The superior, extraordinary fair

Exhibition building at the 1882 state fair
in Jacksonville. Credit: Florida Memory

County and state fairs are rural mainstays that still draw crowds in postmodern times. But back in the day, 1879 to be exact for this blog post, a fair was a centerpiece of country society. On Dec. 31, 1879, The Florida Agriculturist newspaper devoted a full three-and-a-half columns of its front page to coverage of the Central Florida Fair. The entire front page was only five columns of type.

The event was deemed a "complete success" with bright prospects for the future. Exhibitors' products were lauded as being of superior quality, splendid, very fine, extraordinary ... and so on. Beyond the superlatives, though, the article is a gem for what it reveals about the fruits of pioneer labor. People were judged, for example, on the quality of butter they churned: Exhibitor Mrs. Houstoun showed "a plate of country butter, golden in color and beautifully prepared" and Mrs. R.G. Parkhill exhibited "five pounds of extraordinary butter."

The entire write-up focuses on who exhibited what, and on the quality of the products. Some highlights:

• A Mrs. W. H. Gibson submitted 355 items, all homemade by her. They included 117 varieties of preserves, 82 varieties of jellies, and 26 different ketchups. A glass of cherry jelly was "filled with beautiful and perfect crystalizations (sic) of every conceivable form." Mrs. Gibson also displayed a jar of watermelon citron preserves that was 25 years old (meaning she made them in 1854!). The reporter noted that they "were still fresh and beautiful."
• Mrs. W.H. Scott wasn't far behind. She showed 220 types of jellies, syrups, preserves, marmalades, and other items.
• Benjamin Falina showed a "huge" citron, weighing more than six pounds, that he had grown at Orange Bluff in Volusia County. The citron "received considerable notice."
• Mr. N. W. Eppes of Leon County "made quite a nice display of rice, oats, rutabagas, egg-plants, snap-beans and other fresh vegetables." I include that entry only because I wonder if Eppes was of the Tallahassee family connected to Thomas Jefferson.
• Mr. J.M. Auld showed something called the egg orange,  so named for its shape, along with displays of "biscuit-shaped" tangerines, the Maltese orange, mandarins, lemons, limes, and grapefruits.

Other showcased items ranged from cornmeal, cotton, corn, Florida syrup, and loaves of light bread, to white turkeys, native boars, and other livestock. Several people exhibited the LeConte pear that seems to have been the only pear variety of the time. Reading about all the food made me hungry for a slice of fresh bread with butter and marmalade. But hold those watermelon citron preserves.

Snippets of Christmas past

A look at Santa as he appeared in the Dec. 23, 1896
issue of the Ocala Evening Star newspaper.
Credit: Library of Congress's Chronicling America website

We may like to think Christmas of yesteryear was quieter, simpler, and perhaps more solemn than today's hectic festivities. In some ways, that may be true. In others, not so much. At least not in pioneer Florida. Else, the editor of The Gulf Coast Breeze (Crawfordville) wouldn't have felt the need to issue this caution in the paper's Christmas Eve edition in 1897:

"Christmas being the anniversary of the birth of Jesus Christ, who came to proclaim peace on earth and good will toward men, the day should be observed in all christian lands in strict accordance with that sentiment, and never as a day of drunken revelry and carousal."

Two years earlier, in 1895, the Bradford County Telegraph (Starke) spoke of the "festivities, the hilarities, the family greetings of earthly Christmas ..." in an editorial comment about how earthly celebrations will give way to "the great holiday of heaven."

Despite the emphasis on the holiday's religious significance in these two examples, some denominations were strangely quiet on Christmas in late 19th century Florida. At least in Ocala. The Dec. 26, 1895 edition of the Ocala Evening Star offered a recap of Christmas Day services. The content is worth quoting, for it surprised me:

• "The Baptists had no exercises at the church." 
• "The Methodist church had no Christmas exercises."
• "At the Catholic church the decorations were very pretty and the services beautiful and solemn."
• "The Episcopal church was nicely decorated in evergreens for the occasion, and the usual Christmas exercises were rendered, which were very beautiful and forcible."
• "No services were held at the Presbyterian or Christian churches."
• "Several Christmas trees were held among the colored churches."

I'm not sure what type of celebration is referenced by the Christmas trees being "held." If anyone knows, please add a comment. 

Although the Baptists didn't have a service on Christmas Day, the church youth presented a children's cantata on Christmas evening at the Baptist hall. The same Dec. 26, 1895 issue of the newspaper had a few lines about the event, and reported that the hall was "beautifully decorated with evergreens, and the nicely arranged tree was groaning under its load of presents for the children." 

The 1890s Florida newspapers carried no shortage of ads for Christmas gifts. Just like today, the ads ranged from the simple to the loud. Examples from the Ocala Evening Star editions of Dec. 12, 17, and 20, 1895:

• "Embroidery done to order at reasonable rates for Christmas. Cottage east of armory building."
• "You can make twelve elegant Xmas presents to twelve of your relatives and best friends by sitting NOW for a dozen of Gottlieb's unexcelled photographs. Studio opposite Montezuma."
• "My Christmas Slippers fit easy feet, fit hard feet, fit every taste and every pocket and are just the thing for a present. J.A. Rowell."

Economic indicators were closely watched, then as now. On Dec. 27, 1898, the Ocala Evening Star ran an article by a reporter who had canvased numerous merchants about holiday shopping. With one exception, all the merchants said business had been better than the year before. The drug store had sold out of holiday goods, and the candy store did a "huge business," 40 percent higher than the year before. As a side note, I noticed that the confectioner had run a large print ad for Whitman's Chocolates in the newspaper a few days earlier.

The sampling of vintage newspapers showed me more similarities than differences in the season, with one glaring exception. On Dec. 23, 1898, the Ocala Evening Star carried an article about holiday travel. The railroads had lowered rates for the season. On the Southern Railway, patrons paid one-third of normal fare for the return leg of a round trip. The Plant System's "Holiday Excursion Rates" advertised one-way fare for a full round trip. Granted, the Plant offer was good only in Florida, and the Southern Railway's deal covered only the Southeast. But, still. Imagine booking a flight for the holidays and seeing such a bargain pop up in your browser. What a ghost of Christmas past that would be.

The newspapers referenced in this post are from the Library of Congress's excellent Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers website. If you are a fan of old newspapers, you could spend hours there.

Hair: The long and short of it

Notice how the women wear their hair up in this 1880s
 photo of Leon Hotel in Tallahassee. The photo is by
 Alvin S. Harper and appears in Victorian Florida,
 America's Last Frontier, by Floyd and Marion Rinhart

Women today fashion their hair in myriad shapes, styles, lengths, and colors. We take for granted all the options and the ability to choose from among them. 

Contrast that to the late 19th century. Women had one choice for hair length: long. They had one choice for styling: up. Only girls and young women not yet out in society wore their hair in a loose, flowing manner.

The evidence is obvious in old photographs from Florida's frontier years. Every woman, from backwoods denizens to wealthy winter tourists, exhibits swept-up long hair. 

The less wealthy women didn't make a fuss over it. They parted their hair in the middle and twisted it into some kind of bun. Or they pulled it back without any visible part and pinned it atop or behind their head. 

Well-off tourists, meanwhile, displayed fashion trends such as frizzed bangs in the late 1880s. Why anyone would deliberately frizz their hair is beyond me. But that style was a fad for a while.

By the mid 1890s, the small topknot was the height of fashion. Such a style worked well for those with abundant hair. Otherwise, the results could appear comical.

One thing that connects past and present is the amount of time, care, and attention women lavish on their hair. But after reviewing, for example, Mark Campbell's 1867 book, Self-Instructor in the Art of Hair Work, Dressing Hair, Making Curls, Switches, Braids, and Hair Jewelry of Every Description, I give thanks for modern haircare products.

Campbell called his book an "indispensable adjunct to every lady's toilet table." It promised to help a woman dress her own hair and become proficient in the making of hair work. Hair work meant items such as braids, which functioned much the way today's hair extensions do. 

The book's directions are occasionally nightmarish. Even the easiest pattern in Campbell's book calls for the artisan to braid the hair extension over a wire, boil it, place the braided piece in a hot oven - be careful not to burn it! - and then remove the wire, insert a pliable cord in its place, sew the end of the braid together and dab it with a dose of shellac.

You can read the book online on the Project Gutenberg website if you want to learn more. It's also available on Google Books (not Google Play, which is a different Google books site).

More accessible is Dorothy Quigley's 1897 What Dress Makes of Us, also available on Project Gutenberg. She offered readers valuable advice for how to select a hairstyle based on the shape of the face. 

She urges women to do what works for them: "A wise woman will adopt a prevailing mode with discretion, for, what may be essentially appropriate for one, may be fatally inappropriate for another," she wrote. Wise words, that still hold true today.

Utopia it wasn't

This 1890s Florida Memory photo shows a
 log cabin in Tillman. The settlement predated 
the Indian River Catholic Colony, which 
predated Palm Bay. 

My acquaintance with Palm Bay has always been from the interstate, as we travel to and from my in-laws' home farther south.

To me, Palm Bay was a midcentury fabrication that had been planted in wilderness in the 1960s, and then had swelled to vast proportions. Another Deltona.

It certainly wasn't where I expected to find remains of the pioneer Florida Indian River Catholic Colony.

I was intrigued when I first learned of the Catholic Colony, which existed from about 1911 to 1914. My enthusiasm waned when I saw references to the colony as being a "land company."

Florida's history is riddled with land company endeavors. Given the name Catholic Colony, I had half-expected a utopian community - an exercise in communal life rooted in faith and the church's teachings. The reality was more mundane. 

The colony was a settlement attempt that failed. Decades later Palm Bay steamrolled over the ghost town's remains. Except for St. Joseph Catholic Church, the colony's church and possibly the oldest building in Palm Bay. The church's website says the settlers were so disillusioned with the land company they refused to use the place of worship provided for them, and instead built one by themselves.

Just how bad could the Florida Indian River Catholic Colony have been? For one, it started in a spot that already had a name, Tillman, and some settlers. Second, it apparently oversold Florida's virtues to such an extent that reality proved unbearable. 

The rise and fall was swift: The company filed as a for-profit corporation in 1911, and by 1914 a Fr. Gabriel Ruppert was guiding disgruntled settlers in the building of their own simple church. The church's website says the people "were not favorably disposed to anyone closely associated with the Florida Indian River Catholic Colony."

The colony was a development company based in North Dakota, according to the diary of a Dr. Watson who treated the settlers in Florida. He wrote that German and Slavic farmers from the Midwest had been lured to Florida by promises of two crops a year in a tropical paradise.

Online sleuthing has uncovered what appears to be a slim promotional booklet published by the company. The only copy available is in the Special Collections Department of the University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries. I hope I get to read it. In keeping with my optimistic nature, I like to think that somewhere within its 14 pages, good intentions abound. 

A settlement scheme that flounders because of ignorance or inexperience would be understandable. One rooted in the efforts of get-rich-quick schemers would not be. Nor would it be very Catholic.

Slowing down with a horse and buggy

American drum horse Mariah's Boon pulls 
the Moonlit Acre carriage. Gerri Bauer photo

A couple of weeks ago, I was wandering around the Pioneer Art Settlement during the annual Fall Country Jamboree when I came upon the horse and buggy in the first photo in this post. What a happy surprise.

Moonlit Acre Carriage Rides owner Laura Moon was offering short, complimentary rides to and from the Underhill House. It's the oldest brick home in Volusia County and a current restoration project for the Settlement.

Of course I jumped in, to get a taste of 19th century transportation. My husband and I have been on horse-and-buggy tours in St. Augustine and Charleston, but this one was in a country setting dressed for the period. It made a difference.

True, this carriage wasn't your typical pioneer buggy. It resembled a barouche. Nor was the horse typical. Laura's carriage was pulled by her beautiful American drum horse, Mariah's Boon. 

Such a horse-and-buggy combination was rarely - if ever - seen on the backwoods roadways of frontier Central Florida. More common were the cart and wagon shown in the other photographs. Both are on display at the Settlement.

The ride to and from the Underhill house was primarily on unpaved land, which gave a pleasant, rhythmic bounce to the journey. The day was gorgeous, the scenery lush, the carriage and horse beautiful. I could have ridden around for hours in a haze of romanticism.

But when writing about 19th century life, I have to be careful to balance nostalgic impressions with the realities experienced by Florida pioneers. 

Both human and horse - or mule or oxen - had to venture out in all kinds of weather. Nobody went anywhere fast. Imagine driving your car between 5 and 8 miles an hour. That was average speed for a horse and buggy on Florida's rugged sandy roads. (It's true they can go  faster in good conditions)

The distance between my house and the Settlement is about 15 miles. Since I'd never push a horse hard, it would take me 3 hours to reach the Jamboree, and then another 3 hours to get home. Such time factors help explain why pioneer residents' visits to far-away friends and relatives lasted days instead of hours. 

Given the slower movements through time  - and given how we rush through our 21st century life - I can't help but wonder: Did people back in the day live more in the moment than we do today? Maybe nostalgic views and realities can learn from one another.

1870s Underhill House. Gerri Bauer photo

Wagon on display at Pioneer Art Settlement
Photo by Gerri Bauer

Buggy on display at Pioneer Art Settlement
Photo by Gerri Bauer

'Nothing but illness for days'

Turn-of-the-century medical kit was used by a
North Carolina doctor who moved to Florida.
Photo credit: UF College of Medicine

Close encounters with healthcare emergencies over the past two months have made me thankful for modern medicine. Without it, my 85-year-old mother would have been in her grave instead of in rehab.

Had this been the late 1800s Florida, the outcome almost certainly would have been different.

To begin with,  life expectancy in the 1880 to 1890 period was a dismal 40 to 45, according to one chart from the University of Oregon. 

Second, the operations my mother underwent wouldn't have been options because they didn't yet exist. And I wouldn't have been around to help care for her. I would have been long gone - lost at age 11 to infection because the penicillin that cured me in real life hadn't yet been discovered. (A British professor named Alexander Fleming discovered it in 1928. The American Chemical Society has a great webpage about the history.)

Pioneers on the Florida frontier weren't worried so much about cures and treatments that hadn't yet been developed. They cared about access to the best medical service available. And it usually wasn't found in newly settled communities in tropical wildernesses. Florida tourist centers may have billed themselves as havens for invalids, but settlers faced other challenges. 

"It has been nothing but illness for days," wrote Julia Daniels Moseley in a short letter to her husband in August 1884 when their children were sick (102).  "Anxious nights and anxious days ... The boys are safe now. The fear is passed. I am too tired to rest." 

The letter's terseness underscores the severity of her tenseness and dread. Moseley's other letters are far longer, and breezy and chatty. She was a pioneer in a community named Limona near Tampa. You can read her letters in Come to My Sunland, edited by Julia Winifred Moseley and Betty Powers Crislip (University Press of Florida, 1998).

In 1892, Florida tourist Emma Gilpin hoped to ward off mumps by being armed with a bottle of homeopathic pellets. In a letter to a relative, she asked that the remedy be mailed to her in Miami where mumps were "running through the house" (61) (Public Faces - Private Lives, Women in South Florida - 1870s-1910s, by Karen Davis, Pickering Press, 1990). 

A week later, she wrote about a weak-hearted visitor who caught a cold, nearly got pneumonia, and died soon after. Her words are poignant:

"I have been up all night for the past three nights but the most careful nursing was of no avail and last night she died. The Doctor stood over her day and night but without any hope" (62).  Permanent relocation to Florida held no appeal for snowbird Gilpin, in part because of the lack of health care. 

Another pioneer quoted in Davis's book was Fort Lauderdale's first schoolteacher, Ivy Cromartie Stranahan. She grew up near Florida's Peace River, and wrote that "Our medicines were herbs found in the woods" (97). They included a sasparilla spring tonic and a poultice made from "thick, juicy India collard leaves which grew in the lowlands" (97). 

Other home remedies included quinine for malaria, calomel for fevers, and turpentine for bites and stings. A trip to the doctor could involve a journey of 125 miles, as it did for Ella Dimick. Davis writes that Dimick had to take her daughter from Palm Beach to Rockledge for medical care in 1878. 

Then, as now, Sunshine State supporters put PR spins on their pitches. In her 1873 collection of sketches, Palmetto Leaves (University Press of Florida, 1999), Harriet Beecher Stowe insisted that Florida's malarial fevers "are of a mild type, and easily managed" (122).  

Stowe's chapter, "Florida for Invalids," actually presents a fairly balanced view of what invalids could expect from a stay in the sunshine. Of many salient points, my favorite is this one: "It may, however, comfort the hearts of visitors to Florida to know, that, if the climate here is not ... just what they would have it, it is about the best there is going"  (133). Some things even modern medicine can't improve on.

New facts in an old story

The upcoming grand opening of the Enterprise Heritage Society on Oct. 18, 2014, is great news for anyone interested in local history. The former county seat has pretty much been swallowed by the city of Deltona, with its 80,000+ people. Having a physical presence will help the historical group preserve the community's identity.

I've long known details of Enterprise's roots. One of the region's oldest communities, it has a well-documented history. As seems to be the case with many local histories I've traced in Florida over the years, available facts made no mention of a Catholic presence there.  I just assumed one didn't exist. So I was really surprised recently to discover a Works Progress Administration (WPA) record documenting a Catholic church in Enterprise from 1881 until 1929.

Page from the WPA record about a Catholic church
in Enterprise. Credit: Florida Memory

The church in a rectangular, frame white building on Clark Street was pastored by a Father McFall for the first five years, 1881-1886. A priest from nearby Sanford, Father P.J. Roche, oversaw the parish from 1928-1929. What about the years in-between? The WPA is silent. The parish and church don't even have a recorded name.

Among the people who provided details to the WPA field worker in 1940 were two former church members, Mrs. John R. Thursby and Miss Mabel Thayer, both of Blue Springs, and Father J. G. Litch, described as an "old resident" of Enterprise.

You can review the entire record, scant though it is, at the Florida Memory website's WPA Church Records Collection. As for me, I'll be taking a drive down to Clark Street, and then up to the Diocese of St. Augustine Archives, to find out more.