OUR CHOICE OF LAND FOR LEMONS—THE PLANTING OF THE TREES—OUR
REMOVAL TO THE BARN.
Meanwhile we were furiously busy at the old search again. We were
able to get more and fresh details about the whole business from a
source which we knew to be perfectly reliable; and as these facts
were encouraging, we picked up heart again. The whole surrounding
neighbourhood was driven over, generally with a pick and shovel in the
buggy with which to make careful examination of the depth and kind of
soil.
There were plenty of ready-made ranches for sale, but they were never
just what we wanted. So we resolved that if we bought anything, it
should be untouched, uncleared land, on some of the foothills where
we could get a broad and sweeping view of the splendid ranges of
mountains. We would make our own ranch, planned after our own tastes,
and, above all, we would build our own house.
We had determined to plant lemons. They seemed to us to have many
advantages over other fruits. The land which will produce fine lemons
must necessarily be limited in area; it must be high enough to escape
the frost. Lemons do not need the great heat which is needed to ripen
oranges. They are gathered all the year round and will keep. Deciduous
fruit ripens all at one time, and has to be gathered and sold at once,
which makes it necessary to engage outside labour. As all wages are
very high, this is a heavy expense. Even if the fruit is dried, as
in the case of peaches, pears, prunes, apples, etc., for winter use,
considerable work is involved, and as far as we can learn, yields only
a small profit for this extra trouble. Lemons too, in America, are a
daily necessity, not a luxury. Everyone uses them, and the drinking
saloons alone require a constant supply.
These were the principal reasons which decided our choice, and at last,
after a whole year’s uncertainty, we found land in a position that we
liked—good rich land, lying high, and in a most beautiful position,
with a splendid view of the distant mountains, the tops of five ranges
standing up, one behind the other, and the different distances marked
with exquisite softness of colouring.
It was situated about fourteen miles from San Miguel, not out of reach
of the cool breeze which blows from the sea all day and every day
during the summer.
We went many times to examine it, and finally the great decision was
taken to buy thirty acres. At that time we found we could buy in this
neighbourhood first-class citrus land, with water, at about one hundred
dollars the acre. We knew there was no good land to be had for less. As
a matter of fact, however, the first cost of land and water bears but
a small proportion to the whole cost of the ranch up to the point of
yielding returns.
After our long time of anxious indecision, it was a relief to have
something settled about the future, and to plan and work for the new
home, although I must confess that, as long as no definite steps had
been taken, I was conscious of a hope buried deep down out of sight,
that it might be proved wisest for us to return to the dear old
country. The home-sickness was such a hunger and pain.
It was the month of June when we bought our land, and we were anxious
to plant as many trees as possible without delay, for the later the
summer, the drier the ground. Spring is, of course, the best time for
planting, when the earth is in beautiful condition after the winter
rains. But to wait till next spring seemed too great a loss of time.
We were very proud of ourselves that we managed to get five hundred
beautiful little lemon-trees planted before the end of July.
Considering that the ground had to be cleared of brush and sumac and
sage, then ploughed, and the water-pipes laid from the main in such a
manner as to reach all over the ranch, and the position of the trees
carefully measured (this last all the more difficult in our case,
because the ground is up and down hill)—considering all this hard
work, we had a right to some self-satisfaction.
We were able to find a competent ranchman who lived quite conveniently
near, for, until we had time to build, there was nowhere for him to
sleep on the ranch, although, in some cases, the conveniences for these
men are of the roughest. We heard from one man that, when he arrived at
a new place and asked where he was to sleep, the “boss” stared at him
a moment, then, giving a comprehensive glance round his enormous tract
of land, said, “Well, if you can’t find a place to suit you in seven
thousand acres, I guess I can’t help you!” However, I do not vouch for
the truth of this, although sleeping out-of-doors in the summer months
in this beautiful climate is no hardship.
During this busy time, my husband and eldest boy drove out constantly
to the ranch for a stay of three or four days at a time, returning home
for a short rest at the little house in San Miguel, then back again
to the hard work of planting, etc. On these expeditions they started
always very early in the morning, and took with them provisions and
various odds and ends to give them some comfort in the tent in which
they slept.
We were feeling the urgent necessity for carrying through some plan
that would enable us to settle at the ranch altogether with as little
delay as possible. So we decided to have our barn built first and to
live in this till the house should be finished. This we carried out,
and it saved us much loss of time and vexation, both in building the
house and in working the ranch.
It was an exciting moment when the day arrived for us to move from our
little house at San Miguel to the barn at the ranch. A removal is a
very different matter in this far-away corner from the same thing in
any more settled part of the world. Looking back to the old life in
the beloved old country, I find I have an almost sentimental regard for
the strong, well-trained men who come and help so splendidly at such
times. Here, where the rule of life is to help yourself in everything,
one has to be thankful for the most casual, untrained assistance—very
little of that too, and at a price that would make one open one’s eyes
at home.
We had two large waggons coupled together, the one behind being called
a trailer, with six horses to pull the load; and our luggage, which
included a large iron cooking-stove and a grand piano, was packed into
these in a most casual fashion. They looked very top heavy when ready
to start, and we knew the road to be terribly rough, full of “chuck
holes” and sudden lumps. However, we waved the men a cheery farewell
as they lumbered off, and then turned to gather up the numberless
forgotten odds and ends and to pack them into the “Surrey,” which stood
waiting for us.
It looked like part of a gipsy procession when we had finished, and
we rejoiced that our boys had gone with the waggons, for there seemed
absolutely no room for anybody inside the “Surrey.” Nevertheless, we
wedged ourselves in somehow, my husband and I and the “coloured lady”
whom I was taking out as cook, also two small dogs that had been added
to the family. Then we also lumbered off, leaving with rather mixed
feelings the little house where we had done our first housekeeping in
California.
About a month before this, after many experiments with horses we had
bought a pair of greys, and now drove them out to the ranch, where
they were to plough and cultivate and to serve as carriage horses when
needed.
The ordinary ranch horse is of a lighter build than his cousin the
English farm horse, having a strong dash of broncho mixed with his
peasant blood, which makes him rather lively and very tough.
Ours were called Dan and Joe. Joe was very gentle and willing, and
Dan, who for some years had worked constantly with him, traded on his
goodness and left always the greatest strain of everything to him.
However, generally they ran along together at a good pace and gave no
trouble.
This day we were obliged to go more slowly, as the “Surrey” was so
heavily laden, and the rough country roads bumped and lurched us
about so violently that it was difficult to keep ourselves and our
bundles from being shot into the air. With all our care, a large and
tempting piece of cheese, which had been added to the provisions as an
afterthought, disappeared, and we spent some valuable time in turning
back to hunt for it.
We were anxious to reach the ranch as long before sunset as possible,
for we knew it would not be easy work to get our little family settled
in the barn.
(_To be continued._)
ART IN THE HOUSE.