IS RESIDENCE HERE AGREEABLE?
After all these averages and statistics, and not considering now the
chances of the speculator, the farmer, the fruit-raiser, or the invalid,
is Southern California a particularly agreeable winter residence? The
question deserves a candid answer, for it is of the last importance to
the people of the United States to know the truth--to know whether they
have accessible by rail a region free from winter rigor and
vicissitudes, and yet with few of the disadvantages of most winter
resorts. One would have more pleasure in answering the question if he
were not irritated by the perpetual note of brag and exaggeration in
every locality that each is the paradise of the earth, and absolutely
free from any physical discomfort. I hope that this note of exaggeration
is not the effect of the climate, for if it is, the region will never be
socially agreeable.
There are no sudden changes of season here. Spring comes gradually day
by day, a perceptible hourly waking to life and color; and this glides
into a summer which never ceases, but only becomes tired and fades into
the repose of a short autumn, when the sere and brown and red and yellow
hills and the purple mountains are waiting for the rain clouds. This is
according to the process of nature; but wherever irrigation brings
moisture to the fertile soil, the green and bloom are perpetual the year
round, only the green is powdered with dust, and the cultivated flowers
have their periods of exhaustion.
I should think it well worth while to watch the procession of nature
here from late November or December to April. It is a land of delicate
and brilliant wild flowers, of blooming shrubs, strange in form and
wonderful in color. Before the annual rains the land lies in a sort of
swoon in a golden haze; the slopes and plains are bare, the hills yellow
with ripe wild-oats or ashy gray with sage, the sea-breeze is weak, the
air grows drier, the sun hot, the shade cool. Then one day light clouds
stream up from the south-west, and there is a gentle rain. When the sun
comes out again its rays are milder, the land is refreshed and
brightened, and almost immediately a greenish tinge appears on plain and
hill-side. At intervals the rain continues, daily the landscape is
greener in infinite variety of shades, which seem to sweep over the
hills in waves of color. Upon this carpet of green by February nature
begins to weave an embroidery of wild flowers, white, lavender, golden,
pink, indigo, scarlet, changing day by day and every day more brilliant,
and spreading from patches into great fields until dale and hill and
table-land are overspread with a refinement and glory of color that
would be the despair of the carpet-weavers of Daghestan.
This, with the scent of orange groves and tea-roses, with cool nights,
snow in sight on the high mountains, an occasional day of rain, days of
bright sunshine, when an overcoat is needed in driving, must suffice
the sojourner for winter. He will be humiliated that he is more
sensitive to cold than the heliotrope or the violet, but he must bear
it. If he is looking for malaria, he must go to some other winter
resort. If he wants a "norther" continuing for days, he must move on. If
he is accustomed to various insect pests, he will miss them here. If
there comes a day warmer than usual, it will not be damp or soggy. So
far as nature is concerned there is very little to grumble at, and one
resource of the traveller is therefore taken away.
But is it interesting? What is there to do? It must be confessed that
there is a sort of monotony in the scenery as there is in the climate.
There is, to be sure, great variety in a way between coast and mountain,
as, for instance, between Santa Barbara and Pasadena, and if the tourist
will make a business of exploring the valleys and uplands and cañons
little visited, he will not complain of monotony; but the artist and the
photographer find the same elements repeated in little varying
combinations. There is undeniable repetition in the succession of
flower-gardens, fruit orchards, alleys of palms and peppers, vineyards,
and the cultivation about the villas is repeated in all directions. The
Americans have not the art of making houses or a land picturesque. The
traveller is enthusiastic about the exquisite drives through these
groves of fruit, with the ashy or the snow-covered hills for background
and contrast, and he exclaims at the pretty cottages, vine and rose
clad, in their semi-tropical setting, but if by chance he comes upon an
old adobe or a Mexican ranch house in the country, he has emotions of a
different sort.
[Illustration: SCARLET PASSION-VINE.]
There is little left of the old Spanish occupation, but the remains of
it make the romance of the country, and appeal to our sense of fitness
and beauty. It is to be hoped that all such historical associations will
be preserved, for they give to the traveller that which our country
generally lacks, and which is so largely the attraction of Italy and
Spain. Instead of adapting and modifying the houses and homes that the
climate suggests, the new American comers have brought here from the
East the smartness and prettiness of our modern nondescript
architecture. The low house, with recesses and galleries, built round an
inner court, or _patio_, which, however small, would fill the whole
interior with sunshine and the scent of flowers, is the sort of dwelling
that would suit the climate and the habit of life here. But the present
occupiers have taken no hints from the natives. In village and country
they have done all they can, in spite of the maguey and the cactus and
the palm and the umbrella-tree and the live-oak and the riotous flowers
and the thousand novel forms of vegetation, to give everything a prosaic
look. But why should the tourist find fault with this? The American
likes it, and he would not like the picturesqueness of the Spanish or
the Latin races.
So far as climate and natural beauty go to make one contented in a
winter resort, Southern California has unsurpassed attractions, and both
seem to me to fit very well the American temperament; but the
associations of art and history are wanting, and the tourist knows how
largely his enjoyment of a vacation in Southern Italy or Sicily or
Northern Africa depends upon these--upon these and upon the aspects of
human nature foreign to his experience.
It goes without saying that this is not Europe, either in its human
interest or in a certain refinement of landscape that comes only by long
cultivation and the occupancy of ages. One advantage of foreign travel
to the restless American is that he carries with him no responsibility
for the government or the progress of the country he is in, and that he
leaves business behind him; whereas in this new country, which is his
own, the development of which is so interesting, and in which the
opportunities of fortune seem so inviting, he is constantly tempted "to
take a hand in." If, however, he is superior to this fever, and is
willing simply to rest, to drift along with the equable days, I know of
no other place where he can be more truly contented. Year by year the
country becomes more agreeable for the traveller, in the first place,
through the improvement in the hotels, and in the second, by better
roads. In the large villages and cities there are miles of excellent
drives, well sprinkled, through delightful avenues, in a park-like
country, where the eye is enchanted with color and luxurious vegetation,
and captivated by the remarkable beauty of the hills, the wildness and
picturesqueness of which enhance the charming cultivation of the
orchards and gardens. And no country is more agreeable for riding and
driving, for even at mid-day, in the direct sun rays, there is almost
everywhere a refreshing breeze, and one rides or drives or walks with
little sense of fatigue. The horses are uniformly excellent, either in
the carriage or under the saddle. I am sure they are remarkable in
speed, endurance, and ease of motion. If the visiting season had no
other attraction, the horses would make it distinguished.
A great many people like to spend months in a comfortable hotel,
lounging on the piazzas, playing lawn-tennis, taking a morning ride or
afternoon drive, making an occasional picnic excursion up some mountain
cañon, getting up charades, playing at private theatricals, dancing,
flirting, floating along with more or less sentiment and only the
weariness that comes when there are no duties. There are plenty of
places where all these things can be done, and with no sort of anxiety
about the weather from week to week, and with the added advantage that
the women and children can take care of themselves. But for those who
find such a life monotonous there are other resources. There is very
good fishing in the clear streams in the foot-hills, hunting in the
mountains for large game still worthy of the steadiest nerves, and good
bird-shooting everywhere. There are mountains to climb, cañons to
explore, lovely valleys in the recesses of the hills to be
discovered--in short, one disposed to activity and not afraid of
roughing it could occupy himself most agreeably and healthfully in the
wild parts of San Bernardino and San Diego counties; he may even still
start a grizzly in the Sierra Madre range in Los Angeles County. Hunting
and exploring in the mountains, riding over the mesas, which are green
from the winter rains and gay with a thousand delicate grasses and
flowering plants, is manly occupation to suit the most robust and
adventurous. Those who saunter in the trim gardens, or fly from one
hotel parlor to the other, do not see the best of Southern California in
the winter.