In 1875, Henry Boston opened a general store right off of Lake Road, in picturesque Washington State, near the modern-day border of the Idaho panhandle. He built a house on Lake Creek. He hoped to capitalize on the fact that people need water to survive. A store doesn’t hurt, either. He took the old “if I build it they will come” approach. Records show the store survived only 3 years. While additional info on old Hank is sparse, these meager beginnings do make for one heckofa story, because by 1878, someone else would swoop into the not quite a town and, as the young folks say, blow people’s minds. William H. Marshall swooped faster than the indigenous bald eagles of the Pacific Northwest. Within 2 years, he built a home, damned a river, opened a sawmill, named a town, created a post office, and appointed himself as postmaster and town namesake. Welcome to Marshall, WA. Personally, I think he had inside info. Coincidentally, or not, by May, the Northern Pacific Railroad came a calling, and the tracks started flying. By 1902, NPRR was joined by the SPS&R – Spokane, Portland, & Seattle Railway Company. That’s quite a bit of track laying, eh? Why, who’s going to do it? Imagine Mr. Marshall saying this. “Hey guys! I have a great idea. You know that little convict camp down the road? It’s over there by ‘Marshall Creek’ (1910 air quotes) where they crush the rocks for building the roads. Let’s turn it into a state prison farm. Yeah, I know, right? The prisoners can crush the rock, AND, we can lease the rest out to dynamite factories.” And, that is what they did. But the railroad ties, that would be tricky. For this volume of wood, they were going to need to tap on the St. Joe National Forest, east of Palouse. To get those logs up to Marshall, they would need another railway – the Washington, Idaho, & Montana Railway. But, wait, we’re here to talk about the 306.
A few years ago, Webb French reluctantly agreed to hop onto his Deary, ID neighbor’s barn roof to clear snow. The question he asked his neighbor next would change the course of his life. “What’s in there?” Reminiscent of the spiritual song “Dem Bones” – the one where the knee bone is connected to the thigh bone, Webb’s neighbor bought property from someone who bought property from someone who bought property, including outbuildings, from the railroad. Inside that snow-covered barn sat an unimaginably old, disgustingly dilapidated, really stinky, and very confusing WOODEN railway car. Turns out, one of the past owners couldn’t figure out what to do with the falling apart rail car, so he built a barn around it. Webb French acquired the rail car and promptly phoned a friend, his buddy Kevin Dirkin, restorationist and historical archaeologist. What Webb didn’t know, however, was that Dirkin had just been contacted by the new Chip & Joanna Gaines network, Magnolia, who wanted him to find unheard of historical restoration projects for a new show they were developing with Waco’s own Clint Harp. This is how, on a frozen February morning in Idaho, a falling apart train car was somehow moved up a mountain to a plateau on French’s land. Durkin quickly solved some mysteries. It was a combo car: passengers, baggage, and mail. He also located a book on such passenger cars. Within that book was a picture. Even through the splintered wood, the animal excrement inside, & the dropped ceilings hiding the clearstory windows, one thing was clear. This was car 306 from 1910. And, she had been a beauty.
The Potlatch Lumber Company, of Palouse, WA, broke ground in 1905, as the premier source of railway construction lumber for the converging Marshall, WA railways and numerous other projects. The money to be made was in Palouse, but the Idaho timber was what they needed. No worries. The WI&M Railway was there to help. They would rail log the raw materials to the Potlatch Mill, where they would process everything and route the products toward Spokane, the Inland Empire, and all points between. Anywhere a train runs, people can work or live. Townships began to populate between Idaho and Palouse. Those people needed to go back and forth. They needed mail. They carried suitcases. So, the WI&M added a daily transport car. They called it #306. It was outfitted with a handsomely appointed passenger section that boasted wooden wainscoting and beautiful copper fixtures. The mail car, which often transported cash, was carefully protected by iron bars. The baggage area had massive sliding doors, “way before barn doors were a thing” – Clint Harp quote from Episode One of his new show, Restoration Road. Speaking of Clint, here’s your spoiler alert. They did it. The 306 was painstakingly and lovingly restored. Clearstory windows were uncovered, their wavy glass now showcasing the sun bouncing off nearby Moscow Mountain. You can take in the breathtaking sight from the new front porch, part of the depot-like structure where the 306 now lives. You can do all of this in your pajamas with a cup of coffee, as the sun rises. The 306 is now an Airbnb in Deary, Idaho. In fact, you can while away an afternoon watching bald eagles swoop down onto the prairies faster than William H. Marshall buying land just before the railroad came to town.
Resources this week include, but are not limited to, The Moscow-Pullman Daily News (Scott Jackson), the WI&M History Preservation Group, the Chaney Historical Museum, & Discovery +/Magnolia Network’s Restoration Road.
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