FROM LOS ANGELES TO SANTA ANA.
We are fairly out of Los Angeles when the character of the scenery changes. The railroad here runs through one of the most fertile counties in the State,—the rich bottom lands being formed by the deposits of ages from the overflow of rivers and creeks from the Sierra Madre range. Not an acre of waste land is to be seen anywhere. Everything is clothed in the softest green, and only in the far distance are seen the hills and higher mountains of a brownish violet color, with the boldest outlines against the sky. A more diversified farming district is seldom seen. Orchards of prunes, walnuts, apples and figs are met with on either side of the track, here and there expansive vineyards with their characteristic green, or groves of straight and stately gums, like immense square blocks of verdure, planted all along from the nearest fields to the far distant hills. We pass in succession Ballona, Florence, Downey and Norwalk. The country around the two latter places seems especially attractive,—orchards as far as we can see, vineyards and native pastures. We pass villages and farmhouses, here and there a more pretentious villa, and, in some spots more lovely than the surrounding, many a mansion has been erected with luxury and taste.
We are soon in Orange county, and the scene changes some, the soil being, if possible, more fertile. We pass large orange groves of the deepest green, and immense fields of corn, squashes, pumpkins, peanuts, beans, and here and there walnut groves and plantations of young fig trees. Anaheim, Orange and Santa Ana come in quick succession; we are in the center of a raisin district of the very greatest interest. We can hardly realize the change. Not having been here since the boom, everything seems almost new. Santa Ana has grown to be the queen of the valley, and is undoubtedly, together with its two sister cities, Orange and Tustin, one of the most prosperous as well as lovely places to be found in the beautiful South. As we board the street car and ride up town from the depot, we realize the change even more. On every side are signs of wealth and refinement, of new ideas and new capital, both mostly imported from the East. Broad avenues one hundred feet wide, on either side, lined with trees of various kinds, cultivated fields immediately beyond, which, with cottages, villas and churches, all speak of a prosperous and intelligent population.
Santa Ana has her share of these stately structures. The Brunswick is as fine and substantial a building as any one could wish,—lofty and airy and of imposing architecture, large rooms and spacious halls. The boom that has been so much misjudged has done much more than settle up the country and bring capital. It has left behind substantial improvements and a taste for architecture, the arts and sciences, which can but be of permanent value to the country. It brought the country at one bound from its former frontier life and characteristics to a high degree of civilization and refinement. It brought capital, soil, climate and energy together in a way that is hardly found anywhere else out of our State. The boom is over, but the benefits of the boom are yet here, and are permanent.
Santa Ana, Orange and Tustin are like three precious stones in a ring of verdure. Only a few miles apart, they are like the villas on the outskirts of a central imaginary city, from which the wealthy and poor likewise fled to a more retired country life, to enjoy both seclusion and society, both the pleasures of country life and the advantages of an active city, where every luxury and necessity can be found at the door of every home.
Santa Ana has a fine, large, central business street, with new and costly brick blocks containing stores of every description. In this climate, however, we can see no necessity for ice, and the manufacturer and mixer of cool drinks can but find his business unprofitable. Up and down this street a line of cars runs all day long at fixed hours, connecting with other lines in Tustin and Orange. A trip or two on any of the lines is one of real pleasure.
Tustin is only two or three miles away, nearer the hills. The car, an open one with many seats, winds its way under shady lanes on either side, bordered by large and graceful pepper trees covered with spicy and fragrant blossoms. Here and there we see alongside the pavement an enormous sycamore tree, a monument of olden days and the native vegetation of the country. On both sides of the avenue are sidewalks of cement, and they who prefer walking can do so for miles under the shady trees without getting dusty or becoming heated by the sun. These sidewalks are marvels of beauty and comfort. On one side are old and graceful trees with drooping limbs, on the other are well-kept cypress hedges trimmed square and even, or long natural barriers of ever-blooming geraniums in numerous varieties, of every favorite shade of color from crimson to palest pink. Over the hedges we look into blue-grass lawns, green and well kept and exceedingly attractive. Suddenly we are in the middle of Tustin City. A beautiful, even magnificent bank building on one corner, a store on the opposite, two or three smaller shops and the inevitable splendid and elaborate hotel, and the town is fully described. Immediately adjoining are the beautiful and evergreen lawns and trees,—the city and country actually combined.
A trip to Orange reveals the very same features, only we pass through a more fertile country, with vineyards and orchards on every side, orange groves of various ages, walnut orchards, fields of tall corn, peanuts, beans and melons. Between all wind the shaded avenues with pepper and gum, cypress, pine or yellow flowering grevillea. The soil is everywhere of the richest kind, of a color between ashy green and chocolate. Nowhere have we seen such magnificent Indian corn,—whole fields where the stalks are from twelve to sixteen feet high. Orange is a more pretentious town than Tustin, but hardly any more beautiful, and far less secluded and quiet. There are two large and fine hotels, the one of brick being in town, while the other, the family hotel, lies in the suburbs in bowers of evergreen trees and gardens. In the middle of the town there is a plaza with a fountain and an exquisite little garden well planned and better kept. The lawns are like the softest velvet, and are bordered with blue and green flowers, with beds of sweetest mignonette, while bananas and palms spread their stately foliage in the center.
The climate of this part of Southern California is excellent. The thermometer stands at midday at eighty in the shade; in the evening there is always a breeze. Many of those I meet complain as usual, and greet me with the inevitable, “How warm it is to-day,” and our as inevitable answer is, that we cannot feel it, and that it just seems delightful to us. People here observe and feel the changes of temperature much more than we do farther north. With us they share the habit of complaining even if there is nothing to complain of.
The vineyards of Santa Ana have suffered much from a vine disease which may be compared with consumption or the Oriental plague in man. But every one thinks here that the pest will run its course and become harmless, and even now some of the vineyards are being replanted with fresh vines. The oranges do eminently well, but they must be sprayed and constant watch kept for the red scale imported here from Australia by an enterprising nurseryman. The plantations of walnuts are being rapidly extended, and nurseries of young walnut trees just appearing above the ground are seen in many places, the plants probably amounting to millions. The walnut generally planted is the seedling soft-shell and the common Santa Ana walnut, than which there is none choicer and more valued on the coast. Prunes are also a favorite crop, and pay well if not allowed to overbear, in which case the succeeding crop will be small. The same may be said of the apricot. These trees are here fine and healthy, and of a deeper and finer green than is seen almost anywhere else; but last year the trees bore too much, and this year the crop is by far not what it should be.
The resources of this country are such that the partial failure of a single crop will cause no serious injury. New resources are developed every day; there are few plants that do not thrive here. In the gardens as well as in the fields we see the tender semi-tropical plants, which cannot stand any frost, growing close to varieties from the North. Bananas, date palms, walnuts and oranges grow in the same field with peaches, apples and prunes. Pepper and camphor trees and the tender grevillea are on one side of the avenue, while on the other side we may find elm, eucalyptus or even the beautiful umbrella.
Irrigation is practiced on every farm. Fifteen thousand acres are covered by water stock, but not all irrigated yet. Just now the orange groves are irrigated, and I observe their methods. The land is always leveled before anything is planted, as there is too little water here to waste any on unlevel land. One way to irrigate an orchard is to plow furrows in between the rows of trees, and then let the water run in them. Another way is to check the whole orchard with small levees, inclosing thus a little square around every tree, and the square check of one tree meeting the same of the adjoining tree. This is actually flooding the land. Deciduous trees and vines grow without irrigation, but to get a good crop irrigation is necessary. The large, dry and rocky creek beds speak of the water that is wasted in winter time in flowing to the sea. Practically nothing of it is then saved. Irrigation districts under the Wright law are formed and forming, and everybody seems hopeful that in course of time there will be water enough to irrigate all the land that is good enough to be irrigated. Some of the finest ranches in the State lie right at the feet of Santa Ana. The San Joaquin ranch contains one hundred thousand acres, I am told, and it is not yet cut up, and thus some of the best land around Santa Ana is yet only used as pasture. The owners failed to sell in the time of the boom and must now wait until the land that is already covered with ditches will be fully settled before they can sell, but the time, we predict, is not very far off.