The far-famed Magnolia avenue is near at hand. The center is occupied by a continuous row of old pepper trees, with gracefully drooping branches, under which the cars run. The outside rows are different in various places, generally palms with alternating grevilleas, or gum or pepper trees. The custom now is to replace the outside trees with palms, and many of the stately gums are being cut away. Beyond the sidewalks are the trimmed cypress hedges, and behind them orange orchards, only interrupted by open lawns and gardens partially hiding the tasty dwelling-houses of the horticulturists. All that we see, now so luxuriant and beautiful, is the effect of water on the otherwise barren plains. Everything is irrigated several times a year by means of flowing water brought from distant points, from the mountain cañons, or from the artesian wells in the river bottom higher up, several miles away.
The canals are all on the highest ground, and are dug on technical principles. There is no washing and no filling up, no broken-down gates and overflowing and stagnant ponds. Some ditches are cemented, and look magnificently clean, without any weeds or mud. The water in them is like the water of a spring, clear and pellucid. In course of time all the ditches will be cemented, the cost for doing the work being paid for in a short time by the water saved and the absence of the necessary cleaning out.
Riverside is indeed to be envied its Chinatown. The latter was, some years ago, moved a mile from town into a hollow, and now every house there is surrounded by cypress hedges and windbreaks of cypress and gum. Moreover, every house there is connected with the sewerage system, and the usual smell is not noticed on the outside. Indeed, one can drive by and not know the nature of the town, for it looks like any other country village, almost hidden in evergreens.
In a few weeks the raisin harvest will commence, and from that time on Riverside, along its whole extent, will be life and bustle. When the grapes are all in, the oranges will be ready for harvesting, and the country will again boast of its thousands of carloads of the golden fruit.
REDLANDS.
We have reached the object of our journey in the upper end of the San Bernardino valley. One of the features of South California, not Southern California, as we in the center all used to say, is the motor roads, not electric motors, but regular little steam engines, that will pull you anywhere, and which will not shock you with anything except perhaps with their smoke. Such motor roads lead almost everywhere, connecting the outlying colonies way up in the mesa with the headquarters on the regular railroad. And these motor roads are neither neglected, nor do they go begging for customers and freight. They are as much or more patronized even than the regular railroads, and they pay well. The cause of this is evident. They are more accommodating; they can without inconvenience stop wherever required, and passengers get on or off at almost every corner. The little train stops with equal readiness at the call in front of the rich man’s villa, to enable him and his family to embark, as at the poor man’s garden, to allow him to get on with a load of greens or with a basket of eggs. Thus managed, it rushes along with short and frequent stops, always full of passengers and freight.
Going up the San Bernardino valley from Riverside is a trip that no one should neglect. It takes us through one of the best improved parts of South California, through a veritable garden spot, with a radius of six or seven miles. From Riverside we pass for several miles over the level mesa land, just brought into cultivation through the new Gage canal system. Over two thousand acres have been planted here within the last two years to oranges, lemons and vines, and the fine and regularly planted trees with the large distances between show us how much the new settlers have been able to profit from the experience of the older ones. For several miles there are young plantations, each with its neat and substantial residence and outhouses, indicating that the settlers mostly are people of some means and of much refinement and taste,—just the class of people that we all would choose for our nearest neighbors. Everywhere are school-houses of artistic designs, most magnificent ones in the older settlements, smaller but tasty ones in those of almost yesterday. As we pass along the mesa, the upper San Bernardino valley, closed in by steep and lofty mountains, lies on our right, and in front the Santa Ana river courses through the center of the valley, with its vast broad river bottom covered with wild vegetation, pastures or cultivated fields. We cross several ditches, one laid in cement, with the water running in them as clear as that in the washbowl.
Once across the river bottom we are almost directly at Colton on the Southern Pacific Railroad. The first thing that attracts our attention is the beautiful plantation on the railroad reservation. Fine green lawns, fountains, beds of evergreens and flowers, the whole inclosed in pepper trees, gives the traveler immediately the impression that something beautiful in the way of gardening can be accomplished, where there is only a will and a taste. Such beautiful places everywhere in the South show that the people who came here, came not alone to make money, but also to enjoy life and to cultivate those pleasures and occupations which help to prolong and beautify the same.
From Colton up to San Bernardino the whole country is settled up and resembles the outskirts of a large city, where the business men have their suburban residences. The level and gradually sloping mesa is dotted over with little hills and knolls, just the place for a residence. Every such place has been taken advantage of, and fine residences with towers, balconies and airy awnings crown every little eminence, each one through its peculiar situation seemingly dominating the valley.
San Bernardino has been greatly benefited by the boom. The old and the new are there in strong contrast, the new decidedly predominating. Magnificent brick blocks grace the principal business streets, and the nearest streets crossing them, blocks that must have cost large sums of money, and which for design and substantial structure can nowhere be surpassed in any city of this size. The fine large hotels erected lately are kept up with style and even splendor. The large Stewart House is not inferior to the best town hotel that can be seen anywhere, and its interior arrangements, with a large covered court, are most admirable. My stay in San Bernardino was only too short; a long stroll around town and a little longer shake hands with the veteran journalist and horticulturist, L. M. Holt, took all the time I had to spare.