THE RESERVOIR—CHINESE MEDICINES—DUST—ADVANTAGES OF THE LIFE—THE
RAINS—FLOODS.
That summer, our first on the ranch, we made a large reservoir to hold
200,000 gallons. There was a convenient gulch or dip, which drained a
fair stretch of hill slope, and which lent itself well for the purpose.
We meant also to run our share of the flume water into this reservoir
whenever it was not being used on the ranch.
Many waggon loads of sand from the Silvero Valley had to be hauled
up by the little grey team, and endless barrels of cement from the
station at El Barco five miles away. It was a long tiresome job.
There was plenty of rock, with which to build the dam, lying about on
the hills, but to lift these pieces on to the sledge, improvised for
this purpose, and bring them over hill and dale to the reservoir site
and there unload them, was both very hard work and at times a little
dangerous, for the rocks were often so large that they were not easily
controlled, and were always threatening to roll over on to the feet or
hands of the “master builder” and his men.
There were some bad bruises before all the names of the workers were
written on the cement top of the wall as an artistic finish to the dam.
That was a very dry year, the summer extending till December 5th, and
after a dry winter too. For this reason the breaking up of the ground
was all the harder, especially that part which had been trodden hard by
cattle grazing for many years.
Again the ranchers went to work to manufacture some implement that
would help in this difficulty, and a “clod masher” was made out of some
of the furniture cases, and it did very good work.
We planted cypress trees too, all along the windswept side of the
ranch, as these grow very fast, and we wanted to break the face of the
wind.
The rabbits, squirrels, and gophers gave us some anxiety that first
year by nibbling at the bark of the young lemon trees. This had to be
stopped at once, for if the bark is badly peeled off right round the
stem of a young tree, the tree will probably die. The approved remedy
is to paint the bark with blood, a most disagreeable job, especially in
glaring hot weather. However, the trees were not touched after that,
for the rabbits are dainty people.
A good store of firewood had to be hauled from the Silvero Valley
before the rains should come, and some months earlier we had stored
away our winter supply of hay in the barn. In the winter we also
planted an orchard of all varieties of fruit for our own use—pears,
apples, prunes, figs, apricots, peaches, vines, strawberries, and
raspberries. Altogether we were very busy and worked very hard, though
we took our pleasures too, sandwiched in between. We did a great deal
of driving and riding about among the different mountain paths, and we
still enjoy this distraction as much as ever.
To take our lunch with us and stay away all day, the boys riding ahead,
with the dogs following them, darting in among the brush, wildly happy
over every pretence of a scent, leaping high over every obstacle, and
adding so much to our enjoyment by their evident delight, is a pleasure
without flaw. I must not forget also a gun or two, stowed away in the
bottom of the carriage, for something worth killing may cross our
path. Jack-rabbits are not good eating but are good sport, and as they
injure the trees, every rancher shoots them when he gets the chance.
The dainty elegant road-runner must never be hurt, and woe be to the
“tenderfoot” who is tempted to shoot that pretty, impudent-looking
little fellow, the skunk, who flourishes his handsome black and white
tail in your very face. If you were a Chinaman, you would secure him
on any terms, even his own. All Celestial medicines and cordials
seem to be compounded of the most offensive abominations that can be
discovered; it follows, of course, that the skunk is a highly-prized
treasure in their pharmacopœia. What deceits we have practised and what
lies we have told during Wing’s reign in the kitchen! He was for ever
wanting to doctor us, and had always just the right remedy by him for
whatever complaint was to the fore. We soon became very wary indeed of
showing any sign of physical trouble before him, for we were at once
pounced upon with hot drinks of villainous compounds and rank smell,
and we had to be very diplomatic so as to escape drinking them there
and then, and thus get the chance of pouring them down the bath sink
when his back was turned.
We always felt this to be a very dangerous business, for the smell
threatened to betray us.
For rheumatic pains he eagerly recommended a sort of rattlesnake jam,
which is made with chunks of that attractive reptile cooked in whisky,
and potted for seven years, when it is ready for use, and, according to
Wing, is an infallible cure.
But though these various animals are spared for different reasons on
our little excursions, the Californian quail are very delicate food,
and a most welcome addition to the ranch larder, where variety is a
little difficult to get. They also are very good sport. Wild pigeons,
too, are not to be despised.
These driving expeditions are best, however, in the winter, spring, and
early summer, when the sun is not so hot, and when the roads have been
rained upon, and the terrible dust is laid. Is there any dust like the
Californian dust after a dry season, I wonder? My husband insists that
in Australia and the Cape, and other places where he and I have never
been, the dust is infinitely worse than in California; he also reminds
me of the dust in railway travelling at home, and insists that this
was quite as disagreeable and much more dirty. We do not agree on this
point. But as I said before, one accustoms oneself to almost anything,
and though we certainly take fewer pleasure drives at the end of the
summer, waiting rather always for the first rains, yet when I remember
my first horror at San Sebastian, on driving through waves, and clouds,
and curtains of dust, then I know by comparison that I have reached a
very philosophical state of mind about this, one of the necessary and
undeniable evils.
What one enjoys most in this life is, I think, the absolute freedom;
that and the great stretches of space around one are a constantly
increasing delight. To look across these great sweeps of mountains,
range after range, and see in the distance the silver line of the
Pacific, and to feel the clean, pure wind in one’s face, is like a
baptism of new life.
At first the strange bareness of these mountains almost wounds one’s
eyes, and their true beauty is not recognised. But as one learns to
know them better, their charm grows more and more striking, and I
almost doubt if after a few years one would wish for any change in
their bold bare lines. In the full midday sun they are not lovely, and
in some moods one would call them almost ugly, so uncompromising are
they in their grimness and bareness: but their time of triumph is when
the changing lights of sunset begin, when they are flooded with such
matchless colouring, so delicate and rich, that they seem positively
unreal.
During the winter rains all the odd jobs of repairing are done:
soldering, harness-cleaning and mending, painting of waggons or carts,
and carpentering.
Most Americans are clever-handed, and can turn from one job to another
with unusual facility. To see a man, who earns his living by driving
a delivery waggon, turn to in his spare time and build a neat and
comfortable addition to his house, an extra bedroom, and perhaps an
enlargement of the sitting-room, with a nice bit of verandah out of
this, and all well planned and well finished, is apt to knock the
conceit out of the young fellow from home, who prides himself on being
so “clever with his tools.”
Our first winter was a very dry one, to our great regret. The rainfall
was much below the average and much below what was needed for the land.
Less than seven inches fell during the whole season, and an average
good fall is about fourteen inches. So the land was never thoroughly
soaked, and what was a more anxious matter still, the storage of water
“way back” in the mountains was too scant, and pretty certain to run
short before the long dry season should be over. So, indeed, it proved,
and we were greatly harassed, when the water company began to cut down
our rations, leaving us barely enough to keep our young trees going;
and certainly not enough to give them a chance of doing their best,
however diligently the “cultivator” might be kept at work.
All that summer we were busy, tending the trees and adding further
improvements to the ranch. When the second winter came, we were hopeful
then all our anxieties about water would be set at rest by a good
generous rainfall.
The dry season had extended unusually far into the winter months, no
rain having fallen till December 5th, when we had a few small showers.
Within three weeks of this, it seemed as though we were to get our
desires to the full, for the rain came down in torrents.
The Silvero river, which was supposed to flow in the pretty valley
below us, of which we got such a charming glimpse from our verandahs,
had hitherto appeared to be a dry sandy stretch more like a rough
country road than a river, and we had laughed at the very notion of a
bridge being ever needed to cross its dangerous waters.
Wonderful tales of the miraculous possibilities of the land are of
course told here to the credulous tenderfoot, and we did not feel
inclined to believe our friends’ accounts of that very river’s deep and
dangerous waters during some rainy winters.
We had to make an apology that second winter. For nine days the waters
poured down in an almost solid sheet; and with hardly any cessation
night or day. We were all anxious and excited over this storm; and
constantly on the watch to see what would happen. At the end of the
first twenty-four hours, we had rather a scare over our reservoir. The
sudden inrush of water from the hill slopes around had filled it so
quickly that when my husband went up in the driving rain to see what
state it was in, he found, to his dismay, that the water had reached
the very tops of the dam, and was just beginning to sweep over, making
at once a deep and widening cut all along the lemon trees below.
The new wooden floodgate was so swollen with the rain that it was as
though riveted into its place, and refused to open. In a few moments
my husband had darted down to the barn, and returning with an axe,
broke the floodgate in pieces, when the danger was over, and the water
rushing away in a great heavy mass found its way into a gully where it
could do no mischief. We saw, from the deep cutting made in those few
moments by the water when it swept over the dam, what terrible damage
might be worked by these rains. But we could hardly believe our eyes or
ears however, when we saw in the valley the glistening of the water in
the broad river-bed, and heard the roar as though of a cataract.
During the first lull that occurred we all hurried down to the valley
to examine more closely what was going on. We found such a turbulent,
dangerous-looking river tearing down the valley, that we were perfectly
fascinated, and would fain have stayed and watched it for hours.
The river had already cut a great deep bed for itself out of the
wheat-sown meadows of the valley, and every moment a great slice of
the bank would give way and silently slide down into the water, which
swallowed it up relentlessly as it rushed past.
Great trees were lying in the river, in some places all across it,
making rough dams where the water fought and leapt even more fiercely;
and as we stood there, we were horrified to see one of the dear trees,
so highly prized in this bare land, go trembling down into the flood.
The sound of their roots straining and cracking as the rushing floods
tried to sweep them away from their last bit of anchorage, was most
painful; it seemed almost like a human struggle. All the ground was
more or less like quicksand, and we had to be careful where we stepped,
lest we should be “mired.” As the rain came on again heavily, we were
forced to return home, though very unwillingly; it was a scene of such
wonderful excitement.
We were very anxious, too, about friends whose ranches were some miles
further up the valley, and whose land lay mostly rather low down
and near the river-bed. We found afterwards that both had suffered
considerable loss, besides great anxiety. On one ranch the river had
in one night swept away eight acres of beautiful olive-trees that were
in full bearing. This was a very cruel blow, over which the whole
neighbourhood, I think, mourned, but which the young rancher and his
wife bore with the brave cheery spirit which is, I think, a noticeable
charm in most Americans. The young wife gallantly carried the heavier
share of the blow, by dismissing her servant, and herself doing the
housework and cooking.
(_To be concluded._)
[Illustration]
IN THE TWILIGHT SIDE BY SIDE.
BY RUTH LAMB.