two days. One for washing, one for ironing. The entire procedure sounds grueling - filling buckets, heating the water, scrubbing with harsh soap, rinsing in other buckets, drying - often atop shrubs - then ironing, ironing, ironing. 

Sad irons have become collectable now that nobody actually has to use them, at least not in Florida. What's really sad is that some people make and sell fake ones. 

After reading online how to discern a fake, I wonder if one or possibly two of mine fit the parameters. I'm fairly sure the one that somebody long ago painted green is the real deal.

Real or fake, they work well as doorstops. And as reminders of times so distant from today it can be hard to imagine them. 

Historic hotel deserves rescue

A trip through the lobby of historic
Edgewater Hotel is a
journey into Florida's past.
(Photo credit: Gerri Bauer)

Most small-town restaurant layouts don't guide patrons through history during a walk to the restroom. I'm glad Thai Blossom in Winter Garden does. 

No, this isn't a food post, although their food is excellent. And I wasn't paid in any way to say so. My husband and I stopped there for lunch a few times on computer-repair drop-off and pick-up journeys. That's how I discovered the history.

The restaurant is housed in what was and hopefully will again be an operating, historic facility - The Edgewater Hotel. Opened in 1927, the structure retains beautiful details including wood paneling, stained and etched glass, and other touches of the era such as glass doorknobs.

I discovered them on my trip to the restroom. The walk leads out of the restaurant, around the former lobby and into a small hallway. The photo at the top of this post shows you what I passed on the way.

The Edgewater started as a haven for fishermen headed for Lake Apopka. The lake was famous for its bass fishing. The 53-room hotel gained stature and operated for almost 40 years. It sheltered World War II troops, Walt Disney World construction workers, spring-training baseball players, regular folks and a few famous ones. A 90th-anniversary article in the West Orange Times & Observer said legend claims Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart were there and filming was done there.

But the hotel closed in1965, stayed closed for a couple of decades and was almost razed. Over its lifetime it has been sold and resold, rescued by local investors, renovated, reopened, and operated as a bed-and-breakfast. The most recent closing came in 2025 after a group hired to operate the B&B had serious internal problems.

It's clear that challenges aren't new for the Edgewater. Even from the start. Construction began during the Florida Boom. The builder when bankrupt when the boom busted in Florida a year later. Local investors rescued the project and opened the hotel in 1927.

Room rates upon opening were $2 to $2.50 per night. That's about $38 to $47 today. But remember, an open window was the only in-room air-conditioning. Modern amenities at the time included telephones in every room, a state-of-the-art fire prevention system and an Otis elevator.

Photos I've seen online show wood floors in guest rooms and the dining room, large windows, period-appropriate furniture and other touches such as beautiful quilts on the beds. 

The word from regional media is that local investors are again stepping in to save the structure and hotel operation. That's great, because the building not only houses the Thai Blossom, it also contains The Chef's Table, the Tasting Room at Chef's Table, Scoops Ice Cream Store, and Earl's Barbershop.

I hope the hotel will operate again as a B&B or other housing. It has character and a strong local identity, something so often lacking in Florida's modern structures. As we zoom into our techno future, these pieces of the past become even more important.

Time collapses in 1869 guidebook

In the 1970s, UF Press published the
Florida Bicentennial Commission's
reprint of an 1869 guidebook 

The reprint edition included a
new introduction and index.
(Photos by Gerri Bauer)

Do I laugh or wince at the "new disease" mentioned in an 1869 guidebook to Florida? The ailment is described as a state of "nerves and mental exhaustion." Its cause? "... the harassing strain of our American life, our over-active, excitable, national temperament," a result of "... our artificial, unquiet lives."

I'm not laughing. The condition plagues millions today. Yet the author, a medical doctor, wrote those words 157 years ago. That was long before the internet, smart phones, social media, 24/7 news, automobiles, electricity, television, computers. It's odd to realize people without those distractions were just as unsettled by ever-changing realities and a quickening pace of life as we are today. 

That's not the only commonality I discovered in A Guide-Book of Florida and the South (University Press of Florida, reprint 1978), by Daniel Garrison Brinton (1837-1899). Brinton was esteemed in his day. In addition to practicing medicine, he was a research scientist, author, scholar, professor and leader of national organizations.

He seems ahead of his time in many ways, not just in recognizing a new malady. His guidebook's chapter on Hints for Health Seekers showcases some practices we consider essential in the 21st century. 

In addition to suggesting travel to healthful climates, he shares these ideas that still hold merit: 

• An attempt at cheerfulness by valetudinarians, meaning persons unduly anxious about their health (yes, I had to look that up). A good traveling companion was essential, so that the anxious person wouldn't fall prey to "Giant Despair, who is still as ready as ever to pounce on unwary travelers, especially on wet days, alone in dull country taverns.''
• The valetudinarian should collect something. In other words, have a hobby. Collecting ideas included bugs, butterflies, mosses, fossils, flowers, minerals (rocks?) and the wrong-to-me "Indian curiosities, birds' eggs and skins." The pursuit would get the person outdoors, and the organization and arrangement of items would keep them busy indoors during bad weather.
• Deep breathing. Brinton gives step-by-step instructions and emphasizes the slow exhale that we know contributes to quieting of nerves.
• Free use of olive oil; and coffee and chocolate were permissible.
• No tobacco - "absolutely prohibited in every form."

Other recommendations are dated:

• Five or six glasses of milk daily for consumptives, occasionally spiked with "a trifle" of cognac or rum. 
• Three or four eggs daily, some taken "in the guise of a 'flip' with pale sherry."
• Free use of butter
• Tea sparingly; it being "barely permissible."
• Rye or whiskey, well diluted, allowed three times a day if tolerated.

The book was written before the discovery that mosquitoes carry yellow fever. Quinine's curative effect, however, was known. Brinton advised health seekers to always carry quinine pills and to take them if exposed to "marsh miasmas." 

He also recommended what we today call exfoliation, done then by salt and water scrubs or by dry rubbing.

Years separate us from this 1869 gem, which the Florida Bicentennial Commission reprinted in the 1970s. Yet, as I've discovered through my other avocational journeys through historical  material, time also collapses. That's when our common humanity shines through, no matter how many differences separate us.

A daylong party, 1892 style

The Tatler newspaper covered entertainment
and society news. (Photo credit:
St. Augustine Historical Society)

Presidents Day 2026 was basically a day off for some workers and a reason for stores and online sellers to advertise. I don't recall any celebrations even in my youth.

The scene was markedly different in 1892 St. Augustine. The Feb. 27, 1892, edition of the city-based entertainment newspaper, The Tatler of Society in Florida, gushed in its coverage of Feb. 22 Washington's Birthday events. 

Back then, one day wasn't dedicated to all presidents. Some states observed Lincoln's birthday, but Florida wasn't one of them. Florida had been part of the Confederacy. The big bash Feb. 22 was a Military Ball, but the newspaper in its commendations of service members couldn't bring itself to print the words Civil War or War Between the States. Instead, it noted an officer who served with distinction "in the late conflict." 

But the city lauded the military. Oil magnate and developer Henry Flagler sponsored the Military Ball at his posh Ponce de Leon Hotel. He staged the event in honor of officers of the Fifth United States Infantry. The infantry was stationed at the city's St. Francis Barracks.

The ball was the culmination of daylong special events. The Tatler devoted more than three pages of print to it. More than two of those pages focused on detailed descriptions of attendees' ball gowns. Really. On and on it went.

Coverage included recognition of the military officers, listed by name, and a full rundown on music provided by the Fifth Infantry Band and the Ponce de Leon Orchestra. The music was continuous as attendees danced, ate at midnight, danced some more and enjoyed fireworks after that.

The menu received one paragraph of coverage. After reading it, I'm glad. The first line spoke of "a pyramid of grouse and partridge patties, a pretty brown pig beneath it..." Capon and quail were also available. I'd have headed right to the tables of salads, sponge cake, chocolate and ice cream. No word about beverages but I'm sure there were plenty.

The Tatler gave some space to the day's other events. They included an afternoon Children's Ball that started with a Grand March. The event was attended by 275 youth who "were beautifully dressed" and danced to the waltz, polka and cotillion music performed by the Fifth Infantry Band.

That band had a seriously busy day. It started with morning performances at the Cordova Hotel, which was a step down from the Ponce in status. The band then performed at the Children's Ball and finally at the Military Ball. I hope everyone appreciated their efforts.

In addition to scheduling morning music, the Cordova offered its guests a special 6 p.m. dinner. Washington's portrait adorned the souvenir menu cover. Afterwards, an orchestral concert featured "patriotic airs in an artistic manner." Smaller musical gatherings in the hotel's parlors followed the orchestral performance.

That wasn't all. Throughout the day, the city residents and winter guests "visited the different entertainments about the city," including baseball games. 

All in all, a hearty celebration in honor of our nation's first president. The Tatler acknowledged in its editorial that some people felt daylong celebrations were time wasted. The editors pushed back and stated that, instead, much is gained. "Everyone is stronger and better and wiser for an enforced rest."  

Those words still hold true more than 130 years later.

America 250: Florida was loyalist British colony

The book, The 14th Colony,
explains what happened in Florida
during the Revolutionary War

I'm shifting the blog's time parameters for today's post. We're going all the way back to the Revolutionary War period. That's because 2026 marks the 250th observance of our country's founding.

Many people don't know that Florida remained a loyalist British colony during the war. The "original 13 colonies" on what is now continental U.S. soil were actually 15 colonies. Florida was considered two colonies at the time - West Florida and East Florida. 

George Washington ordered patriot invasions of East Florida five times. Yes, five times. He had his sights on St. Augustine, primarily. Washington wanted British East Florida's arms and ammunition, and control of the Castillo de San Marcos fort. 

The invasions failed for various reasons. They included misinformation, miscommunication, a daunting terrain and even political infighting. The vitriol between two top commanders of one of the planned invasions got so bad they ended up in a dual. One of them died.

I'm a fan of Florida domestic and social history, but not of war history. All this information was news to me. I first learned it from a 32-page book by Dr. Roger Smith, The 14th Colony, The American Revolution's Best Kept Secret (Colonial Research Associates, Inc., 2011).

I also discovered that Smith's doctoral dissertation on the subject is available online and is 10 times longer than the book. I haven't yet read that.

According to the book, St. Augustine was so important that "George Washington mentions St. Augustine in over 80 letters to the Continental Congress or his general staff as either a military target or military concern." (Page 6) 

The patriots never secured St. Augustine. In fact, after the fall of Charleston in 1780, the British captured several prominent patriots and imprisoned them in St. Augustine. The prisoners included three signers of the Declaration of Independence. I learned that from the book, Patriots in Exile: Charleston Rebels in St. Augustine During the American Revolution, by James Waring McCrady and C.L. Bragg (University of South Carolina Press, 2024).

During the war, St. Augustine's population swelled with refugees. According to AI, the number jumped from a few thousand to more than 17,000 by the war's end. The St. Augustine Lighthouse's website breaks down the influx. Many were loyalists fleeing other colonies. A significant percentage were the enslaved people they brought with them. And about 600 were indentured Minorcans, Greeks and Italians who fled inhumane conditions on a New Smyrna Beach plantation. 

To me, one of the most interesting things about the entire population is how multicultural it was. In addition to the newcomers, some of the regular inhabitants were Spanish residents who had stayed when Spain ceded Florida to Britain in the 1760s. And local indigenous peoples regularly frequented the city.

Britain ceded Florida back to Spain after the war. (Spain had captured West Florida in 1781 as an ally of France and as part of their own campaign against Britain.) The loyalists melted away. St. Augustine's fascinating history remains.

Finding frontier joy

Citrus groves surrounded by pine forests
were a common sight in pioneer Florida.
Image credit: Florida Memory state archives,
https://www.floridamemory.com

Women in the 19th century had little legal or social recourse when husbands decided to move their families to frontier areas. Citrus fever caused more than a few such moves to Florida. 

Relocating from a settled, populated Northern or Midwestern state to a semi-tropical wilderness was a shock to many a newcomer. Many places have local history stories of a wife who spent her first months here crying. My own town has such a story. 

Prevailing attitudes at the time assumed that women who ended up here labored unwillingly and unceasingly and were unhappy and unfulfilled. The business of growing citrus empires and settling new towns was men's work. 

Or was it? Certainly, in some cases wives and daughters disliked living in Florida. But many women exhibited resilience, resourcefulness and joy in their new life. They discovered a freedom denied them by the social rules and structures "back home."

Even the woman in my town's history dried her tears and shook off her homesickness. She set out to find every settler she could in the vicinity. Why? She was fundraising. She wanted a church built. And she succeeded.

Come to my Sunland, the letters of pioneer Julia Daniels Moseley, likewise contains vivid accounts of how she first struggled, then came to love, the area near Tampa where she and her husband settled in the 1880s. It's a book worth reading.

These weren't outlier stories. Information in an article in the Summer 2012 (volume 91) issue of the Florida Historical Society Quarterly reinforces that. 

The main focus of the article by John T. Foster, Sarah Whitmer Foster, and Roscoe A. Turnquest is about a journalist named Ellen Augusta Morgan Hill. She expanded the depth and breadth of the women's page content she wrote for the Jacksonville-based Florida Dispatch in the 1880s. She engaged with her readers and shared her strong opinions. Among them:

• citrus-obsessed husbands needed to show more consideration, courtesy and affection to their wives.
• women shouldn't be limited to housekeeping and parenting (a radical thought at the time).
• men liked Florida much more than women did.

That last statement drew letters of disagreement from Florida transplants from the North and Midwest. "Rather than listing grievances many of the women along Florida's frontier described the simple pleasures of life," the article states.

Some of the comments are almost poetic. One woman wrote: "... to you who dwell among the pines of Florida I would ask ... Did you ever sit at dusk and listen to them, how they begin to whisper...?"  Did you ever, she asked, listen to them on a pleasant day "almost sing you a lullaby as you lazily swing to and fro in a hammock?"

I have listened to pines in the Ocala National Forest. I can indeed tell you the sound of wind through the boughs is beautiful and almost ethereal. 

Another woman wrote of loving how she found "... so much to occupy her time, from my little chicks to my little babe." She went on to list things she enjoyed, from vegetable gardening to tending all sorts of fruit trees. "I feel I am the happiest woman in the world," she wrote.

Even the ever-present Florida bugs and the famous Florida heat weren't problems for these pioneers. One transplant suggested readers head to Cincinnati if they wanted to feel oppressive summer heat. Others told how mosquito nets and screens repelled the insects. One reader offered a recipe for a boric acid mixture that took care of roaches. And more than a few shared tips for ensuring a safe water supply. 

If anything, these readers said they and their families were in better health in Florida than they had been elsewhere. Several had in fact relocated due to health. And yes, citrus factored into many, if not all, of these homesteaders' lives. 

Citrus in Florida has dwindled so much it's hard to remember when groves blanketed the state. Those days are history. But people still come here for their health. And a lot of women who relocate are happy here. This writer included.

Pre-Disney Florida hype

Screengrab from travelfilmarchive YouTube
channel's 1950 travelogue about Florida
Credit: https://www.youtube.com/@travelfilmarchive

Today's focus is a bit outside this blog's usual frontier parameters. But it's too classic to overlook: a 75-year-old travel film about Florida. 

The 1950 black-and-white Let’s Look at Florida film is about a half-hour long. It's an episode in a series named Pageant of the States. I found it on the travelfilmarchive channel on YouTube. Watch it at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BO33VEt-gM

Even in that pre-Disney era, the hype was thick. There wasn't a word about mosquitoes. No mention of hurricanes or humidity. Miami is described as having a median temperature of 75. Ha. I doubt that was true even in those pre-climate-change days.

More truthful and obvious was the glut of high-rise buildings already evident in Miami in 1950. The narrator said the city was growing faster than any other metro area in the United States. 

I cringed at the treatment of animals at what passed for tourist attractions. Penned alligators were prodded and poked, pelicans had obviously had their wings clipped, and dolphins (and macaws and other birds) were trained to perform for humans. Yes, I realize we didn't know then what we do now about non-human species. But I wouldn't have liked it then, just as I don't now.

On a brighter note, I laughed at the clip showing crowded shuffleboard courts in St. Petersburg. The game was midcentury America's pickleball. It was also funny to hear that St. Petersburg, a city of 100,000 at the time, described as a "pensioner's paradise." And vintage car fans will delight in the now-classic vehicles that roll through many of the film's scenes. 

In case anyone was worried, the narrator assured viewers that “Florida is still growing.” What an understatement. AI tells me the state's population in 1950 was about 2.7 million. We're at 23 million and climbing today.  

I was intrigued by the numerous comments posted by viewers. Many were from people who grew up in that world - and who mentioned how hot the climate was. Most Floridians didn’t live in air-conditioned houses then. The residential air-conditioning boom was on the threshold, but it wasn't yet a thing in 1950. Yet these same commenters treasured their memories and felt a sense of loss for a world now gone. 

Many years ago, I endured one year of Florida living in an apartment without air conditioning. A large, wood-frame 1890s house had been carved into apartments, which destroyed the air flow those old houses were known for. My two-room, second-floor apartment was brutally hot in summer even with a fan running on high in the window. 

There are some people who say you aren’t really a Floridian until you’ve lived here a while without air conditioning. So, I qualify. Yet I will always be a hybrid Floridian-New Yorker with firmly attached Brooklyn roots. Just like I’ll always be a Sicilian-Slovenian-American. 

I couldn’t find a person of color or non-WASPish ethnicity in the 1950 travelogue. A sign of the times, for sure. It reminds me to appreciate and learn about the past while embracing the good that progress has brought. And to sort through and call out the negatives that come along with them both.