Lighthouses for Kids

History, Science, and Lore with 21 Activities

By Katherine L. House

Chicago Review Press Incorporated

Copyright © 2008 Katherine L. House
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-55652-720-3

Contents

Note to Readers,
Acknowledgments,
Time Line,
Introduction,
1 • Growing Up at a Lighthouse 1 True Stories of Keepers' Kids,
2 • Why Lighthouses? A Short History,
3 • A Field Guide to U.S. Lighthouses,
4 • Amazing Construction Stories,
5 • The Science Behind Lighthouses,
6 • Keep the Lights Burning! The Job of the Keeper,
7 • Lighthouses Today,
Resources,
Index,

CHAPTER 1

Growing Up at a Lighthouse

True Stories of Keepers' Kids

Eight-year-old Philmore Wass searched the shoreline as he scurried to the outhouse on a cold December morning in 1925. Low-lying fog on Maine's Libby Island kept him from seeing far. He could barely make out the shape of tall stakes that looked like fence posts sticking out of the water. Puzzled, he ran back to the house and grabbed the spyglass that hung over the kitchen table. The magnifier revealed what his eyes could not see: the broken masts of a sailing ship. The ship must have wrecked the previous night when howling winds had kept him awake.

Philmore had seen shipwrecks before near this island where his father was a lighthouse keeper. Right now, Dad was on the mainland with Philmore's older brother. Mrs. Wass called the nearby Coast Guard station to tell them about the tragedy. The Wass family was lucky to have a telephone. Not all homes — and certainly not all lighthouses — had one in the 1920s. The Wass's phone worked using an underground cable that often went out in bad storms. On this day, it was working, and Philmore's mother was relieved to learn that the ship's crew had been rescued.

The lighthouse keeper's son could not wait for the fog to lift so that he could see what had happened. How big was the ship? What cargo had it been carrying? What kind of damage had it endured? Philmore remembered an earlier shipwreck near rocky Libby Island. He had been sad to see a majestic ship destroyed by the unpredictable force of the sea. After the fog lifted, Philmore realized the ship must have been heading to one of New England's many paper mills. Cords of wood floated on the water, turning it a whitish-brown color.

Philmore, his sister Nonie, and her friend went outside to explore. They walked the length of snow-covered Libby Island to reach the sandbar separating it from its neighboring island, "Big Libby." As they drew closer, they noticed that two of the ship's three masts were still connected to the deck, but leaned at an odd angle. The rigging, or ropes that supported the sails, swung back and forth in the wind. The ship's shredded sails hung from cords of wood. "It was difficult to comprehend that the wind and the seas, combined with the destructive power of Libby's Ledges, could so totally destroy a ship of this size and strength in a few hours," he wrote.

When the tide went out, the children waded across the bar to the wreck. "Feeling like midgets, we stood near the hull and looked up at the largest manmade structure we had ever seen," Philmore recalled. The three managed to reach the stern, or rear, of the John C. Myers and climb aboard. Dishes, food, even furniture, had been hurled about. The odor of large chunks of salt pork floating in the water made Philmore's stomach flip-flop. Like others who lived along the coast at the time, the keeper's son knew that once a ship was totally wrecked, anyone could salvage what was left. The search for souvenirs began.

Soon he spotted a beautiful black mahogany box. Hoping that it held treasures, Philmore opened it. It was empty, except for its lovely velvet lining. Philmore wondered if the box had held a sextant or maybe a compass to help the captain find his way. Had the crew rescued the valuable instrument, or was it lost forever in the cold dark ocean? The children could not linger long. If the tide came in, they would be trapped for hours on "Big Libby." Armed with his precious box, Philmore began to walk home with the older girls. "It had been a unique and exciting adventure," he realized. "How many other kids ever had a chance to explore a wrecked ship hours after she had struck the rocks?"

Besides having the rare chance to explore shipwrecks, children of lighthouse keepers peered into tide pools, scoured the shoreline for treasures, and learned to handle boats at an early age. Often their brothers and sisters were the only children to play with. Sometimes it was difficult to keep quiet so that the tired keepers could catch up on sleep during the day. From the time they were young, lighthouse children helped with chores to keep the lighthouse and the keeper's house clean and orderly. Most important, they were proud of the jobs their fathers and mothers held. Even in times of illness, bad weather, and family crisis, they did what they could to keep the lights burning.

Treasures from the Sea

Whether they lived on an island or on the mainland, along the ocean, a lake, or a river, children who grew up at lighthouses looked for adventure along the water. They often walked the coastline in search of shells, driftwood, or other treasures. For some, a new tide might even bring exotic food.

William Spear Jr. grew up along the Delaware Bay where his father served as keeper of the Deepwater Range Lights for over 30 years. After a shipwreck, bunches of canned food floated ashore, but not before their labels washed off. "Mother would open a can, hoping that it would be beans or tomatoes, and we would be delighted to find out that it contained peaches or cherries," he later recalled.

Not every shipwreck brought such a selection of treats. Harold Jennings was born in 1921 on an island in Boston Harbor, where his father was a lighthouse keeper. Once, after a ship wrecked nearby, 150-pound (68 kg) boxes of coconut washed ashore. "I thought I would never want to see another shred of coconut in my life," Harold later wrote. "We would have coconut in everything."

More often, the sea provided daily food and sometimes treats. In southern California, Norma Engel often pried abalone, a type of mollusk, off the rocks at low tide. Her father was a keeper at Ballast Point Lighthouse in the early 1900s. Sometimes the family dried the "meat" from the shells on the fence. "It was cheaper than gum, there was always a ready supply, it satisfied our hunger for a spell, and it was an excellent gum massage," Norma remembers.

Water and Gardens

Finding fresh seafood was not usually a problem for keepers' families; having enough water to drink was. In some places, keepers had access to springs or wells. Families living along freshwater lakes drank lake water. Salt water could not be used for drinking water, so many lighthouse families relied on water collection systems. When it rained, water was funneled off the keeper's house into a large container called a cistern.

Sometimes bird droppings or dirt from the roof made its way into the water. In dry regions, keepers constantly worried about having enough to drink.

Taking care of a vegetable or flower garden was a common pastime for lighthouse keepers and their families. Fresh vegetables were a nice treat at stations far from stores, and growing food saved keepers money. Flower gardens cheered families in areas used to fog or bleak winters. Working in a garden was also a good way to...