MONSE — Far from bright lights, nestled among sage lands and fruit orchards, this tiny town in eastern Washington once caught a bolt of lighting.
It happened when Monse went up for auction on eBay. The hard-luck town — along with Bridgeville, Calif., and Tortilla Flat, Ariz., for sale at the same time — sparked imaginations.
“Why buy a house when you can own the whole town?” pondered ABC News.
A regional television magazine, Seattle-based KING-TV Channel 5’s “Northwest Backroads,” juiced the buzz for Monse. “Would you like to be mayor?” it teased viewers in 2003. Just buy the town!
The problem is: No one ponied up enough cash to be mayor. Investors evidently groove on a little more noise, commerce and possibly some polish.
Washington’s best-known “town for sale,” about an hour’s drive from Wenatchee, never sold. Despite all the hoopla — and its abundant wildlife, rugged frontier history and riverfront access — Monse couldn’t catch a break.
“It’s sad that it dissipated,” said Juli Doty, the Wenatchee real estate agent who pushed to see it purchased and redeveloped. “It was an incredible opportunity.”
Initially, the sellers asked $575,000 for the cluster of structures on 60 acres in Okanogan County. For a fixer-upper, Monse packed some desirable selling points: seven houses, a post office, a general store, a schoolhouse, a public boat launch, 100 parcels, fiber optics, railroad access, water rights and a bridge. Auburn and tan, the arid land snuggles up to the Okanogan River, teeming with bass. Hunters can stalk deer or cougar.
The initial crush of publicity intrigued prospective buyers, dreamers, idealists and a few kooks. A motley assortment of prospects fancied remaking Monse into a conference center, summer camp, family commune or retirement home.
But no one closed a deal.
Weary of trying to find a single buyer, owners Frederick and Donna Van Doren reluctantly carved the town into several pieces. The Van Dorens had tended the orchards and rented several houses from 1974 until a few years ago when they moved about 70 miles south to Wenatchee. Better schools lured the family away, Doty said.
Thus far, buyers have nabbed two large parcels. Paul Hammons, 52, a retired Teamster truck driver from Seattle, paid $125,000 for an acre of riverfront property, a 1,800-square-foot house and a five-acre apricot orchard. He, his wife and two children “just wanted to get the heck out of the big city.”
But before moving into their new country home, they faced another chore: cleaning. “The place was trashed,” Hammons said. “My daughter’s first impression when she saw it was she started crying.”
She is adjusting to the small high school a few miles away, and the family has settled in. Instead of sitting in traffic jams, they spot deer and moose from the living room. Eagles and peregrine falcons soar overhead.
Hammons speaks bluntly about why the town didn’t sell: It was a wreck. Weathered buildings, some barely standing, and junked cars adorn several parcels. Half a mile away, hidden in a canyon of willow and sumac, a migrant labor camp is home to hundreds of farm hands who harvest the area’s vast apple, apricot, pear, cherry, and peach crops. (Only used during harvest season, the camp consists of 32 double-wide trailers.) Another neighbor — a National Radio Astronomy Observatory station — spies the sky with an 82-foot wide, 240-ton dish.
Undaunted by the aesthetic challenges, Janet Jordan, an insurance agent in nearby Brewster, bought the circa-1900 schoolhouse and enough land for her two horses. Unmistakably a 19th-century structure, the school rises two stories, covers about 1,800 square feet and features high ceilings and oak floors. “I’m nostalgic,” Jordan said. “I’d love to restore that schoolhouse. A contractor told me it would be a labor of love.”
No romantic builders rescued the old post office. Another house on the riverfront remains vacant. About 30 acres that once produced apples for market languish in stillness.
The weather-beaten 1914 general store resembles a trading post from the mythic American West. Tattered doors and windows are boarded. Inside, ramshackle shelves and broken display racks collect dust. A handwritten placard pitches 50-cent soda pop. “Folks used to gather to sip whiskey and talk on the front porch,” Doty said.
She wishes the town had been reborn. “Some people wanted it for a family compound. The offers were never just right.”
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.
