They are only a few paragraphs in that marvelous book, The Egg & I, written by witty American author Betty MacDonald some sixty years ago. But those words created in my mind a vivid image of Betty and her husband Bob wandering through a once stately old, mansion somewhere on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state. The book said the home had “about twenty” bedrooms, but only one bathroom; a large ballroom; stables and barns, all covered with vines and cobwebs. Even more intriguing was the book’s retelling of the rumor that a wealthy lumber baron had built the estate for his beautiful South American bride. But she had refused to stay and, heartbroken, he’d abandoned the once-elegant home, leaving it to decay.

I lived on the Olympic Peninsula and couldn’t help but wonder if the old mansion story was true. I knew Discovery Bay well and was curious to see if the house was still standing. I knew that if this part of the story was true (the book is fiction, after all), Betty and her then-husband Bob would have been exploring its rooms and hallways in the early 1930’s. So a home in disrepair then, built around the turn of the last century, quite possibly had been destroyed, the land sold, and a new home – or many homes – may be standing in its place now. I wanted to know. I wanted to find it. I was sure I could.

According to the book, Betty and her husband Bob Heskett, together with Bob’s sister and brother-in-law, had been driving back from a day’s outing on the western side of the Olympic Peninsula when they stopped to explore the old house. Where did they stop; were they an hour from their home in Chimacum? Two hours? Just down the road? I re-read the pages in the book for clues, and a visit to the local historical society helped me narrow the search. Best of all, it convinced me that the mansion really had existed at one time. A letter in their files, one that actually criticized Betty’s description of “Anderson’s place,” was all I needed to get the ball rolling. Looking at an old map of Discovery Bay, I saw something that made me nearly jump with joy (bearing in mind I was in a library). There, along the coast of the bay, was a large plot of land with the notation “Anderson’s Duck Sanctuary.” Anderson! He must be the wealthy “lumber king” Betty mentioned in the book. But it seemed almost too good to be true. Could the old site really be right in the town were I worked five days a week, and just a few miles from my office? Could it really be that easy?

I was working in a small town called Sequim (pronounced “Skwim”), on the northern end of the Olympic Peninsula. Sequim is about 40 miles from the Egg and I farm, and Bob and Betty would have passed through it on their way back from their visit to Lake Crescent that day. From the description of the area, I was sure the estate – and I was now convinced it had existed – had been on Sequim Bay, at a spot along the coast called Port Williams. Port Williams had once been an active fishing port with a cannery, company store, large pier, and several homes. A large, white mansion once had stood on the site. Could that have been the Anderson estate? A trip to the Sequim Library gave me some answers, but there was no mention of a man named Anderson. I decided to drive out to the area still known as Port Williams, a short drive from my office.

At the end of Port Williams Road there is nothing to indicate it once was a thriving village. As a matter of fact, there was nothing at all except water, sand, and a monument to a fallen hero from World War II. No mention of the cannery, no remnants of any homes, and certainly no large estate. It is a beautiful, peaceful spot, and I made a mental note to bring my grandson here one day soon. Then I turned around and drove back toward town. On the way, I noticed a side road which turned sharply in front of what looked to be a gated driveway. I turned onto the road and pulled up to the gate posts, which clearly had once held large iron gates. Now they merely stood as sentries to guard a tree-lined lane which led to a wildlife preserve. Could this be the Anderson Duck Sanctuary I’d seen noted on the old map? I cautiously turned into the driveway, driving slowly, and found a small “compound” of buildings at the end of it. There were two homes, one quite small and one a bit larger, though clearly not an “estate.” But there were very large barns and several stables and sheds in the compound. No people were around, but a dog barked at my car.

I turned around and drove out before the dog got any more upset. I was confused. The description of the area matched my notes perfectly, but there was certainly no “20-bedroom” estate here. Had it been torn down and these smaller homes and barns built in its place? Their age was hard to determine, but they looked to be at least 40 years old. I drove back out the tree-lined driveway and noticed a sign that said “Graysmarsh Farm.” I know Graysmarsh is a large “U-Pick” lavender and berry concern in Sequim. My first summer on the Peninsula I’d cut a beautiful bundle of lavender in their field. But was it somehow connected to this Anderson fellow? Probably not. I drove to my office to call the main office of Graysmarsh and see what I could find out.

Now I became determined to get more information about Anderson, so I returned to the library. A librarian helped me find some references to the property, and even told me that she’d been to the “hunting lodge” as a child. Alfred H. Anderson had been many things, but the property in Sequim was developed to entertain his duck hunting friends. Today, much of the property is a preserve for water fowl - a bit ironic, I suppose. In the 1950’s and ‘60’s, school children were brought there on field trips. The librarian said she would try to find out more information about Alfred Anderson and call me.

A couple of weeks later, the librarian called and also sent me a copy of an email from another branch’s reference librarian. It stated that the reason Mr. Anderson’s beautiful estate is not noted in any of the historical information is because there was “some scandal, possibly an affair” associated with him. So it wasn’t a South American bride – it was a scandal. I later found out that it had to do with Anderson’s untimely death in 1914. Apparently, he collapsed in a New York hotel room, in the company of a lady who was not his wife. How typical of Betty to take the gist of a story and change it just enough to make it fascinating, but not a cold, hard fact!

The main house, a Victorian grande dame, was prickly with cupolas, little balconies, and chimneys. The sagging porches and paneless windows gave it a wrinkled toothless look. Crouching at the back was a huddled mass of servants’ quarters with caretakers’ cottages, barns and farm buildings across the driveway on the other side. Buildings, orchards and gardens were strung along the edge of the bluff, but so obliterated by second growth, firs, blackberry vines, and salal that only by stumbling on broken bits of fence were we able to guess what had been where. (The Egg and I, p. 156)

Another trip to the property cleared up the rest of the story. The buildings I’d seen at the end of that tree-lined lane had been Anderson’s hunting lodge, stables, barns, and a out-buildings. They had been preserved, though the property had been vacant for periods of time over the decades. The stately home Betty and Bob explored was on another part of the property, and it, too, was still standing. One quiet Sunday afternoon, my fellow Betty MacDonald researcher, Ellen, and I drove to the mansion. It is set back from the road, and a large lavender field lies between the fence line and the home. We walked up, planning to ask whoever we saw if we could take a few photos. No one came out. The house was empty. Maybe it always was empty, it was hard to tell. We looked through the glass windows that flanked the front door and could see a large foyer and what may have been a ballroom. The home certainly was lovely, though had a lonely feeling that may have inspired Betty to exaggerate its run-down condition.

Around the back, we saw the large balcony which Betty had described as “rickety.” Like the rest of the house, it was in good condition, and strategically placed to look out over the Straits of Juan de Fuca, an amazing view. Several buildings and a caretaker’s cottage lie north of the home, and some horses grazed in the fields when we were there. The mystery of the deserted mansion was solved and, once again, I had been privileged to see, touch, smell, and photograph this bit of Betty history. I wonder what she would say if she was with us today? Here are the photos, Betty. Enjoy!