The Alsatian and the Pioneer’s Daughter: The Story of Fichter’s Creek

By: James Kennedy | Alva Museum

As a writer for The News-Press, local resident Betty Hawkins captured many in-person interviews that reflected the history and development of Southwest Florida. With permission from her estate, we wanted to share some of the tales from her collection Twice Upon a Time: Stories of Southwest Florida’s Early Settlers.

For our first selection, we’ve chosen a story about the Fichter family’s arrival in Southwest Florida. We hope you enjoy reading it — and that it inspires you to explore more of the history that shaped our area.

The Story of Peter Fichter

Early in the 1880s, a lone stranger rode into the new settlement at the Caloosahatchee crossing. Intending to stop only for a rest, he found he had reached the end of a pilgrimage which had started years before, far across the ocean.

Born in Alsace-Lorraine, a region wedged between France, Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium, Peter Fichter had left his native land to come to America and join relatives in Cincinnati. He had heard of the lands being granted by the government to homesteaders, and it was his chance to have more land than he had ever dreamed of owning. Learning he must be of age before making a claim, he remained in the rolling hills of Ohio until twenty-one, then journeyed southward hunting for a compatible climate and good soil.

Long months of travel following trails made by other adventurers, animals, and Indians brought him to the Caloosahatchee region and ultimately to the up-river settlement where he must cross over on his southward journey. The warm friendliness of the pioneers encouraged him to stay on for a while and accept their hospitality.

As he sauntered about the countryside, he was impressed with the beauty and fertility of the terrain and began feeling an affinity for the region. One day, while roaming several miles west of the settlement, he came across a verdant section sliced through by a sleepy, meandering creek and knew he had found what he had long sought. He staked out 160 acres, built a modest house, and after improving the required acreage, cleared out the creekway which his neighbors at the crossing immediately dubbed “Fichter’s Creek.”

Anxious to help the young stranger and pass on to him their experience in growing things, the settlers shared seedlings from citrus fields they had already started and invited him for substantial meals to break up the monotony of bachelor cooking.

The home of Mrs. Margaret English, who had arrived with her four sons and three daughters in 1876, seemed the center of activity for the budding community, and it was only natural the young Alsatian would gravitate to where companionship and fine food were in abundance.

It was only natural, too, that Margaret’s dainty little daughter, Nettie, would catch the eye of the young man who leaned against the great hewn-log mantelpiece and stroked his smart Vandyke beard as he watched her flitting lightly about her maidenly chores. Peter fell in love at once, but little Nettie had a bit of growing up ahead of her, and it was a few years until he asked for her hand in marriage.

There were no honeymoons in those days, and after their wedding the couple drove out the dusty trail to Peter’s house bordered by his winding creek. Furniture brought in by sailboat from New Orleans was put off at the Fort Myers landing, and Nettie delighted in decorating her home while Peter worked the land and brought up its potential.

In following years, when two sons and two daughters comprised their family, Peter built a fine two-story house and also added to his holdings by buying the Brenheiser homestead which adjoined his property. As the children grew, the devoted parents warded off the loneliness of their isolation with standing invitations to the English cousins and youngsters in the vicinity to visit at their home.

Nettie, following her mother’s custom, always had a stone crock filled to the brim with fragrant fresh-baked cookies, and Peter made available materials for a spacious playhouse and equipment for fishing. As an added feature of attraction, he subscribed to the New York Times, and the pages of comics, saved for years on end, were a source of pleasure to every child for miles around.

The nearest neighbor at that time was a Frenchman, Alex Longot, who had previously homesteaded on the riverbank across from Peter. As he was in delicate health, the Fichters took him under their wing. Nettie saw to his meals, and the children paid daily visits to “Uncle Alex” to assuage his lonely hours. When the little man became too ill to live alone, the Fichters took him into their home as a member of the family.

At his death, Nettie and Peter learned he had willed his homestead to them, and that, added to their own acreage, placed them among the largest landowners in the area. Now having a clean sweep clear to the river, Peter built sturdy docks from which to ship his fruit and that of neighbors who were beginning to settle nearby. In time, big steamers were putting into his wharf to lay over night, and soon pleasure boats joined the merchant vessels.

Among these was the luxurious yacht Willena out of Chicago, owned by Dr. Peter Fahrney, the patent medicine tycoon. Handsome young John Hasley, captain of the “floating palace,” was privileged to leave the boat while in port, and the first evening of their stay walked into Alva, where he was surprised to meet a boyhood chum, Wilbur Watkins, from his home state of Wisconsin.

He was invited to attend a village social and was introduced to Peter and Nettie Fichter’s charming daughter, Margaret. It was love at first sight, and a whirlwind courtship began. By the time the Fahrneys were ready to depart for home, John and Margie were engaged to be married. When the Willena hoisted anchor, young Captain Hasley and his pretty bride were aboard.

At Sarasota, Fahrney changed his mind about proceeding north and put into port for a much-extended vacation. All during that time, John and Margie lived aboard and planned for the time when they would have a permanent home. They finally decided, as the vacation wore on, that after returning to Chicago, John would leave the doctor’s employ and go back to Wisconsin to buy a farm.

They carried through with their plans and farmed until, weary of long winters of cold and idleness, Florida’s warm weather lured them south again. Once more in Margie’s homeland, they settled with their little ones — Margaret, Walter, and Hellen — on a parcel of her father’s property, built an attractive house, and welcomed two more babies, Peter and Kittie Bess.

Margie’s brother, Henry, had married Ruth Walker and moved to Miami. Her other brother, James, having married Olive Whitten of Punta Gorda, had gone back to college for his master’s degree in agriculture and was heading up a five-county conservation district centered at Vero Beach. Younger sister, Bess, was still at home with her parents, but they all missed the days of activity and greeted the Hasleys and the return of the zest of old times with enthusiasm.

In the 1920s Nettie and Peter died a few years apart, and Bess continued on in the old homestead until she married. Except for the lazy creek which dreams its way from the Caloosahatchee to the back country, the Fichter name is seldom heard in the area, but three grandchildren live on part of the original homestead and uphold the traditions of their pioneer forebears.

None of the children speak or read German, so they can only look at their grandfather’s album from the old country and wonder at the captions and entries on each page. It is understandable they didn’t learn the language, for Peter was so determined to be an American that he never resorted to his native tongue.

It had been so long since he had spoken German that when his brother and wife came to see him, the three found they were no longer able to converse. After a brief visit, struggling to communicate with gestures and a remembered word here and there, they said “auf Wiedersehen” — but in their hearts they knew they would never meet again.

Although they said goodbye 100 years ago, Peter’s descendants remain in Alva today.

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