Part 1 (2/2)
Down from the Sierras, mighty glaciers carried the soil for this central valley, grinding and pulverizing it as it was rolled slowly along. Many years this process continued. The rain, was.h.i.+ng the mountain sides, brought its tribute in the rich soil and decayed vegetation of the higher region, until a natural seed bed was formed, where there can be raised in abundance a wonderful variety of plants and trees. In the coast valleys the soil is alluvial, the fine was.h.i.+ng of mountain rocks; this is mixed in some places with a warmer, firmer loam and in others with a gravelly soil, which is the best known for orange raising.
The state owes much to her mountains, for not only have they contributed to her fertile soil, but they hold in their rocky slopes the gold and silver mines which have transformed the whole region from an unknown wilderness to a land renowned for its riches and beauty. They lift their lofty peaks high in the air like mighty strongholds, and, shutting out the desert winds, catch the clouds as they sail in from the ocean, making them pay heavy tribute in fertilizing rain to the favored land below.
The climate, which of all the precious possessions of California is the most valuable, is best described by Bret Harte in the lines, ”Half a year of clouds and flowers; half a year of dust and sky.” Either half is enjoyable, for in the summer, or dry season, fogs or delightful westerly winds soon moderate a heated spell, and in nearly all parts of the state the nights are cool; while the rainy, or winter season, changes to balmy springtime as soon as the storm is over.
In a large portion of the state the climate is such that the inhabitants may spend much of their time out of doors. As a rule few duties are attended to in the house which can possibly be performed in the open air. It is growing to be more and more the custom to have, in connection with a Californian home, a tent bedroom where the year round one or more of the members of the family sleep, with only a wall of canvas between them and nature.
The vacation time is spent largely in summer camps, at either mountain or seash.o.r.e, or, quite often, a pleasant party of one or two families live together, very simply, under the greenwood tree beside some spring or stream, spending a few weeks in gypsy fas.h.i.+on. While the young folk grow st.u.r.dy and beautiful, the older members of the party become filled with strength and a joy of living which helps them through the cares and struggles of the rest of the year. This joy in outdoor life is not, however, a discovery of to-day. The old Spanish families spent as much time as possible in the courtyard, the house being deserted save at night. When upon journeys, men, women, and children slept in the open air. Even the clothes-was.h.i.+ng period was turned into a kind of merrymaking. Whole families joined together to spend days in the vicinity of some stream, where they picnicked while the linen was being cleansed in the running water and dried on the bushes near by.
Once before, when the world was younger, there was a land similar to this,--sea-kissed, mountain-guarded, with such gentle climate and soft skies. Its people, who also lived much out of doors at peace with nature, became almost perfect in health and figure, with mental qualities which enabled them to give to the world the best it has known in literature and art. What the ancient Greeks were, the people of California may become; but with an advancement in knowledge and loving-kindness of man toward man which heathen Athens never knew.
What will be the result of this outdoor life cannot yet be told; climate has always had an active influence in shaping the character and type of a people. With a climate mild and healthful, yet bracing; with a soil so rich that the touch of irrigation makes even the sandiest places bloom with the highest beauty of plant, tree, and vine; with an ocean warm and gentle, and skies the kindliest in the world,--there is, if we judge by the lesson history teaches, a promise of a future for California greater and more n.o.ble than the world has yet known.
Chapter II.
The Story of the Indians
”Run, Cleeta, run, the waves will catch you.” Cleeta scudded away, her naked little body s.h.i.+ning like polished mahogany. She was fleet of foot, but the incoming breakers from the bosom of the great Pacific ran faster still; and the little Indian girl was caught in its foaming water, rolled over and over, and cast upon the sandy beach, half choked, yet laughing with the fun of it.
”Foolish Cleeta, you might have been drowned; that was a big wave. What made you go out so far?” said Gesnip, the elder sister.
”I found such a lot of mussels, great big ones, I wish I could go back and get them,” said the little one, looking anxiously at the water.
”The waves are coming in higher and higher and it is growing late,” said Gesnip; ”besides, I have more mussels already than you and I can well carry. The boys have gone toward the river mouth for clams. They will be sure to go home the other way.”
Cleeta ran to the basket and looked in.
”I should think there were too many for us to carry,” she said, as she tried with all her strength to lift it by the carry straps. ”What will you do with them; throw some back into the water?”
”No, I don't like to do that,” answered her sister, frowning, ”for it has been so long since we have had any. The wind and the waves have been too high for us to gather any. Look, Cleeta, look; what are those out on the water? I do believe they are boats.”
”No,” said the little girl; ”I see what you mean, but boats never go out so far as that.”
”Not tule boats,” said Gesnip, ”but big thick one made out of trees; that is the kind they have at Santa Catalina, the island where uncle lives. It has been a long time since he came to see us, not since you were four years old, but mother is always looking for him.”
The children gazed earnestly seaward at a fleet of canoes which were making for the sh.o.r.e. ”Do you think it is uncle?” asked Cleeta.
”Yes,” replied her sister, uncertainly, ”I think it may be.” Then, as the sunlight struck full on the boats ”Yes, yes, I am sure of it, for one is red, and no on else has a boat of that color; all others are brown.”
”Mother said he would bring abalone when he came,” cried Cleeta, dancing from one foot to the other; ”and she said they are better than mussels or anything else for soup.”
”He will bring fish,” said Gesnip, ”big s.h.i.+ning fish with yellow tails.”
”Mother said he would bring big blue ones with hard little seams down their sides,” said Cleeta.
Meantime the boats drew nearer. They were of logs hollowed out until they were fairly light, but still seeming too clumsy for safe seagoing craft. In each were several men. One sat in the stern and steered, the others knelt in pairs, each man helping propel the boat by means of a stick some four feet long, more like a pole than a paddle, which he worked with great energy over the gunwale.
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