Reading about the history of the “Carnation” brand of evaporated milk lends itself to a tortured metaphor for the Seattle liberal worldview: “contented cows give better milk.”
Carnation was apparently originally called “Tolt,” a much less florid and alluring name, which is a pretty common pattern out here: Kent was once “Titusville,” Auburn was once “Slaughter” — and, of course, all of it was once known by very different names and tongues.
In fact, “Tolt” was the clunky Anglicization of the Lushootseed word “tultxʷ,” which is what the Snoqualmie people called the river here, and they opposed the first time this place tried to rename itself after a Mediterranean flower thanks to lobbying from the Carnation Evaporated Milk Company. The name jostled back and forth between the two until it settled as “Carnation” for the last time in 1951.
We’d first heard of Carnation a couple years ago, when a friend of a friend was telling us about working as the comms manager for the farmers’ market out here while we waited in line for our activated charcoal vegan ice-cream. I share that bit of hipster trivia because I sometimes feel like we must look like the most annoying people in the world rolling into town, taking our silly pictures. But Carnation is very close to Redmond, so I’m guessing we can’t be the MOST annoying people to ever pass by… ooo spicy 😉
We drove to Carnation for the first time on Saturday and took some Polaroids. I love the retro feel of these, taken at the “Carnation Station” (currently a pizza joint). Polaroid chemistry does funny things; the weird ghosting and washed out reds here probably happened because I let these develop in the inside pocket of a light-colored jacket I had on—it’s all part of the charm of this very uneconomical but highly alchemical film format.
These were taken on I-Type film using one of Polaroid’s newer generation cameras, the Polaroid Now, that we borrowed from Christine’s work. I tried to figure out what makes this film different from the old kind, and it seems to be that, unlike 600 film, these cartridges don’t come with tiny batteries to power the cameras like vintage models.
One of the reasons I don’t take a lot of Polaroids is that I don’t have a good way to scan them; and, of course, I don’t invest in a scanner because I don’t take a lot Polaroids. Catch-22. I’d tried a few scanning apps and didn’t like the results; unbeknownst to me, the app called “Polaroid” includes a pretty cool angled scanning feature that’s a lot better than the flash-based approach to removing reflections. Thanks @sarahlatour_ for the pro-tip!
It’s not every day that I get to mess around with three generations of Polaroid cameras. And what better place to do it than in a haunted cemetery, right? Orbs! There’s a long history of Polaroids and ghostly communication…
This modern Polaroid Now was generously donated to Christine’s class by @eyefocusphoto—thanks Xanna! We borrowed it for the weekend to bring you this utterly unscientific side-by-side comparison with a 90s-era One Step (with expired film) and a 1980s Amigo 620 (with new film).
Spoiler alert: the expired film didn’t work. Does it ever?
No matter! I still got the shotty—and I’m keeping the dorky birthday Polaroid packaging anyways.
We didn’t necessarily set out to do this shoot in a graveyard, but it was the quietest place to take our time juggling between three Polaroids and an iPhone. Plus: Christine has been into visiting graveyards lately, looking for inspiration for her upcoming witch-themed art project.
Christine’s always been into cemeteries; not because they’re spooky, but because they’re peaceful. Her mom was interested in them too. Growing up, they would walk through the graveyard near her home in Kent and try to get splashed by the sprinklers. So for her witch project, Christine wanted to bridge the normative view of graveyards as morbid spaces of death with her own impressions of them as places of peace and quiet—maybe even joy.
The only problem is that most of the cemeteries we come across around here are very spartan, lacking the ornate images of angels and other heavenly figures that she wants to draw on as references for her witch project. Maybe we need to find a purely Catholic resting place? Let us know in the comments if you know the perfect spot in WA.
According to @spookachu.x_x, this graveyard “started as a masonic cemetery. The general public later began to be buried across the road in the Carnation Cemetery, until eventually the two combined into one – also merging with Pleasant Hill Cemetery (hence the stones predating 1905). The cemetery is still an active burial site, and supposedly an active paranormal site.”
I don’t think we experienced anything out of the ordinary. Or did we? Look through our Polaroids and decide for yourselves… These were taken on a Polaroid Now and a Polaroid Amigo 620.