These are the tracks Nonno would have taken to Clay City. |
I found a Clay City Road East that cut through a large
forested area about five miles north of Eatonville. When I went to the
satellite view, I saw a clearing in the trees about a mile from Orville Road,
and I felt sure that must have been the site of the old brick factory. About a
half mile further along Clay City Road, I could see another cleared area that
reminded me of a gravel pit. When I zoomed in closer, I could see three
distinct colors of dirt—yellow, red and buff—colors commonly used for bricks.
Lucy and I headed out on a sunny day and took the hour-long
drive from Gig Harbor to find the spot I had marked on the map. About 1,000
feet in on Clay City Road, we crossed the Tacoma Eastern Railroad line and
stopped for a minute to snap some photos. At one time, the train stopped here,
and a spur track led directly to Clay City to haul materials to and from the
brickyard. I tried to picture the first time Nonno rode the steam train to this
isolated place in the wilderness. At the time, the factory was in the beginning
stages of boom times, so he would not have had trouble finding his way. Likely
he was not the only one looking for a job at Clay City, so he walked
expectantly with other men to the brick yard, which was only about 500 feet
from the train track, if one took a route directly through the woods.
Beyond the gate, the pavement continues, but it's covered with leaves and moss. |
For us, though, we had to take a more circuitous route, as
there is no longer a path directly from the train track. About a thousand feet
up the road from the rails, we were met with a locked gate. Here the road
turned mossy and leaf-covered, showing its disuse. We scaled the gate and
continued on foot. At various places, we found spent shotgun shells on the
ground, and when we crossed a bridge over Twentyfive Mile Creek, we saw that
the guardrail had been used for target practice, and a few people had tagged it
in spray paint. The only other signs of life were droppings left by coyotes.
The road beyond the gate. |
The easy half mile walk took us through a forest of mixed
evergreen and deciduous trees that looked to be about 30 years old. The
property looked like it has been logged more than once. When we came to the
clearing I had seen on the map, we found it to be about 400 by 700 feet—around
six acres. Most of it was flat and covered with 20- to 30-foot tall alder
trees, although a few patches were still bare. One area still had some
undisturbed asphalt pavement.
The surface had plenty of clay mixed with the dirt, and it was
not difficult to find bricks and tile fragments of various colors and shapes. Beside
the road was a shallow pond teeming with tadpoles. We walked through the alder
trees hoping to find some other signs of the old factory, but we were
disappointed. Everything has been razed; the scattered bricks are the only
clues of what used to be here. Where Nonno and Nonna lived, Dad was born, my
aunts Nelda and Clara played—it’s all left to my imagination.
Bricks of various colors and shapes can still be found. |
Having lived in Gig Harbor for most of my life, which has experienced
at least a 10-fold increase in population in the past 100 years, it is strange
to find a community that has gone from more than 150 people to wilderness in
the same span of time.
Why did civilization disappear in Clay City? Gary Houlihan,
president of Mutual Materials, has the answer. “We essentially ran out of high
quality clay, and we shut the plant down in January of 1994.” With the plant closed and the road barricaded,
it seemed the story had ended, but in reality, action at Clay City was far from
finished. In my next entry, I describe some of the interesting events that
took place in the 19 years that have passed since the making of the last brick (Waning years of Clay City tumultuous).
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