Medford & Ashland, Oregon

There is not much exciting to say about the time I spent in the Medford area. I was in the public library, historical society, and university research library most of the time. As interesting as that may have been (and parts were, if you can believe it) it’s not particularly exciting to write about in this context. But instead, I can comment on a few of the interesting things I saw in and around the area in the 10 days I ‘lived’ there…

As noted in the post about the drive away from the coast a few days back, I have a particular affinity for the random shit that can be found along America’s byways. And I’m not talking about things like ‘South of the Border’ off of I-95 at the North Carolina/South Carolina line - though that is kitschy. There are so many bizarre and unexplainable things littering the quiet small roads and highways of this country, far away from the interstates, that entire books and websites have been dedicated to catalouging them (see, for example: Roadside America). Greeting me as I first drove into Medford from the west was one of these items, in the shape of a large black bird. It was standing on a pedestal in the parking lot of a local hardware store called ‘Black Bird’. I never did ask what the point was, whether the bird was a marketing gimmick (most of these things start off that way), and who maintains it. It’s just there, keeping tabs on the parking lot.

The history of this area is largely tied to the growth in railroads and highways in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Originally, Jacksonville was the county seat of Jackson County (conveniently enough) but when the railroad was being pushed north through the area, the route through Medford was selected, starting the inevitable decline in Jacksonville and the rise of Medford. Ashland, about 15 miles south of Medford was a rail town for a longer period of time and had developed some significant tourism infrastructure by the early part of the 20th Century. Luxury hotels, often built with cooperation of the railroad, were popular and both Ashland and Medford boasted accommodations which garnered advertizing alongside hotels in San Francisco and Portland.

When automobile travel gained in popularity in the 1910s, Oregon was one of the leading states in the acceptance of these new devices. Among the first states to establish a highway department, implement a gasoline tax, and require registration for drivers, Oregon was also a leader in the construction of modern highways and development of roads for scenic travel. The original Columbia River Highway, built around 1913 eastward out of Portland through the Columbia Gorge, is considered one of the first roadways developed with the casual scenic automobilist in mind. This, along with the Pacific Highway, which was built south out of Portland and follows close to the current route of I-5, were catalysts of growth for the state of Oregon.

It was the Pacific Highway and its final connection over the Siskiyou Pass on the Oregon/California border that really brought Medford and Ashland into the realm of the automobile. With travel finally possible by car between San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle along the Pacific Highway, Southern Oregon began an active push to bring new visitors and new settlers to the region. New hotels were built but like in most other places in the United States, the new focus was on services for automobiles and automobile travelers. In the 1910s and 1920s, roadside motels as we know them today did not exist. Your choice was between the luxury hotel downtown and the newly built auto-camps. Early camps were on private property outside of city boundaries (to evade any regulations on lodging locations) but over time local governments got into the act with municipal auto-camps in city parks. Fees were usually nominal, as were services; running water could be a luxury at early camps.

Over time these auto-camps evolved to include services such as separate cabins, running water, on-site stores, and private kitchenettes. The auto-camp became the motor court. In time, the cabins became adjoining rooms in one long structure, stores became restaurants, and private kitchenettes became private bathrooms. The motor court became the motel. This evolution continued throughout the 20th Century (and continues today as the needs of travelers change) yet the remnants of these places still exist, if you know how to see them. There are obvious examples: motels along US Highways are still common and many retain their original layout as a motor court, with separate cabins along the edge of a parking lot or circle driveway. In some places, particularly in the west where they were more popular, the sites of old auto-camps are still noticeable.

In Ashland, the famous Lithia Auto-Camp, located in Lithia Park just west of downtown, was a prime destination for early motorists on the Pacific Highway. People would often stay for several nights in one camp, using the location as a base for exploration of the area, before moving on to the next camp in a city down the road. The original Lithia Park was created not as an auto-camp, but as a site with natural mineral springs which were thought to have medicinal properties. With its large size and existing attractions, Lithia became a logical place to establish the Ashland auto-camp. Today, the auto-camp store is now the city Park and Recreation offices and only one original camp cabin is present. People still come to Lithia Park to walk the nature trails and drink the mineral water but few venture to the old site of one of the most visited auto-camps on the Pacific Highway.

A note on the mineral springs at Lithia Park: I don’t know who came up with this idea, but they were obviously crazy. Maybe they drank the water. The city has several fountains set up for the public to drink from. The old fountain has been restored and a more modern fountain is also present. What I should have taken note of was the fact that not a single person actually took a drink out of either fountain while I was standing nearby. I figured that since I was there, why not try a sip; it’s supposed to be medicinal, right? Well, never again. It tasted like warm, watered-down blood with a hint of carbonation. It was the iron and the sodium that created the blood taste and the bicarbonate for the fizziness, as the sign on the fountain indicated. Why this should be considered healthy in some way, I can’t fathom. I made sure to walk out of public view before I spit my mouthful into a bush.

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