Santa Ynez Valley Issue

i

V

SautiL-i Ynez Valley Issuer

VOL. VIII, NO. 3

AUTUMN, 1962

Purisimo Mission, etching by Edward Boroin

N€TIcia;s QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY MAILING ADDRESS: OLD MISSION, SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

Across the Valley to Rancho Los Amoles Frances Cooper Kroll Later the day would be warm but it was still pleasantly cool that morn ing, as J, riding a mule and followed by the two coolies, went down the hill from the Santa Rosa adobe. The melancholy strains of a S])anish love song drifted up to me; the shearers were singing in the large shearing shed as they worked. The day, the song, the significance of it made me momentarily regret that I was losing a single second of this colorful yearly event in our lives on the ranch.

After 1 had made the turn aTul passed the corrals now crowded with sheep brought down from the camps on the dillfTcnt ranges to be sheared, 1 stopped and through the open sides of the shed sat watching the men at worL What I was witnessing was very familiar to me but always stirring, as it must have been, so many years before, to my father.

The long wool sack hanging from the iron hoop at the end of the build ing was half filled: I could see through the thick fabric the movements of the man within, tramping firmly down each wooly fleece after it was thrown in to him by Pablo, who stood with great importance on the platform above.

At intervals, louder than the singing, than the occasional cough or bleat of one of the sheep, could be heard the grating rasp of the shears being sharp ened against the large grindstone in the corner.

My brother Bill was moving about among the men cautioning them when necessary to be more careful in their shearing, to cut as seltlom as possible the bodies of the helpless, patient animals, that imprisoned, sagged between their legs and feet. My usual job was alertly to watch for each fresh wound and pour on it, from the bottle provi<ied for that purpose, a mixture of oil and antiseptic. I watched the man who was taking my place for the day with a slight feeling of envy.

Among the shearers were many who had come yearly to tlu: ranch with the crew for as long as my family could remember. Their fine faces were heavily creased with lines, but their eyes were yt)ung and they worked with a concentration necessary to compensate for the lost quickness of their youth.

'I'he others, young and vigoi'ous. conscious of their dark good looks, accentuated by the red bandanas lied across their foreheads to hold back the sweat—it showed in shining little pools and ran in rivulets down their chests and shoulders—suddenly began to joke together as they sang. There was no plaintive sadness now, their song had become lively and a bit wicked 1

—happily so, as if it had the accoinjiaiiimeiit of high quick-stamping satin heels ami the precise click-click of ribbon-tied castanets. They were no doubt thinking of the metal check they would receive for each fleece, and that meant cash—and cash meant the fiesta and dancing and wine and girls.

Regretfully turning, I rode away. The collies stood looking after me with reproachful uprolled eyes as 1 left them and started toward the county road that came from Lompoc and wound through part of the Santa Rosa. The sky was blue and the ranges, far and near, held a faint green sheen; it would but not endure for long—all too soon it would turn yellow, then brown every day that it lasted was a priceless gift to us and to the cattle. One felt the calm contentment in their quiet grazing, in the lack of necessity to rove about on a patient search for better or any grass. We knew too well what a dry year meant, and we also knew the gratitude for a good one.

As we started up the grade, turning in my saddle, I looked over at our own private little world—that beautiful reach of the country into which the roots of my family had grown deep. Patches of yellow mustard and fields of freshly-sprouting beans broke the gentle dip of the valley into patterns that in turn gave way to the corrals, the stables, the wool barn and the black smith shop—the old familiar buildings that my father had built so many years before in creating this place that had meant much to him, and now to us. Behind me the low line of the hills from the north ended, jutting out so abruptly that they might have been the prow of a gigantic ship; the scrub oaks clinging closely and thickly to them barely disturbed the smoothness of their outline. I could see now only part of the flat red-tiled roof of our adobe, high on the slope, but I could still see all of the tall cypresses about it, whose dark fingers pointed skyward, seeming to reach even higher than the distant Santa Rosa hills, at whose base ran the Santa Ynez river, full yet because of the good late rains. Beyond its crest, touching it for seven miles, lay the Rancho San Julian.

Suddenly the trees at the top of the grade blotted out completely the homely scene and w'e started downward.

My ride was to take me across the lower end of the Valley. I was to spend the day with my friends, Janet and Cyril Lamb, on their ranch, Los Amoles, near the small town of Santa Ynez. How quickly time flies by, I thought—it was difficult to realize that a whole boarding school year had passed since I had seen them.

Well I remembered that last visit to Los Amoles; it returned to me now all too vividly, a mixture of pain and pleasure. I had ridden the horse of a friend of mine, from San Luis Obispo to Rancho Santa Rosa. He was a most beautiful bay and his name was Happy. He held his head high and his gait was so smooth that to ride him was having wings.

We had spent a few days with my family at the Santa Rosa, then one morning I started out on him for Los Amoles. After several miles I noticed that he was not himself—he lacked his usual gay spirit, he lagged and once he stumbled. Dismounting, I looked him over but could find nothing wrong.

After letting him rest for a time, we had moved on. I thought he was im proving, but as we came nearer to our destination I was certain that he was a very sick horse. But it was too late to turn back.

When we reached the top of the hill I slid from my saddle, and ter ribly w’orried, walked beside poor Happy down the road. I could hear the

2

barking of ihe dogs as we made the turn to the right tliat followed th<; shelter of the liillside to the ranch house. It seemed years, that walk, before I could see the pine trees and then tlie tall locusts in the garden. Cyril was standing at the gate, waiting for me. I stopped instantly and looked for lornly toward him.

“Cyril!” I called, I don’t know what to do. This horse is sick—very sick! He may have something contagious—1 must not bring him any nearer to your stable.” Then I burst into tears.

Never shall I forget Cyril’s smile as he had come down the road to me —a smile that crinkled up his eyes and made his face more charming than ever. “Now—now,” he said gently, “You just leave your horse to me. I’ll look after him. .lanet’s in the kitchen. She can’t leave—the souffle might fall, and we don’t want that, do we?” Taking the reins from me he liad patted me on the shoulder, adding, “Everything will be alright.” And of course it had been. But the memory of that generously offered comfort is laid away in the scrap-book of my heart, a carefully pressed four leaf clover or a cherished bit of eidelweiss.

Cyril Gordon Lamb was a member of an old distinguished family. He had come to California when he was very young to try, as did many English men of that age, his hand at ranching in this new and what seemed to him wild and advejilurous country. He thought that he had found what he was looking for in the Santa Ynez Valley, decided to try life there and for sev eral years managed the San Marcos and Alisal Ranches. Then he met Janet and knew that he would be content—all doubt vanished.

She was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, and had come first to Santa Maria.

It was when she was teaching school at Tepusquet that she had met Cyril.

'Fhey were married and very soon after bought their beloved Los Amoles Rancho, the spot that was to mean so much to them, and through them to others. They grew to love the Valley and to know real happiness in it. Though she seldom spoke of it, Janet had one regret: the more gentle drifting of our summers into autumn and winter lacked for her the keen joy that she had known in the sharp, exhilarating changes of the seasons in the country of her youth.

Thus, uninterrupted, their pleasant life continued until Cyril went to France, during World War I, as Director of Allied Warehouses. His ability to speak French made him invaluable to the Allies, as did his fine experience in reforestation. Janet, during his absence, acted as House Mother at the Dean School in Montecito. Their ranch was managed for him by Nils Peterson.

On their return to Los Amoles, they took up life where they had left it, and the warm welcome offered them throughout the Valley must have helped compensate for the time they had spent apart and away from their home.

As always, their unconscious gift for drawing people to them, made of their barbecues real events. Among the old friends one could often find un familiar faces, for in every part of the world when it was discovered that one came from California, somehow at some time during the conversation, Cyril and Janet and Los Amoles would be mentioned. It was as if their fine hospitality, like the winged seeds of the old pine trees behind their ranch home, had been carried in the wind of memories to take root in far-off lands. Thus friends of friends who came to California rarely failed to seek 3

them, and were richly rewarded, for Janet and Cyril made of life an ad venture—not only for themselves but for all who came to know them.

Sitting under the tall locust trees, among Janet’s tenderly cared-for flowers, we would watch Cyril preside, listen to him explain why he would burn nothing but live oak wood—^it gave a special flavor to the meat he was cooking.

Janet never failed to add that for the same reason she would have only a wood burning stove in her kitchen. They were both so natural, with a simplicity that comes from breeding and unfailing self assurance.

Then later, as we sat devouring Cyril’s culinary achievements, they drifted, with no effort into amusing tales of the ranch—little trivial happen ings that they made important and colorful, such as the time that I-^dy, their black and white sheep dog became confused on a dark stormy day, and, thinking it was night went out to the range five times and brought in the wet, muddy sheep. Loving Lady as they did, they at last gave in, and the sheep remained under cover for the rest of the day. And Janet would answer questions about her orphan IxUtle lambs; she made it sound droll but we knew how often she had left her warm bed at night to go out to the barn to feed them. And we also knew of the neighbors, newcomers and even strangers who knocked at all hours at their door to ask advice about illness, crops, sheep-dip, horses—a hundred things. They were never turned away— time was always found to answer them.

Cyril had a touch of the dandy in him and was noted for the exact perfection with wliich he wore his Stetson. Once, as we were teasingly ad miring his ability in placing it at just the correct angle, he couldn’t resist preening a bit, and Janet, with a chuckle, remarked that she might not achieve an equal chic with her own hat but she could milk a cow in half the time that he could.

Everyone lingered as long as possible those afternoons, but before we broke up to go our different ways—north, south—east, west, in and be yond the Valley. Janet would be asked to take us into the cool, rambling old house and show us her treasures—the unusual collection of Indian relics that she and Cyril had made. Then lovingly and tenderly, one by one, she would exhibit with great pride the family silver and many other inherited things that had come from Cyril’s English home. I would think, as her fingers curved around a delicate paper-thin porcelain cup or a clear vase of crystal, that I had never seen her strong hands more beautiful than they were against the fragility of the object she held, for they were hands that had been used, and in the scars and traces of that use there was a great

nobility.

A young friend of theirs from Santa Barbara, who every year rented, for a month or two, an old adobe on a nearby ranch, told me how when they dined with her, Cyril would arrive clad in stiff new blue-jeans, resplendent in a well-cut English dinner coat, often with a red rose, a sprig of mimosa or something equally exotic in its lapel; thus his bizarre elegance con ferred upon the simple meal the distinction of a banquet.

But what I loved best was what this friend told me of the poplar tree that grew just outside the kitchen door at Los Amoles. Janet knew that her friend loved this tree—saw how she would stand in the summer when it was green to marvel at every leaf trembling though there was not the slightest 4

Mr. Mule stirred restlessly and turning Ids head rolled a pleading . eye toward me. I knew lie was hungry so was I. Slapping him on the neck affectionately, we trotted alonO’ passing the Rancho Marcelino adobe at a gallop, something he rarely condescended to do. but he mtw knew that he was close to a well-filled manger and a peaceful snooze at Los Amoles.

Los Amoles! There was music in the sound. I smiled; it was not the title of a song or a romantic poem, but the name of a hardy, ugly little plant that grew thickly on the ranch — plant from whose root the Indian.s long ago made soap with which to <lo their washing. Los Amoles — in Span ish ail words hold a lilt.

“Well, Mr. Mule." I said comfortingly. “Cheer up—we’re nearly there.”

We slowed down a bit going up the grade, then having reached the top, turned abruptly left, passing through the gate of Los Amoles. We were leav ing the commonplace reality of the county road to go down the familiar hill that led to an enchanting place and tw enchanting people.

Suddenly something said to me by a friend came clearly to me, “The 5?

Valley could never be the same without Janet and Cyril.

No, it could never be the same!” And with I closed my eyes thinkin the thought came a sudden joy tlial 1 had been given the privilege of their friendship. I pressed my heels into Mr. Mule’s sides. Hurry!” I urged.

“Hurry I” Then I opened my eyes. Now I could see the dark old pines behind the house, the fragile locusts in the garden, and under them by the gate they were waiting for me, tall straight and welcoming. Standing up in my stirrups, I w'aved wildly.

“I’m here!” I shouted foolishly. “Oh, Janet and Cyril—hello!”

Under the trees in the peaceful little Oak Hill Cemetery at Ballard, not far from Los Amoles, are side by side, two simple granite tablets. They read: Janet Lamb Cyril Gordon Lamb 1869-1949 1869-1936

Sheep shearer's tallies

9

Railroad and Stagecoach Days in Los Olivos

By Charles Wiiitcher Prior to about 1886. the northern part of Santa Barbara County had no other transportation facilities than stage coaches, saddle horses, and horse drawn vehicles.

Los Olivos was a terminal point or station for two stage lines. One of these stage lines went through Santa Ynez, crossing the Santa Ynez river and then on in an easterly direction to Home Station on the San Marcos Ranch. This was a place to change to fresh horses before continuing on up the mountain via Cold Sj)ring and San Marcos Pass to Santa Barbara. There was also another stage line or route leaving Los Olivos by way of Ballard.

It crossed the Santa Ynez River near the Santa Ines Mission, and then went through the Alisal Ranch, Nojoqui, Las Cruces and the Gaviota Pass. From Gaviota. it went on down the coast to Santa Barbara.

The stages on these two routes ran daily, carrying express, mail and passengers. They were the only modes of public transportation from the northern part of Santa Barbara County for many years. Even after comple tion of the narrow gauge railroad into Los Olivos, the two stage lines con tinued to operate from Los Olivos to Santa Barbara.

The stages which travelled the route by way of San Marcos Pass crossed the Santa Ynez River just before reaching the San Lucas Ranch. This river was an innocent looking stream during most of the year but, after heavy rains, it was quite different and impossible safely to ford by horse drawn vehicles. So, to get the mail, express, and passengers over the river at these me times, a cable was strung across from hank to bank. By attaching from a l>oat to a pulley on this cable, the boat could be pulled to the other side of the stream. Stages from each side of the stream could then ferry their loads to each other.

“To get the mail through,” these early day carriers would resort to any possible means within their reach to uphold this old tradition. There were occasions when long conlitiued rain storms would prevent even the narrow gauge trains from getting through to Los Olivos. There would be slides, washouts, or high water which the trains could not cross. Even saddle horses would bog down. On some of these occasions men would carry the mail on their backs to Los Olivos. They called this method “walking the mail through.”

The narrow gauge railroad, which was known as the Pacific Coast Rail road, was completed into Los Olivos shortly after 1886. This line was built from the company’s pier at Port Harford to San Louis Obispo, Arroyo Grande, Santa Maria and Los Alamos; and it ended at Los Olivos. It was about seventy-five mile line.

One regular train, which carried passengers, mail, and some light freight, made a round trip each day from Los Olivos to San Luis Obispo and Port Harford. Coastal ships named The Coos Bay and The Eureka brought In lumber and other freight for this territory. Freight trains were used when the volume of freight was too large for the regular, mixed passenger and freight 10

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V»^ ●VV'T «« .C OlW.

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*^/ Los Olivos railrood terminal

trains. Grain, such as wheal, barley, and oats, which were important com modities, were moved hy this road. Cattle, hogs, and some sheep also were hauled !)y it from Los Olivos and from other stations along the line.

The station at Los Olivos was once the scene of an attempted robbery.

After the regular train had come in and had discliarged its passengers, mail, etc., it pulled on down to the car shed and round house. The station agent was alone in the office. He was sitting in a high stool where his desk and tele graph instruments were located. It was about 9 p.ni. Suddenly, two men entered the office behind the agent. They were masked with grain sacks pulled over their heads, and they were armed with pistols. They ordered the agent to throw up his hands. Instead of complying, he whirled around on his stool and told them to ijuit fooling, lie thought that they were local fellows trying to scare him. One of the robbers got nervous and fired at the agent, and the bullet went into his abdomen. He later died from the wound. His name was Mr. Fred Hoar. The bandits were caught later, were convicted of second degree murder, and were given a term in jail.

The stage which made the trip over the San Marcos was occasionally held up i)y a lone robber. This man would drag a log across the road, then lie back in the brush until the stage arrived. He would then order the driver to throw out the Wells f’argo Express Box and mail bags. This robber was never caught.

Early locomotives on the Pacific Coast Railway trains used wood for fuel, and live oak was considered the best. Most of this wood was cut near 11

Los Olivos. At one time, a crew of Japanese workers got a contract for cutting wood for the railroad. As is usual with these men, they had a foreman. The foreman boarded at Mattei’s Tavern. The crew of workers camped out in the hills a few miles from Los Olivos, where the timber was located.

This foreman wanted a saddle horse to get back and forth from Mattei’s Tavern to the camp. He got his eye on a high stepping bronco which George Smith was trying to break for a saddle horse. He told George that he would like to have this horse, and would buy him if he was for sale. George told him that he wanted to sell the horse, but the horse was pretty mean, and that he was afraid the foreman could not ride him. However, the Jap said that he had a brother back in Japan who was a great horseman, and that he would get on the horse and try him. So George took his lariat and passed one end through a ring of the bit and tied it around the horse’s neck. He held onto the coils of the rope and pulled down the blinds while the Jap mounted. When the blinds were lifted, things began to happen. The first jump lifted the Jap about a foot from the saddle, and the next one sent him sailing through space to the ground. He struck on his head which put him out, so some of the men got a bucket of water and poured it on his head.

When he came to he said, “That horse no likee Jap!” The little Japs had rather a tough time trying to split this live oak wood.

It had to be cut in much longer lengths than for ordinary stove wood. The Japanese were good workers but too light for this job, and they left a lot of unsplit chunks of wood in the fields. After this job was finished, they left and never came back.

There was quite a steep grade on the road bed before getting to Los Alamos, and many times the little engines could not pull the loads over this grade without making several runs at it. The steepest part of the grade was in the vicinity of Zaca Station about three miles from Los Olivos.

Once there was a bad wreck on one of the freight trains. There were a number of cars on this train, which were loaded with live cattle. The wreck occurred a few miles south of Los Alamos, and some of the cattle cars rolled over and down an embankment. A good many cattle were killed or crippled.

People from Los Alamos and vicinity visited this wreck and some of them salvaged meat for making “jerky.” So-called jerky is meat cut into strips and hung over a line to dry. Sometimes it is necessary to build small fires under the meat to drive off the yellow-jackets. The strips are seasoned with salt and pepper. The dried meat can be used in stews. Some people like to eat it in its raw, dried state.

Billy Quinn had a cattle range on the Brinkerhoff Ranch south of the Bierbent Place. Some of his friends who lived in Santa Ynez used to visit his ranch on Sundays and have a stag dinner with him. On one occasion, they went to his place and learned that he was away from the house. While waiting for him to return, they discovered a jerky line with a lot of well dried meat on it and helped themselves. When Billy returned, they told him about eating his jerky. He said, “That’s all right! I had a sick cow that died, and I jerked a lot of it to have a supply of food for my dogs.”

During World War I, the Pacific Coast Railway hauled quite a lot of hogs from Los Olivos to San Luis Obispo until there were enough of them to make a train load on the main line of the Southern Pacific Railroad. They were then taken to markets in Kansas City. Corrals at the Southern Pacific 12

cr Mr. Mule stirred restlessly and turnln<r his head rolled a i)leadin r? eye toward me. I knew he was hungry — so was I. Slapping him on the neck <r the Ranclio Marcelino adobe at a alTectionately, we trotted along, passin r gallop, something he rarely condescended to do, but he now knew that lie was close to a well-filled manger and a peaceful snooze at Los Amoles.

Los Amoles! There was music in the sound. I smiled; it was not the title of a song or a romantic poem, hut the name of a hardy, ugly little plant that grew thickly on the ranch — a plant from whose root the Indians long ago made soap with which to do their washing. Los Amoles — in Span ish all words hold a lilt.

‘'Well. Mr. Mule,” I said comfortingly. ‘‘Cheer up we’re nearly there, We slowed down a bit going u|) the grade, then having readied the top, turned abruptly left, passing through the gate of Los Amoles. We were leav ing the commonplace reality of the county road to go down the familiar hill that led to an enchanting place and two enchanting people.

Suddenly something said to me by a friend came clearly to me, “The 55 Valley could never be the same without Janet and Cyril.

I closed my eyes thinking, “No, it could never be the same!” And with the thought came a sudden joy that 1 had been given the privilege of their friendship.

I pressed my heels into Mr. Mule’s sides. “Hurry!” I urged.

55 Hurry!"

Then I opened my eyes. Now I could see the dark old jiines behind the house, the fragile locusts in the garden, and under them by the gate they were waiting for me, tall straight and welcoming. Standing up in my stirrups, I waved wildly.

51 “I’m here!” 1 shouted foolishly. “Oh, Janet and Cyril—hello!

Under the trees in the peaceful little Oak Hill Cemetery at Ballard, not far from Los Amoles, are side by side, two simple granite tablets. They read; Cyril Gordon Lamb Janet LA^fB 1869-1949 1869-1936

Sheep shearer's tallies

9

Railroad and Stagecoach Days in Los Olivos

By Charles Wiutciier Prior to about 1886. the northern part of Santa Barbara County liad no other transportation facilities than stage coaches, saddle horses, and horse drawn vehicles.

Los Olivos was a terminal point or statioji for two stage lines. One of these stage lines went through Santa Ynez. crossing the Santa Ynez river and then on in an easterly direction to Home Station on the San Marcos Ranch. This was a place to change to fresh horses before continuing on up the mountain via Cold S})i'ing and San Marcos Pass to Santa Barbara. There was also another stage line or route leaving Los Olivos by way of Ballard.

It crossed the Santa Ynez River near the Santa lues Mission, and then went through the Alisal Ranch, Nojoqui, Las Cruces and the Gaviota Pass. From Gaviota. it went on down the coast to Santa Barbara.

The stages on these two routes ran daily, carrying express, mail and passengers. They were the only modes of public transportation from the northern part of Santa Barbara County for many years. Even after comple tion of the narrow gauge railroad into Los Olivos, the two stage lines con tinued to operate from Los Olivos to Santa Barbara.

The stages which travelled the route by way of San Marcos Pass crossed the Santa Ynez River just before reaching the San Lucas Ranch. This river was an innocent looking stream during most of the year but, after heavy rains, it was quite different and impossible safely to ford by horse drawn vehicles. So, to get the mail, express, and passengers over the river at these times, a cable was strung across from bank to bank. By attaching a line from a boat to a pulley on this cable, the boat could be pulled to the other side of the stream. Stages from each side of the stream could then ferry their loads to each other.

“To get the mail through,” these early day carriers would resort to any possible means within their reach to uphold this old tradition. There were occasions when long continued rain storms would prevent even the narrow gauge trains from getting through to Los Olivos. There would be slides, washouts, or high wafer which the trains could not cross. Even saddle horses would bog down. On some of these occasions men would carry the mail on their backs to Los Olivos. They called this method “walking the mail through.”

The narrow gauge railroad, which was known as the Pacific Coast Rail road, was completed into Los Olivos shortly after 1886. This line was built from the company’s pier at Port Harford to San Louis Obispo, Arroyo Grande, Santa Maria and fA>s Alamos; and it ended at Los Olivos. It was about a seventy-five mile line.

One regular train, which carried passengers, mail, and some light freight, made a round trip each day from Los Olivos to San Luis Obispo and Port Harford. Coastal ships named The Coos Bay and The Eureka brought in lumber and other freight for this territory. Freight trains were used when the \ oIunie of freight was too large for the regular, mixed passenger and freight 10

●. ●

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■

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● '?

Los Olivos railroad terminal

trains. Grain, such as wheat, barley, and oats, which were important com modities, were moved by this road. Cattle, liogs, and some sheep also were hauled by it from Los Olivos and from other stations along the line.

The station at Los Olivos was once the s(;ene of an attempted robbery.

After the regular train had come in and had discharged its passengers, mail, etc., it pulled on down to the car shed and round house. The station agent was alone in the office. He was sitting in a high stool where his desk and tele graph instruments were located. It was about 9 p.m. Suddenly, two men entered the office behind the agent. They were masked with grain sacks pulled over their heads, and they were armed with pistols. They ordered the agent to throw up his hands. Instead of complying, he whirled around on his stool and told them to quit fooling. He thought that they were local fellows trying to scare him. One of the robbers got nervous and fired at the agent, and the bullet went into his abdomen. He later died from the wound. His name was Mr. Fred Hoar. The bandits were caught later, were convicted of second degree murder, and were given a term in jail.

The stage which made the trip over the San Marcos was occasionally held up by a lone robber. This man would drag a log across the road, then lie back in the brush until the stage arrived. He would then order the driver to throw out the Wells Fargo Express Box and mail bags. This robber was never caught.

Early locomotives on the Pacific Coast Hailway trains used wood for fuel, and live oak was considered the best. Most of this wood was cut near 11

Los Olivos. At one time, a crew of Japanese workers got a contract for cutting wood for the railroad. As is usual with these men, they had a foreman. The foreman boarded at Mattel’s Tavern. The crew of workers camped out in the hills a few miles from Los Olivos, where the timber was located.

This foreman wanted a saddle horse to get back and forth from Mattel’s Tavern to the camp. He got his eye on a high stepping bronco which George Smith was trying to break for a saddle horse. He told George that he would like to have this horse, and would buy him if he was for sale. George told him that he wanted to sell the horse, but the horse was pretty mean, and that he was afraid the foreman could not ride him. However, the Jap said that he had a brother back in Japan who was a great horseman, and that he would get on the horse and try him. So George took his lariat and passed one end through a ring of the bit and tied it around the horse’s neck. He held onto the coils of the rope and pulled down the blinds while the Jap mounted. When the blinds were lifted, things began to happen. The first jump lifted the Jap about a foot from the saddle, and the next one sent him sailing through space to the ground. He struck on his head which put him out, so some of the men got a bucket of water and poured it on his head.

When he came to he said, “That horse no likee Jap!” The little Japs had rather a tough time trying to split this live oak wood.

It had to be cut in much longer lengths than for ordinary stove wood. Tlie Japanese were good workers but too light for this job, and they left a lot of unsplit chunks of wood in the fields. After this job was finished, they left and never came back.

There was quite a steep grade on the road bed before getting to Los Alamos, and many times the little engines could not pull the loads over this grade without making several runs at it. The steepest part of the grade was in the vicinity of Zaca Station about three miles from Los Olivos.

Once there was a bad wreck on one of the freight trains. There were a number of cars on this train, which were loaded with live cattle. The wreck occurred a few miles south of Los Alamos, and some of the cattle cars rolled over and down an embankment. A good many cattle were killed or crippled.

People from Los Alamos and vicinity visited this wreck and some of them saIvaged meat for making “jerky.” So-called jerky is meat cut into strips and hung over a line to dry. Sometimes it is necessary to build small fires under the meat to drive oil the yellow-jackets. The strips are seasoned with salt and pepper. The dried meat can be used in stews. Some people like to eat it in its raw, dried state.

Billy Quinn had a cattle range on the Brinkerhoff Ranch south of the Bierbenl Place. Some of his friends who lived in Santa Ynez used to visit his ranch on Sundays and have a stag dinner with him. On one occasion, they went to his place and learned that he was away from the house. While waiting for him to return, they discovered a jerky line with a lot of w’ell dried meat on it and helped themselves. When Billy returned, they told him about eating his jerky. He said, “That’s all right! I had a sick cow that died, and I jerked a lot of it to have a supply of food for my dogs.”

During World War I, the Pacific Coast Railway hauled quite a lot of hogs from Los Olivos to San Luis Obispo until there were enough of them to make a train load on the main line of the Southern Pacific Railroad. They were then taken to markets in Kansas City. Corrals at the Southern Pacific 12

A harvester near Los Olivos

loading point were some distance from the narrow gauge yards. Many of these hogs were collected from the hills and mountains around Santa Ynez valley. They were tame hogs that had gone wild through living and multi plying in the mountains. They were roped by cowboys, and caught with traps and by dogs. Of course it was almost impossible to drive such animals through open fields. Apparently, the Packing Co. men did not realize just how un manageable these hogs were; so, when they opened the gates at the narrow gauge yards for the transfer, there was a wild stampede. San Luis Obispo is located in a sort of pocket in the mountains, so it was an ideal spot for the hogs to find a new range. It was also a difficult place to recapture them, and many of them were left in their new home.

The main station at Los Olivos contained an office, waiting room for passengers, and a freight room. Further along the tracks, there was a long warehouse where bags of wheat, barley, and oats were stored. {All grain was put in burlap bags weighing from 100 to 150 lbs.) The grain was held here in various lots which belonged to the ranchers who brought it in. It was weighed and marked for identification, and was stored until sold or ordered shipped. It usually went to Port Harford to be loaded aboard ships.

Once there was a bad mixup in the various lots of grain, and no one seemed to know who the different piles belonged to. Finally, a man named Mr. George Clark was sent to Los Olivos and he was able to unravel the difficulty. He was retained by the company for this work for many years.

During the threshing season, usually right after the Fourth of July, the warehouse would hold only a small fraction of the grain delivered here. So, surplus grain, in bags, was stacked along the tracks on the ground in great long piles. Occasionally early fall rains would come before it was hauled away.

Another important source of business for the road developed when oil was discovered on the Hartwell Ranch near Orcutt. This discovery oil well got out of control and spurted oil into the air far above the top of the derrick.

Dams were hastily thrown up along the canyon below, which created lakes of oil. This was bad for wild ducks and other water fowl. These lakes would look like water to the birds and of course it was a death trap for them.

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Afler this oil discovery, more wells were drilled, and this important in dustry was extended through much of the Santa Maria Valley.

Still another source of revenue was lumber. Lumber yards were estab lished at Los Olivos and other points along the line. These lumber yards supplied most of the building material that was used along it’s entire length and were owned and operated by the company.

The town of Los Olivos was planned to be the county seat for Santa Barbara County. The original map shows an official block set apart and labeled “the Court House Block.” At that time, there was a considerable amount of political pressure to divide the county. Those who advocated this change argued that Santa Barbara was badly located for a county seat, that it was across the mountains in a far off corner of the county. In a division of the county, Los Olivos would be quite centrally located for the new northern section.

This possibility might have been one of the reasons why Mr. Felix Mattel decided to locate his tavern in Los Olivos. Anyway, Mattel’s Tavern was always an important asset to the Pacific Coast Railway, the stage lines, and to the people using these facilities. The Matteis were the final owners of the stage line which carried passengers and the U.S. Mail from Los Olivos to Gaviota. They operated this line many years after the route Avas discon tinued beyond Gaviota.

Mattel’s Tavern had the reputation of always serving the best food obtainable. Trout were plentiful in the Santa Ynez River and the Mattei boys were expert fishermen, so the tables at the inn Avere Avell supplied with trout. Mr. LeAvis Mattei, a brother of Felix, Avas very clever at tying or making artificial flies for trout fishing. Also the tAvo Avaiters, Gus and Charlie Berg, were good fisherman, though most all of the travelers kneAv these men only as very able waiters.

Mr. Mattei had quite a controversy with the Fish and Game authorities.

They tried to stop him from serving trout on his tables on the grounds that he was selling game fish, Avhich Avere illegal. However, he had never made any exra charge for trout. It Avas just an extra dish which guests could have if they wanted it; they would pay the regular price for the meal with, or without, the trout. Mr. Mattei won the suit and continued serving the trout.

Shortly after 1910, a Moving Picture Company, in making their picture, chartered a complete passenger train and the Los Olivos station for about a week. A number of local people were employed to fill in or create an ap pearance of activity around the station, or as a supporting feature of the

story.

The Pacific Coast Raihvay Co. was quite prosperous during the period when the oil business was booming in the Santa Maria Valley. Also, at this lime, grain hauling and other freighting were active. Taking into considera tion its size and its invested capital, it was said to be one of the best paying railroads in the country.

The trains of this company were operated in a more leisurely way than trains of today. Perhaps this last story Avill give some idea of the manner of life in those early days. The engine crews often carried rifles in their cab. If a coyote or other wild animal was sighted, they would stop the train and try to shoot it. There usually was a bounty on coyotes and mountain lions.

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Fothcr Buckler

Santa Ines Mission 50 Years Ago

By Mamie Goulet ABBorr As memory pushes back ihe heavy curtain of time, many fine pictures of the Santa Ynez valley come to view: The beauty of scenery with lowering mountains steepling into peaks against the blue of heaven, their color, ever changing with the seasons, from mellow-yellow and brown of summer and auturmi to the brilliant greens of winter and spring time, their dark ravines and deep canyons and dizzy trails all blending into rare loveliness, the cjuiet stillness of the valley with the majestic Santa Ines Mission in the center of it. All this is stenciled indelibly on the canvas of remembrances.

It was in the summer of 1904 that my uncle, the late Padre A. Buckler, was assigned as pastor of the Santa Ines Mission. And it was in late Sep15

Mission Santa Ines, etching by Henry Chopman Ford, 1883

tember of that same year, coming from St. Paul, Minnesota, that I stepj)e(! off the Soutlieni I’acific train at Gaviota to board the Gaviota-Los Olivos canvas-covered stage c<jach that took me to the Mission. Elderly James Waugh, with kitully face and almost toothless, wearing a long patriarchal heard, was the driver of the horse-drawn coach.

The feeling that came over me as the driver helped me off the stage in front of tlie Mission can never adequately be put into print. 1 had sud denly lost my power of speech and could only stare in amazement. The Santa Ines Mission was almost in total ruin. Was this to be my home? I remem bered Padre’s letter. “I hope you will have courage and patience until con ditions can be improved,” he had written, after giving some detail about the conditions of the place. Not alone was the Mission in a deplorable coiuiition, but there were no funds to remedy the situation.

After long days of hard labor that stretched into weeks and months, we had cleaned and made some rooms comparatively livable and were re laxing a little, when, alas, during the following March, a terrific rain and wind storm almost drove us out of the Mission.

The roof of the convento was composed of long shakes; many, being dry and loose, were blown off; others were lifted right off in large chunks by the terrific wind and deposited on the ground in the yard. This left the adobe walls exposed to the rain, and melted mud was slithering down evervwhere. Fortunatelv, the storm occurred at the end of the rainy season and the hot sun dried up the exposed wet adobe walls. During the summer, a new roof of shingles was put on over that part of the convento which we had cleaned and were occupying. This extended the length of the five arches next to the chapel.

Of considerable importance in the history of the Santa Ines Mission was the centennial of its founding on September 4th, 1904. To hold any kind of celebration on that date was out of the question. Padre did not belittle its importance, however, and made plans to celebrate the following year.

We were still living under perplexing conditions when the day arrived, but managed quite a nice celebration. Rev. Joseph O’Keefe, O.F.M. of Mission San Luis Rey, Rev. Ludger Glauber O.F.M. of Santa Barbara Mission, Rev. Frederick Lack of Arroyo Grande, and Rev. Mathias Ternes of Santa Maria were invited to participate. At ten-thirty o’clock a High Mass was celebrated. Father Glauber was celebrant, with Father Lack and Father Ternes taking the part of deacon and sub-deacon resjjectively. Father O’Keefe gave the sermon. Padre, with his strong melodious tenor voice, harmonizing with the little melodian organ, made up the choir.

In the tranquil coolness of the chapel, tapers burned on the altars while the Reverend Fathers, robed in the rich brocaded vestments of the Mission’s more glamorous past, moved about in devout seriousness and chanted the ])rayers of the Mass.

The inhabitants of the valley were not very enthusiastic about the cele bration of the Centennial and only a few people were in attendanee.

The owls and bats, spent after their night of orgy, were unmindful of what was going on as they slept in the bellfry and in the openings of the cracked walls. But we, we were intensely awake with the feeling that some thing tremendous and very sacred was taking place.

This was during what we like to term “The good old days” the days 17

before the automobile and paved roads, the telejjhone bell, and tlie yakyaking of radio and television had invaded the languorous, tranquil and inexplicable peace and charm of the valley, the days before the (>ibralter Dam, when the Santa Ynez river afforded trout fishing the year round.

It was then that many prominent businessmen of Santa Barbara came for week-ends to go fishing in the Santa Ynez river. 1 recall that, at one lime, Mr. Thomas Storke, owner and publisher of the “Santa Barbara Indepen dent,” and Mr. John F. Diehl, of the fabulous “Diehl’s Grocery Store,” rode horse-back over the San Marcos Pass to be our guests for a week-end and to go trout fishing. Others, who on occasions availed themselves of the Mis sion’s hospitality, were Mr. A. S. Petterson, editorial writer, Mr. John Gamble, landscape artist, Mr. Mark Bradley, County Recorder, and Mr. Steve Nichols, associate of “Boeseke and Dawe” hardware store, to name a few. There w'ere practically no tourists, as such, to visit the Mission at that time.

In the winter of 1910, Clarence Mattel, the artist, was a frequent visitor.

He had concluded his studies at the Julien Academy in Paris and was with his parents at the Tavern. Clarence seemed to have been at loose ends at that time, not having as yet settled down to serious painting. He would drive in a small open buggy to the Mission of an afternoon or an evening to have a chat with Padre. Previous to coming to California, Padre had spent a year traveling in Europe, which seemed to give ground for genial chats between the two men. On occasions, Charley Mallei would accompany his brother, or perhaps Clarence would persuade his Mother to forget home cares and ride with him to the Mission. It was not. however, until the summer of 1916, I believe, that Clarence painted a wonderful portrait of Padre Buck ler, in canonical dress.

On March 7th, 1911, it was, that the Santa Ines Mission was almost lost to posterity. The winter rains, most of which came in February and March, reached a total of 40.05 inches. The ruinous storm started on February 25th, and for twelve days and nights it rained incessantly. The total precipitation for the storm w'as B.51 inches. These figures were taken from a Government raiji gage whicli Padre had at the Mission. Padre also kept a log of rain fall, and I am quoting from that log.

For the most part, the rain fell gently and soaked well into the ground, but, to the detriment of the Mission, it also soaked into the adobe walls.

These were tense days as we kept vigil. Padre, decked in rubber coat, hat and boots, myself, in a heavy coat and rubber over-shoes, would walk around the premises to view the destruction and sadly anticipate fuillier devastation. When night came we were afraid to go to bed for fear the whole building would crumble and bury us alive.

One by one the huge six by six foot butresses supporting the walls of the chapel were crumbling and slithering into huge piles of mud, leaving gaping cavities in the thick walls. By the end of the storm, four buttresses had been reduced to heaps of adobe mud, three on the north side and one on the south side of the chapel. The abutment at the end of the colonade whicli Capitan, an Indian, had labored so ardently to erect after the first storm, also collapsed.

On the twelfth day of the storm, the rain came down in such torrents and the wind was so terrific that Padre was worried for the safety of the 18

chajDel. The roof was in bad condition and the lower part of the north wall so water-soaked it looked as if it, too, would collapse.

At the hour of five Padre came in to take a short respite from the vigil. We were standing in the middle of the living room trying to decide what to do, when we heard prolonged rumblings followed by a heavy “thud"’ that seemed to shake the whole building, and the tinkling of bells. We ran out through the front door. Our nerves were jittery almost beyond control from the constant strain and uncertainty. “The bell tower has fallen” Padre exclaimed, as he looked down the veranda and saw a high mound of debris.

The bell tower had fallen forward leaving the bells protrouding here and there among the heap of bricks and soft adobe.

“I did not expect the bell tower to fall” Padre said as we walked to the end of the corridor to view the ruin. His face had become pale and drawn and his eyes were moist as he fully realized what had happened.

Turning towards me, and almost in a whisper, he repeated, “The bell lower has fallen.”

By the end of this day we were in such a state of nerves that had the rain abated sufficently, I fear we would have abandoned the Mission. As it was, all we could do was to sit light and listen to the fury of the storm. The true story of how we managed to live through those trying days and nights will ever remain among the hidden secrets within the walls of the historic struc ture.

When the weather had cleared and we viewed the destruction ail around us, we were the most forlorn, dejected and disheartend individuals one could conceive, and walked about as in a daze.

Immediately, Padre reported the catastrophe to his Bishop, Rt. Rev. Thomas J. Conaty, and talked about plans for the restoration. I admired his courage and integrity but could not become enthusiastic over the prospecit of the turmoil and hardship of more building. However, the Mission had to be restored at all costs.

The Bishop advised Padre to |)roceed with the rebuilding and restoring of the Mission, and to send all bills for tlic work ajid materials to the Chancery office. Subse((uently, the contract for the restoration was given to Magnus Johnson, a contractor at Santa Barbara, and the work was finished in the early part of the following year.

At this lime, that portion of the convento whicJi had not been re-roofed after the previous storm, was now covered with shingles. At some previous date, the tile roofing had been removed from the convento and was lying in a heap in the front yard of the Mission. These Padre had men re-lay over the shingled roof, as far as they would go. There were enough to cover all the East and part of the West side of the convento roof.

The Mission, now, with its clean white-washed bell tower and outside walls, its repaired arches outlined in brick-red. its weather softened tiled roof, together with its majestic silhouette against a back-ground of ever green mountains and blue sky, was taking on some of its former grandeur and dignity. The story of the restoration will ever be a proud chapter in [he history of the Santa Incs Mission.

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A Valley White Ook,

Jrawn by John Gorham

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4

"Bright Boy" pencil drawing by C. W. Anderson

(Mr. Anderson, from his home in New Hampshire, very generously has sent this coil’s head for use in the Autumn issue of Noticias.—Editor.)

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Three palominos

The Palomino Horse

By Dwight Murphy In 1920 I obtained a lease on some property in the Santa Ynez Valley east of the San Marcos Ranch on which 1 built a stable, a small home, and houses for two families. I named the place Los Prietos as this location was originally part of a Mexican grant made to Jose Domingues in 1845 and was known as Los Prietos y Najalayegua. (Los Prietos refers to something of a black color while Najalayegua was the name of the Indian tribe that lived in that area at the time the grant was made). In purchasing a few saddle horses, one among them especially appealed to me because of his golden colored body with white mane and tail. This horse was called a Palomino, and in searching for more of these horses I learned that the name U Palomino” referred solely to color. They proved to be quite scarce and I was able to find only two or three of the color and conformation desired.

During the time I had Los Prietos I often visited Rancho Triumfo in Ventura County. This ranch was owned by F. W. Malthiessen who was breeding the American Saddle Horse (three and five gaited horses). Mr. Malthiessen knew of my interest in the Palomino horse and in 1925 he pre sented me with a very fine two year old Palomino stallion. As this animal’s grandsire was Rey el Santa Anita, one of Lucky Baldwin’s noted thorough-

23

breds, I named this colt Del Rey and immediately started a search for quality Palomino mares to breed to Del Rey. Trips were made to Oregon and Washington in an endeavor to find brood mares of the color and conformation required for my breeding pro gram but none was found. It occurred to me that Mr. George Riley, manager of the San Marcos Ranch, might know where some mares could be found as he made frequent trips to ranches in the Southwest to buy young cattle to be pastured on the San Marcos Ranch. Mr. Riley advised me to write to Mr. W. B. Mitchell of Marfa, Texas, who had a large band of unbroken mares on his 200,000 acre cattle ranch as Mr. Riley had remembered see ing some Palominos among them. A letter was sent to Mr. Mitchell telling him of my breeding plans and asking if he had any Palomino mares he miglit be willing to sell. Mr. Mitchell’s reply to my letter was most friendly.

He stated that he had a few mares of this color that he would sell, but sug gested I visit him at his ranch—not only to see the mares but also to tell him of my breeding plan. The result was a trip to Marfa and the purchase of seven mares—all there were of the color I wanted among his band of twenty-nine brood mares. These seven mares were shipped to Los Prietos —and thus began my breeding venture.

When the first lot of colts were foaled I was surprised to find that about half were Palominos and the other half consisted mostly of sorrels with a few albinos. Realizing my breeding venture was not going to be as simple as anticipated, I sought the advice of Mr. Francis T. Underhill who was known as a successful breeder of thoroughbred horses and other live limited amount of inbreedin stock. Mr. Underhill advised me to do until a stallion was obtained of the color and conformation desired and then breed this animal to the mares. Mr. Underhill also advised the pur chase of a light colored sorrel Arabian stallion to be crossed with a few mares. The inbreeding was successful in that when the first lot of colts arrived one of them was outstanding in both color and conformation. I named this colt Rey de Los Reyes, and, when old enough, used him with success in producing Palominos of the tyj)e and color desired.

Los Prietos was becoming loo small for my breeding operation, and, after some negotiations with Mr. F. W. Matthiessen, who owned the 48,000acre San Marcos Ranch, I purchased 7,500 acres of this ranch and gave the new location the name of Rancho San Fernando Rey. A modern stable was built as well as adobe houses for the employees and an adobe home. Now, having room to expand, I found a breeder of Arabian horses, Mr. J. M. Dickinson of Travelers Rest, Franklin, Tennessee, who had an Arabian stallion of the desired color. Purchase was made of this stallion, whose name was Chepe Noyon, and he was bred to some of the Palomino mares.

The colts of both Rey de Los Reyes and Chepe Noyon were outstanding both in color and conformation.

Much publicity was given to the Palominos at Rancho San Fernando Rey in the local newspapers and horse magazines. Several of my best horses were entered in the Fiesta parades each year, and newsreel photographers took pictures of them which were shown in theatres throughout the country.

Considerable interest was thereby created in the Palomino. Letters were received from various parts of this country as well as from Europe, Aus tralia and New Zealand asking for pictures and other informaton about the Palomino horse. A representative of Lady Ann Wentworth, owner of 25

',

Dwight Murphy on Rcy de las Reyes

the Grabbet Park Stud at Sussex, England, arrived at the ranch to inquire if a trade for a good Palomino mare might be made for an Arabian stallion.

Unfortunately arrangements for this trade were not consumated. Soon others started the breeding of Palominos. A register was established in which Palominos had to meet certain qualifications before being eligible for registration.

Quite often I have been asked how the golden horse became known as the Palomino, and, while I have a definite idea on this subject—proof is lacking. However, the records show that horses of this color were known as “Ysabellas” in Spain because they were the queen’s favorites. In Mexico they were called “Caballo de Oro” (horse of gold), and from all available data it was in California that they first became known as Palominos. It is of record that in 1775 Anza brought colonists from Mexico to establish a settlement in San Francisco and that a mounted soldier accompanying the colonists had the name of Juan Miguel Palomino. It is my belief that he was riding a golden colored stallion and this horse was bred to mares in California and that the colts sired by this stallion were called Palominos in order to distinguish them from horses of another color. This idea may not seem too far fetched w'hen one considers how the Morgan horse of today received its name—which is as follow's: Justin Morgan became the owner of a stallion suitable for both light harness and saddle use. He was especially fast in harness. The sire and dam of this horse do not seem to be of record. Neighbors of Justin Morgan bred their mares to this horse and the colts inherited all of the fine qual ities of Morgan’s stallion. The demand for the type of the Morgan stallion became very great, and in time a registry of the Morgan horse was started.

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They eventually became a breed and were used extensively by the cavalry.

Getting back to my breeding venture, some of my observations were that many of the colts were born fairly light in color and became a darker golden color in two or three years. Also, several colts seemed to have darker colored hair around the eyes than that on the body, and, when these colts shed their first coat, the second coat was the same color as the hair around the eyes.

There was a constant demand for Palomino horses sired by Rey de Los Reyes and Chepe Noyoii. It, therefore, seemed it might be possible to establish the Palomino as breed in the not-too-distant future . . . then came World War II. The men on the ranch were called to the colors, and, being unable to obtain the necessary help, it soon become apparent that my activities would have to be curtailed. Reluctantly arrangements were made for a partial dispersal. A few mares and the older stallions, however, were kept on the ranch. Later on offer was received for Rancho San Fer nando Rey and all but a small portion of it was sold. I built a stable and houses on the retained portion and operated on a much smaller scale until it was decided to discontinue my ranching activities. I sold my last holdings in the Santa Ynez Valley in 1956—retaining the ohler horses which were cared for at a location near Santa Ynez. These horses were in reality pen sioners. They received good care and most of them lived for over twentythree years.

My thirty years of experience in the breeding of the Palomino was most interesting as there was no beaten path which could be followed to reach the desired goal.

Finally, I have the great satisfaction of knowing that Palominos arc new produced in sufficient numbers that in most horse shows there is a class allotted solely to this horse.

V: »: >

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Leo Carrillo and "Conquistodorc'

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ai »

Reminiscences of the Santa Ynez Valley

By Joan M. Bard What is the charm of the Santa Ynez Valley? It was felt by people in the earliest days and it still seems to linger. My father, Alden March Boyd, went to the Valley in 1884 as a young farmer, and although in his later years he and my mother moved to Santa Barbara, the Valley, for him, was still “God’s Country”. It was such a beautiful valley—the air so spar kling—the mountains so blue—and early in the morning when I awoke, I would throw open my bedroom window that looked toward the San Rafael Mountains and felt how good it was to be alive. If “Oklahoma” had been written then, I would have sung “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning”!

My father was engaged in raising olives when he first came to the Valley and at one time was associated with Ralph and Percy Selby of San Francisco in the making of olive oil. The Selby Ranch, La Mesita, was just below the Mission, to the East. The Haynes of San Francisco also had large acreages of olives.

My father and mother were married in 1889 and according to a news paper clipping from the Santa Ynez Argus, July, 1889, “Mr. A. M. Boyd, the popular young supervisor of third district, left on Tuesday A.M. for Santa Barbara and the East. Mr. Boyd will take with him as his bride, one of Santa Barbara’s most beautiful and accomplished young ladies”. That young lady was Margaret Alexander.

Our ranch—Rancho de Los Olivos—which gave its name to the little town of Los Olivos, had quite a large orchard of olive trees, and one of my earliest memories was putting my arm, up to my shoulder, in the large vats of pickled olives, at the olive house on the creek that ran through the ranch, and gathering up a fist full of delicious olives.

I think my childhood must have been a happy one. There seemed to be so much to do—the hayrides; the horseback rides; the picnics and swims in the Santa Ynez River and Zaca Lake; picnics to Nojogui Falls; the trips at Christmas time in the buckboard to the upper part of the Santa Aguada Canyon to get our Christmas tree, a digger pine; the long hot summer days, lying in the hammock on the veranda and listening to the bells on the grain wagon teams as they went by on the road below our hill lost in a cloud of dust; on those hot days, my father would keep the house completely closed an d the temperature outside would be 104° and inside, 64°, and if anyone left the door open for a second, his voice would be heard, shouting “door”!.

It was such a thrill, too, listening to the eerie cry of the coyotes at night, in the hills across the road from our house—probably one or two that sounded like ten.

My sister, Jessie, and I went to the little Ballard School and walked there every morning with a neighbor boy, carrying our lunches in lard pails, containing the inevitable peanut butter sandwiches. It was a one room schoolhouse and I still can’t understand how one teacher could manage all eight grades. I still can remember excerpts from “The Lady of the Lake” and Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott” which we had to memorize.

A high point in our lives was the arrival, every year, of the Chinese merchant, on foot, with a long pole across his shoulders and a big basket 28

hanging on either end, and inside were such wonders as china tea sets, cups, silk scarves, Chinese nuts and many more intriguing articles.

Another great event was a trip to San Luis Obispo on the “Jerk-Water”, the little narrow gauge railroad that ran from Los Olivos to San Luis Obis po, to see a circus.

When I was a very young child we went to Santa Barbara on the stage coach over the San Marcos and I remember my mother’s storv of how once a prisoner was among the passengers, with a ball and chain on his leg, and how he held the baby—my sister—when mother was sick! I can still hear the stage horses’ heavy breathing as they stop[)ed at Cold Spring, after their |)ull up the grade. Kelly’s Bee Ranch. Home Station, Chalk Rock and Pat Kinevan’s along the way, helped to relieve the monotony. Later, when the Southern Pacific was built, we took the stage, which stopped at our gate for us and drove to Gaviota and there waited many hours at the station for the train to take us to Santa Barbara. Oh. how hard those benches were, during our weary wait! Once or twice a kindly brakeman let us ride to Santa Barbara in the caboose. Sometimes we drove our own spring wagon to Santa Barbara and I remember the thrill when the horses’ feet clattered on the first pavement and we glimpsed the sparkling blue ocean at the foot of State Street.

My sister and I had a delightful visit with Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Lamb on the San Marcos Ranch, where he was the manager. The hot springs in the canyon back of the ranch house were so hot that we could barely stand it when we tried to bathe. It was to those springs that my mother told us she and her sisters, the Alexander girls and Santa Barbara friends used to go for picnics. Those early days in Santa Barbara must have been very gay because I have pictures of my parents and their friends on picnics and house parties and taking part in the carnivals and there is one picture of myself as a tiny girl being held on the back of a big dog by my aunt, Mrs. Starbuck Macy at Mr. Underhill’s ranch El Roblar near Los Alamos. The ladies in very long dresses were playing horse shoes!

The Lambs were married in our ranch house by Father Lac of the Santa Ynez Mission. The only thing I can remember of this event is Father Lac’s black beard. My sister and I visited the Lambs when he was running the Alisal Ranch, 'fhe scent of wisteria, to this day, takes me back to this ranch where it was climbing outside my bedroom window. An exciting event there was watching the cattle being “dipped”. I remember a Texas longhorn, with particularly long horns, got caught on the sides of the “dip” and the cowboys had a quite a time getting him free.

Another visit was to the Santa Rosa ranch with Mr. and Mrs. William Cooper—two very good friends of our family. Jessie and I rode horse back, a long ride, but it was fun. It w'as a delightful old ranch house, with a huge, broad porch across the front, with a magnificent view towards the east and deep windows in the adobe walls.

In 1906 the telephone rang one day and when my father answered the phone we sensed that something terrible had happened. When he turned from the phone, he told us that Mr. Mattel had announced that San Fran cisco had disappeared from the face of the earth! Later, of course, we learned that though the earthquake and fire were devastating, San Fran cisco W'as still there! We had many friends in San Francisco and the news was a terrible shock.

29

That year a bumper crop of wheat sent us to Europe where we lived in France for two years, in the city of Montpellier, chosen by my father because no one there spoke a word of English! On our return we lived at the Alamo Pintado Ranch, also owned by my father, as Rancho Los Olivos was still rented to the man who farmed it in our absence. The Alamo Pintado had been owned by British remittance men, among them Harry D’Urban and Daniel Basil William Alexander. A beautiful little stained glass window made by Mr. Alexander is still in the Ballard Presbyterian Church. Mr. D’Urban’s grave is in the unusually attractive Ballard cemetery.

When guests came to visit us, one of my father’s favorite drives was to take them to Paradise Valley on the Foxen Canyon Road, on the way to the Zaca Ranch—a beautiful valley, stretching to the west below the grade in shades of misty blue. He was always extremely disgusted when these guests (mostly women) kept on talking in the back seat instead of exclaim ing with delight at the view.

What I loved most of all was our camping trips to Fir Canyon and to the Davy Brown with old friends and cousins. The only time an old friend did not go, I became engaged in the moonlight in Sunset Valley to the stranger who had joined us!

And so I left my sunny Santa Ynez Valley with a bit of my heart left

behind!

Notes on the Upper Santo Ynez Valley and the Kelly Brothers

By Dr. Irving Wills As one reaches the floor of the Santa Ynez Valley after traversing High way 154, which almost everyone calls San Marcos Pass road, he is offered two choices of direction . . . he may either proceed down the valley toward Santa Ynez, Solvang and Los Olivos, or by making a right turn, he may lake the Paradise Road to Paradise Camp, Los Prietos Ranger Station, and Gibraltar Dam. The region of this junction represents more or less the dividing line between the Upper and Lower Santa Ynez. If one wishes to be more definite the “line” should probably be drawn at “Windy Gap”, just west of the old San Marcos Ranch headquarters. Below this point, which marks the head of Lake Cachuma, the valley widens markedly, the land lends to level out and there is a sharp difference both in average rainfall and in both summer and winter climate.

Near the junction of the above mentioned roads lies a somewhat his toric spot known as China Camp or El Campo Chino, as it was called by the “paisanos” of the valley. This lovely area consists of several acres of level ground through which beautiful Los Laureles Creek courses. It is shaded by huge oaks ... both Encino or “live oaks” and several magnificent specimens of Valley or “White Oaks”. In addition, there are Laurels (from which the creek gets its name), huge Sycamores, Alders, Willows and a variety of mountain shrubs.

A tiny open meadow lies in more or less the center of the area. This formed a natural playground for the children of the many Santa Barbara families who camped there through the earlier summers.

30

A fine spring, which has never been known to go. dry, even in the driest of “dry cycles” pours out its clear cold water from the base of a large syca more tree and keeps a portion of the creek “live” during the dry summer months when most of our Southern California streams have “gone under ground”. On its banks grow w'axy or orange-hued Leopard Lilies, taking “stage center” at a time of year when the many Columbine, Fairy Lanterns and Mariposas which grow nearby, have had their day. A few Grey Squirrel still inhabit the region and, if one is lucky, may be seen scampering from tree to tree.

China Camp was so named because it was used as a road camp for the Chinese laborers who built the old San Marcos Pass Road in the late 60’s.

Because of the never-failing Spring, the road was routed through the camp to enable the drivers of the stagecoaches which were to use the road, to water their horses before beginning the five mile pull up the grade to Pat Kinevan’s ranch atop the mountain. It was at the Kinevan ranch that the horses were changed for the final leg of the journey into Santa Barbara. (In a recent interesting installment of “Santa Barbara Yesterdays” in the Santa Barbara News-Press, Walker Tompkins gave us the story of the stage coaches which made the run between the Valley and Santa Barbara).

On at least one occasion. China Camp Spring was the scene of a stage holdup. Mary Kinevan. Pat’s daughter told me many years ago that her father had been riding on the San Marcos Ranch and decided to water his horse at the spring. As he came out of a “draw” leading to the creek, he suddenly came upon the sort of scene so often pictured by Western artists . . . the passengers lined up outside the coach and held at gun point by one of the “Road Agents” while his partner relieved them of their valuables.

Although Pat had a rifle in a saddle boot and his Colt’s in its holster, he was helpless, since the holdup men had heard him coming. Poor Pat was ordered to throw his guns to the ground and his strong Irish courage availed him not at all as he watched the men complete their job, mount their horses and gallop away.

Just above China Camp is the site of a one room country school that Dwight Murphy of Santa Barbara established in the early twenties to give educational opportunity to the children of the families which had moved into the valley while the realignment of San Marcos Road was in progress.

Murphy had acquired a small ranch at Los Prietos, some five miles up the valley, where ho was breeding his famous Palomino horses. But that is his story as the reader of this issue of “Noticias” will note.

Of the early settlers of the region, there was a colorful pair, the Kelly Brothers. Actually there were three Kellys, but only two of them established themselves in the Valley of the Santa Ynez.

The Kellys hailed from Kellytown, Pennsylvania, where their family and relatives had large land holdings. It was said of one uncle, James Kelly, that he could walk from the Monongahela to the Allegheny River with out leaving his own land. The Pennsylvania Courier Chronicle recounted in 1896, some fourteen years after his death, that James Kelly was one of the best known philanthroj)ists of Western Pennsylvania. This on the occasion of the unveiling of a plaque on an Institute for the Blind and Deaf, which Kelly had provided for in his will. The land alone was w'orth over $500,000 at that lime.

The two Kelly Brothers who settled here in the late 70’s were Samuel 31

Grant and Joseph Loyal, known to one and all as well as to each other as “S.G.” and “J-L.”. S.G. was the first of the pair to come West. He was an itinerant map salesman and had developed a wandering foot, when ill health forced him to seek a more friendly climate. Many will recall the colorful maps of the United States which hung on the walls of most rural, as well as the residences, of many townspeople. Sam Kelly contributed his share in their distribution. His westward wanderings in pursuit of his profession finally brought him to Ventura, California, and to nearby Ojui Val ey, where he lived with a family friend. This chap was a beekeeper and his enthusiasm so intrigued the young Kelly that he decided to stay on as an “apprentice” in the “Bee Business”. A year or so later, Kelly felt that it was time for him to strike out for himself and he sent for his older brother Joseph to

join him.

Land was still available for homesteading in various parts of California and the Kelly Brothers, after casting about considerably, decided on the upper Santa Ynez valley, as a location best suited to their new occupation of bee keeping. (During this period, J. L. supported himself and his brother by working as a clerk in the old Morris House in Santa Barbara).

Each of the two brothers filed on a quarter section of land, their first choice being located along the south boundary of the San Marcos grant and included in it’s boundaries two streams: Los Laureles and Bear Creeks, thereby assuring them of a reliable water supply.

As J. L. related it to me, the land they chose looked attractive as long as they remained in the floor of the valley; much of it, though brush cov ered, being more or less level, with some rolling hills projecting into the valley from the north wall of the mountain. By checking the rather inade quate government maps, they put together a string of “forties” running eastward from the vicinity of Bear Creek. These, together with additional quarter sections filed on later by employees on their “Bee Ranch” and which they later purchased, carried their lands as far east as the boundary of the property now known as Rancho Oso (formerly the Ed. Alexander property).

Here began one of the many frustrations which were to bedevil the brothers. A surveyor was brought over to “run the lines” of the prospective homesteads. In some manner, either through the absence of proper land marks or for some other reason, the East-West boundary lines which he es tablished were too far north. This error placed the lands of the eastern por tion in the floor of the valley thereby encroaching on properties of the old Rancho Los Prietos y Najalayegua. They included the present Fremont Tract, Paradise Camp and Los Prietos Ranger Station, the latter area later to be acquired on lease from the United States Government by Dwight Mur phy for his Palomino horse establishment.

The Kelly Brotlicrs built cabins and set up their apiary on these sites.

One of their toughest jobs. J. L. told me. was the clearing by hand, sweat and “elbow grease” some ten or fifteen acres for a horse pasture. (This clearing remains today at the upper end of the Paradise Camp Tract). They had no sooner got their Bee Ranch going well than they were visited by one of the heirs to the disputed Los Prietos grant. This gentleman ordered them off on the grounds that they were squatters. Another survey proved that this was indeed true even though it was an innocent mistake on their part.

The corrected boundaries pushed their lands southward and up onto the

32

hanging on either end, and inside were such wonders as china tea sets, cups, silk scarves, Chinese nuts and many more intriguing articles.

Another great event was a trip to San Luis Obispo on the “Jerk-Water”, the little narrow gauge railroad that ran from Los Olivos to San Luis Obis po, to see a circus.

When I was a very young child we went to Santa Barbara on the stage coach over the San Marcos and I remember my mother’s story of how once a prisoner was among the passengers, with a ball and chain on his leg, and how he held the baby—my sister—when mother was sick! I can still hear the stage horses’ heavy brealliing as they stopped at Cold Spring, after their pull up the grade. Kelly’s Bee Ranch, Home Station, Chalk Rock and Pat Kinevan’s along the way. helped to relieve the monotony. Later, when the Southern Pacific was built, we took the stage, which stopped at our gate for us and drove to Gaviota and there waited many hours at the station for the train to take us to Santa Barbara. Oh, how hard those benches were, during our weary wait! Once or twice a kindly brakeman let us ride to Santa Barbara in the caboose. Sometimes we drove our own spring wagon to Santa Barbara and I remember the thrill when the horses’ feet clattered on the first pavement and we glimpsed the sparkling blue ocean at the foot of State Street.

My sister and I had a delightful visit with Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Lamb on the San Marcos Ranch, where he was the manager. The hot springs in the canyon back of the ranch house were so hot lliat we could barely stand it when we tried to bathe. It was to those springs that my mother told us she and her sisters, the Alexander girls and Santa Barbara friends used to go for picnics. Those early days in Santa Barbara must have been very gay because T have pictures of my parents and their friends on picnics and house parties and taking part in the carnivals and there is one picture of myself as a tiny girl being held on the back of a big dog by my aunt, Mrs. Starbuck Macy at Mr. Underhill’s ranch El Roblar near Los Alamos. The ladies in very long dresses were playing horse shoes!

The Lambs were married in our ranch house by Father Lac of the Santa Ynez Mission. The only thing I can remember of this event is Father Lac’s black beard. My sister and I visited the Lambs when he was running the Alisal Ranch. The scent of wisteria, to this day, takes me back to this ranch where it was climbing outside my bedroom window'. An exciting event there was watching the cattle being “dipped”. I remember a Texas longhorn, with particularly long horns, got caught on the sides of the “dip” and the cowboys had a quite a time getting him free.

Another visit was to the Santa Rosa ranch with Mr. and Mrs. William Cooper—two very good friends of our family. Jessie and I rode horse back, a long ride, but it was fun. It was a delightful old ranch house, with a huge, broad porch across the front, with a magnificent view towards the east and deep windows in the adobe walls.

In 1906 the telephone rang one day and when my father answered the phone we sensed that something terrible had happened. When he turned from the phone, he told us that Mr. Mattel had announced that San Fran cisco had disapjjeared from the face of the earth! Later, of course, we learned that though the earthquake and fire were devastating, San Fran cisco was still there! We had many friends in San Francisco and the news was a terrible shock.

29

That year a bumper crop of wheat sent us to Europe where we lived in France for two years, in the city of Montpellier, chosen by my father because no one there spoke a word of English! On our return we lived at the Alamo Pintado Ranch, also owned by my father, as Rancho Los Olivos was still rented to the man who farmed it in our absence. The Alamo Pintado had been owned by British remittance men, among them Harry D’Urban and Daniel Basil William Alexander. A beautiful little stained glass window made by Mr. Alexander is still in the Ballard Presbyterian Church. Mr. D’Urban’s grave is in the unusually attractive Ballard cemetery.

When guests came to visit us, one of my father’s favorite drives was to take them to Paradise Valley on the Foxen Canyon Road, on the way to the Zaca Ranch—a beautiful valley, stretching to the west below the grade in shades of misty blue. He was always extremely disgusted when these guests (mostly women) kept on talking in the back seat instead of exclaim ing with delight at the view.

What I loved most of all was our camping trips to Fir Canyon and to the Davy Brown with old friends and cousins. The only time an old friend did not go, 1 became engaged in the moonlight in Sunset Valley to the stranger who had joined us!

And so I left my sunny Santa Ynez Valley with a bit of my heart left

behind!

Notes on the Upper Santo Ynez Valley and the Kelly Brothers

By Dr. Irving Wills As one reaches the floor of the Santa Ynez Valley after traversing High way 154, which almost everyone calls San Marcos Pass road, he is offered two choices of direction . . . he may either proceed down the valley toward Santa Ynez, Solvang and Los Olivos, or by making a right turn, he may take the Paradise Road to Paradise Camp, Los Prietos Ranger Station, and Gibraltar Dam. The region of this junction represents more or less the dividing line between the Upper and Lower Santa Ynez. If one w'ishes to be more definite the “line” should probably be drawn at “Windy Gap”, just west of the old San Marcos Ranch headquarters. Below this point, w’hich marks the head of Lake Cachuma, the valley widens markedly, the land tends to level out and there is a sharp difference both in average rainfall and in both summer and winter climate.

Near the junction of the above mentioned roads lies a somewhat his toric spot known as China Camp or El Campo Chino, as it was called by the “paisanos” of the valley. This lovely area consists of several acres of level ground through which beautiful Los Laureles Creek courses. It is shaded by huge oaks ... both Encino or “live oaks” and several magnificent sjjecimens of Valley or “Wliite Oaks”. In addition, there are Laurels (from which the creek gets its name), huge Sycamores, Alders, Willows and a variety of mountain shrubs.

A tiny open meadow lies in more or less the center of the area. This formed natural playground for the children of the many Santa Barbara families who camped there through the earlier summers.

30

A fine sprinO’ which has never been known to go, dry, even in the driest of “dry cycles” pours out its clear cold water from the base of a large syca more tree and keeps a portion of the creek “live” during the dry summer months when most of our Southern California streams have “gone under ground”. On its banks grow waxy or orange-hued Leopard Lilies, taking “stage center” at a time of year when the many Columbine, Fairy Lanterns and Mariposas which grow nearby, have had their day. A few Grey Squirrel still inhabit the region and, if one is lucky, may be seen scampering from tree to tree.

China Camp was so named because it was used as a road camp for the Chinese laborers who built the old San Marcos Pass Road in the late 60’s.

Because of the never-failing Spring, the road was routed through the camp to enable the drivers of the stagecoaches which were to use the road, to water their horses before beginning the five mile pull up the grade to Pat Kinevan’s ranch atop the mountain. It was at the Kinevan ranch that tlie horses were changed for the final leg of the journey into Santa Barbara. (In a recent interesting installment of “Santa Barbara Yesterdays” in the Santa Barbara News-Press, Walker Tompkins gave us the story of the stage coaches which made the run between the Valley and Santa Barbara).

On at least one occasion. China Camp Spring was the scene of a stage holdup. Mary Kinevan, Pat’s daughter told me many years ago that her father hud been riding on the San Marcos Ranch and decided to water his horse at the spring. As he came out of a “draw” leading to the creek, he suddenly came upon the sort of scene so often pictured by Western artists . . . the passengers lined up outside the coach and held at gun point by one of the “Road Agents” while his partner relieved them of their valuables.

Although Pat had a rifle in a saddle boot and his Colt’s in its holster, he was helpless, since the holdup men had heard him coming. Poor Pat was ordered to throw his uns to the ground and his strong Irish courage availed him not at all as he watched the men complete their job, mount their horses and gallop away.

Just above China Camp is the site of a one room country school that Dwight Murphy of Santa Barbara established in the early twenties to give educational opportunity to the children of the families which had moved into the valley while the realignment of San Marcos Road was in progress.

Murphy had acquired a small ranch at Los Prietos, some five miles up the valley, where he was breeding his famous Palomino horses. But that is his story as the reader of this issue of “Noticias” will note.

Of the early settlers of the region, there was a colorful pair, the Kelly Brothers. Actually there were three Kellys, but only two of them established themselves in the Valley of the .Santa Ynez.

The Kellys hailed from Kcllytown, Pennsylvania, where their family and relatives had large land holdings. It was said of one uncle, James Kelly, that he could walk from the Monongahcla to the Allegheny River with out leaving his own land. The Pennsylvania Courier Chronicle recounted in 1896, some fourteen years after his death, that James Kelly was one of the best known |)hilanlhropists of Western Pennsylvania. This on the occasion of the unveiling of a plaque on an Institute for the Blind and Deaf, which Kelly had provided for in his will. The latul alone was worth over $500,000 at that time.

The two Kelly Brothers who settled here in the late 70’s were Samuel 31

Grant and Joseph Loyal, known to one and all as well as to each other as “S.G.” and S.G. was the first of the pair to come West. He was an itinerant map salesman and had developed a wandering foot, when ill health forced him to seek a more friendly climate. Many will recall the colorful maps of the United States which hung on the walls of most rural, as well as the residences, of many townspeople. Sam Kelly contributed his share in their distribution. His westward wanderings in pursuit of his profession finally brought him to Ventura, California, and to nearby Ojai Valley, where he lived with a family friend. This chap was a beekeeper and his enthusiasm so intrigued the young Kelly that he decided to slay on as an “apprentice” in the “Bee Business”. A year or so later, Kelly felt that it was time for him to strike out for himself and he sent for his older brother Joseph to

join him.

Land was still available for homesteading in various parts of California and the Kelly Brothers, after casting about considerably, decided on the upper Santa Ynez valley, as a location best suited to their new occupation of bee keeping. (During this period, J. L. supported himself and his brother by working as a clerk in the old Morris House in Santa Barbara).

Each of the two brothers filed on a quarter section of land, their first choice being located along the south boundary of the San Marcos grant and included in it’s boundaries two streams: Los Laureles and Bear Creeks, thereby assuring them of a reliable water supply.

As J. L. related it to me, the land they chose looked attractive as long as they remained in the floor of the valley; much of it, though brush cov ered, being more or less level, with some rolling hills projecting into the valley from the north wall of the mountain. By checking the rather inade quate government maps, they put together a string of “forties” running eastward from the vicinity of Bear Creek. These, together with additional quarter sections filed on later by employees on their “Bee Ranch” and which they later purchased, carried their lands as far east as the boundary of the property now known as Rancho Oso (formerly the Ed. Alexander ])roperty).

Here began one of the many frustrations which were to bedevil the brothers. A surveyor was brought over to “run the lines” of the prospective homesteads. In some manner, either through the absence of proper land marks or for some other reason, the East-West boundary lines which he es tablished were too far north. This error placed the lands of the eastern por tion in the floor of the valley thereby encroaching on properties of the old Rancho Los Prietos y Najalayegua. They included the present Fremont J'ract, Paradise Camp and Los Prietos Ranger Station, the latter area later to be ac(juired on lease from the United States Government by Dwight Mur[fliy for his Palomino horse establishment.

The Kelly Brothers built cabins and set up their apiary on these sites.

One of their toughest jobs, J. L. told me, was the clearing by hand, sweat and “elbow grease” some ten or fifteen acres for a horse pasture. (This clearing remains today at the upper end of the Paradise Carnj) Tract). They had no sooner got their Bee Ranch going well than they were visited by one of the heirs to the di.sputed Los Prietos grant. This gentleman ordered them off on the grounds that they were scpiatters. Another survey proved that this was indeed true even though it was an innocent mistake on their part.

The corrected boundaries pushed their lands southward and up onto the 32

Of research value was the gift of Geraldine Sahyun of a year’s volun teer work in translating Spanish California archival records of the Old Presidio of Santa Barbara—letters, documents from governors of early California, commandantes, officials, soldiers—and of special interest papers of Commandante Felipe de Goycoechea describing his life and events in early Santa Barbara and the building of the Presidio.

The earthquake in San Francisco in 1907 destroyed all the original records of early Spanish and Mexican California, except the land grants, which were in a fireproof safe. Fortunately Hubert Howe Bancroft tran scribed or made abstracts of all of these records. Your museum director for some years, with the cooperation of Bancroft Library, the State Archives, and other depositories of such material, has been gathering in these records as the Society could afford it, and slowly, loo slowly, having them translated and made available for research.

The Society has also received gifts by Margaret Ely Webb, artist, illus trator, and poetess, of a large and important collection of her original illus trations for children’s books, manuscripts, books of poems, her family genealogy, and letters of her family and ancestors as far back as 1803.

Her illustrations of children, drawn with all the sensitivity of the Pre-Raph aelite period, are fairylike in conception and made her outstanding in her field and in her time.

Your Museum Director spoke before the Santa Maria Historical So ciety on September 18, relative to our new Museum building. Interest in our plan is great, as the Santa Maria organization contemplates a similar project in the near future.

W. Edwin Gledhill

New Museum Site Dedicated Impressive dedication ceremonies to launch the drive for funds with which to construct the new headquarters of the Santa Barbara Historical So ciety, were held on the building site, “El Recinto Stanwood,” located in the area designated as El Pueblo Viejo, on the evening of August 28. Following these services, a barbecue steak dinner was served in the garden of Los Adobes de los Rancheros to the more than 300 guests in attendance.

Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod, president of the Society, opened the program and introduced Paul G. Sweetser, secretary of the Board of Directors and the Society’s first president, who served as master of ceremonies. Blessings on the endeavor were given by Fr. Maynard Geiger, O.F.M., historian and archivist of the Santa Barbara Mission; the Rev. Lawrence E. Fisher, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, and Rabbi Saul Appelbaum of B’nai B’rith Temple.

Mr. Sweetser, presiding at the dinner, introduced those members largely responsible for the success of the drive and for the progress of the plans for the future Museum building. Mrs. Wilson Forbes, chairman of the drive for funds, told of the initial assistance given by Thomas More Storke, editor and publisher of the Santa Barbara News-Press, in soliciting contributions, and these founder-donors were asked to rise to receive recognition for their generosity.

Introduced also were Thomas J. McDermott, past president, and acting chairman of the finance committee; Robert Ingle Hoyt, AIA, architect for 37

the new building, and Mrs. Hoyt, a director of the society and chairman of the dinner arrangements; Mrs. Samuel J. Stanwood, whose husband, the [ate supervisor “Sam” Stanwood had been instrumental in making this county property available to the society for this purpose; Mayor Edward L. Abbott; Fr. Regis Rohde, guardian of the Old Mission; Ward Scott, president of the City Council; Joseph Callahan, chairman of the Board of Supervisors, and Mrs. Abbott.

Museum Director W. Edwin Gledhill spoke briefly on the plans for the proposed building, which will be of adobe reinforced with concrete and steel, to be fire and earthquake-proof, in Spanish colonial architecture har monious to its neighbor, the historic De la Guerra adobe. The U-shaped structure will surround an enclosed court, with an arcade on which will be the entrances to the various rooms. It is estimated that about 75,000 bricks will be required for the walls. These will be covered with a thin coat of stucco through which the texture of the adobe can be seen. Tile for the roof will be kilned specially, to obtain the flavor of the early mission period.

Gledhill said that the library will contain research material and be open for qualified researchers; card files, microfilms and other records will be in charge of a competent librarian. The exhibit rooms will be de voted to the Spanish period of Santa Barbara, a Mexican room, an American room and a Western room.

It is hoped that this will become a community project, and will arouse city-wide interest and support, for the need is urgent to provide adequate quarters in which to house the Society’s steadily growing collections of historic material. Located as it will be, in the area designated by official ordinance as El Pueblo Viejo, the original site of the old Presidio established in 1782, it is expected that the museum will become an outstanding attrac tion for visitors to Santa Barbara.

Contributions, large or small, may be sent to the Building Fund, in care of the Santa Barbara Historical Society, Old Mission; donors of $5 or more will receive parchment certificates and have their names inscribed on the adobe bricks. Large amounts may be divided over a three-year period.

Pledge cards may be obtained at the headquarters of the Society. These gifts are tax-deductible. Further information may be obtained by telephoning 96 2-7712.

Activity Report

Women's Projects Board

With summer drawing to a close, members of the active board assembled once more at the Fernald House to make plans for the winter program.

Reports of events of the summer months were given, the most important be ing that of the third “Casa Tour” held on Sunday, August 12, just prior to Old Spanish Days. Despite the very warm weather, more than 800 people visited the three historic homes opened for viewing, and ended their tour by coming to the Fernald House for cool punch and Mexican cookies, served in the garden of the Trussell-Winchester Adobe, or under the sapota tree which stands in front of the Fernald House. Here, hostesses (and some of their husbands) dressed in gay Spanish costumes, welcomed the guests, and assisted with the refreshments.

38

Mrs. Jean Artaud {Dorothy Profant), a music student of Miss Florence Fernald, delighted the guests with four hours of classical piano numbers at the Fernald House during the Casa Tour. Her young daughter Mimi also gave several piano numbers.

Mr. and Mrs. Flmer H. Whittaker, members of the Historical Society Board of Directors, generously opened their beautiful home, the Caneda Adobe, for us. This is a restored adobe, built on the site of one of the orig inal presidio dwellings. Next to it, in the beginning, had stood the little chapel which served the Soldados of the presidio, and their families. Thick adobe walls, cool even on a warm August day, and a luxurious inner court filled with a profusion of shrubs and flowers—plus the hospitality of the Whittakers—^make this a delightful home to visit.

New on the tour this year were the two other casas. The Rochin adobe, on Santa Barbara street, is owned and occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Robert Phelan. Mrs. Phelan is a descendant of the original owner. Here, because the house is small, and so many began the tour at this place, a waiting line formed which curved from the front door, around to the lovely garden in the rear, where a trio of musicians in Spanish costumes kept the visitors entertained with songs and their guitars. Mr. Phelan has one room filled with Indian artifacts and other historic memorabilia which he has collected over the years, and this small museum proved to be a very popular feature with the public. In the other rooms were found the family treasures of several generations which told of the long occupancy of this chaming adobe— portraits, fans, shawls, and other precious heirlooms.

A little removed from El Pueblo Viejo, and not quite so old as the first two adobes, is the Arrellanes-Kirk home, now occupied by the artist John Gorham and his family. It stands almost hidden from view by high shrubs and gnarled oaks, on East Figueroa Street. This is an excellent example of fine restoration and modernization to meet today’s needs, without the loss of the gracious charm of a hundred years ago.

The Project’s Board extends sincere thanks to each of these families for opening their doors and extending such warm hospitality to our friends and guests, thereby making our Casa Tour 1962 an outstanding success.

A word of thanks also to those many individuals who helped us with our preliminary details—Miss Rosario Curletti for her hours of research on the history of each of the adobes, and for her exciting stories about them which were published in the Santa Barbara Neivs-Press. Assisting her in some of this research was Mrs. Edward Bouten, a member of the Board, and her husband. Miss Curletti also appeared on KEYT-TV in an interview by Gene Forssell, to tell the story of the tour. We are indebted to both of them.

To radio stations KTMS, KDB, and to This Week in Sonia Barbara, The Gazette-Citizen of Goleta, the Santa Barbara Neivs-Press, the Los An geles Times, and others who published the story, we extend our gratitude.

Funds received from the Casa Tour are used in the maintenance of the Trussell-Winchester Adobe and the Fernald House. A large portion of the proceeds from this tour has been ear-marked for the development of the memorial garden which has been designed and is being planted by John H. Hartfeld. Lawn has been put in adjoining that of the Adobe, giving us more space for out-door entertaining, and, in accordance with the way in which Judge Fernald planted his garden in the 1860’s, Mr. Hartfeld has obtained rare and unusual specimens of palms, bird-of-paradise, and other exotic 39

plants for the plots. It is hoped to make the garden primarily an educational one, rather than one typically Victorian, as tliat is more true to the plan fol lowed by Judge Fernald. Plants will be labelled, so that visitors will be better informed after seeing the garden. After the brick walks are laid, and the plants have had time to adjust to their new environment, we feel sure that our guests will find a visit to the two homes very rewarding.

Found recently in the files of the Historical Society, is a sketch made of Charles l^ernald in Novemlier, ].u.31, wliile he was still studying law in San Francisco, and working as a reporter on the Alta California. He was then 21 years of age. He did not come to Santa Barbara until June of IB52, after passing his law examinations, and was returning home to Maine. How ever, he chose to make his home in Santa Barbara, remaining here until his death in 1B92. The sketch is signed “Jose N. da Silveira”.

In June, a meeting was held at tlie Fernald House by the Junior I^eague, at which time Museum Director W. Kdwin Gledhill and John Galvin, a member of the Board of Directors spoke. Mr. Gledhill’s topic was “Architec tural Harmony in a Community,” stressing the need for greater care in vis ualising the area as a whole, rather than seeing each building as a separate entity, the better to prevent a community from becoming a “hodge-podge” of architectural styles. Mr. Galvin, owner of Rancho San Fernando Rey W'here he breeds prize-winning horses, besides being a collector of rare manu scripts and documents, di.scussed the Pious Fund, given by Queen Isabella and a princess of Spain, to found the Franciscan Missions in California.

This Pious Fund was later seized by the Mexican government, a prime fac tor in the eventual failure of the mission system.

Many of the priceless documents in Mr^ Galvin’s collection are on dis play in the Museum headquarters, and when the new museum is ready, it will be possible to show many more of them than can now be done.

A new exhibit opened on July 9, showing treasures from the Spanish era in California. Among them were paintings by Leonardo Barbieri. of Carlos Antonio Carrillo and bis wife, the former Maria Josefa Raymunda Castro, loaned by the daughter of Leo Carrillo. A copy of a speech, written

by Carlos Antonio Carrillo when he went to Mexico to plead for the continuation of the Pious Fund (and never given, as it was then loo late to help the cause) is in Mr. Calvin’s collection, and is on display. Tlie only other copy is in the Bancroft Lihj’ary.

The Fernald House continues to be open on Sundays from 2 to 5 o’clock, and the Guest Register shows that an increasing number of townspeople as well as visitors are becoming cognizant of our unique historical homes.

With gifts from friends which date l)ack to the Victorian era. to add to the furnishings, children who might never see such items can learn a little al)oiil ihe j)ast. and oldsters wlio once had such relics, find a nostalgic jdeasure in seeing them again. “Living with history” really can be fun!

WiLBERTA M. Finley

IN MKMORIAM Mrs. II. A. Adrian Miss Sarali de Witt Coffin Mr. C. P. Dubhs Mrs. Alyne Fields

Miss Gail Harrison Miss Ingeborg Praelorius Mrs. Evelyn K. Kidimond

40

Mrs. Fred Scliaucr Mrs. Georpe Steedrnan Mrs. Kalhleen P. Wlieelor Mr. L. Stuart Wing

SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OFFICERS AND DIRECTORS 19 62 OFFICERS President First Vice PresidentSecond Vice President

●Dr. Hilmar 0. Koefod Don W. Woods Hugh J. W'eldon Paul G. Swcetser

Secretary Treasurer Past President

Mrs. Henry Griffiths .Thomas J. McDermott

DIRECTORS Mrs. Charles H. Cannon Mrs. Wilson Forbes John Galvin John D. Gill W. Edwin Gledhill Rev. Virgil Cordano

-Mrs. Godwin Pelissero Edward S. Spaulding Mrs. Robert Ingle Hoyt Garrett Van Horne Elmer H. Whittaker Dr. Irving N. Wills

W. Edwin Gledhill Mrs. W. Edwin Gledhill Edward Selden

Museum Director Curator Editor-in-Chief

Spaulding

The Society wishes to express sincere thanks to the followi n o donors: Mrs. Hilmar 0. Koefod Dr. Nils W. Bolduan Estate of Kirk B. Johnson Miss Ynez E. Orcna Father Maynard Geiger, O.F.M. Mrs. Harold Gladwin Mr. Albert Falvy Mr. A. L. Pcnnitnan, Jr. Mr. and Mrs. Russell Ruiz Miss Janet Boyd Mrs. Edith Moore Jarrett Mr. Henry Stamback, Jr.

Miss Jeanette Hanson Mrs. Abel Maldonado Mr. John Heaton Mr. William H. Gilchrist Dr. Harvard Ellman Mr. Howard G. Park Mrs. Wilson Forbes Miss .Margaret Ely Webb Dr. and Airs. John Snidccor

NEW MEMBERS ACTIVE Mrs. Martin 0. Elmberg .Mr. and Mrs. John H. Esbenshade Miss Virginia Holbrook Mrs. Ceeile B. Holzman Dr. and Mrs. C. Sybert Kinsell Mr. William G. .Myers Mr. George Overrneyer -Mrs. Clarence Phelps Mrs. Charles P. Richardson Mrs. W. F. Rhodehainel .Mrs. Charlotte B. Robinson Mrs. Maxwell Ryder Miss Louise Shevlin Mr. and Mrs. E. M. Verpoorten Mr. Max Watkins Mrs. Slocum Wilson

SUSTAINING Mrs. J. Randall Chase Dr. and .Mrs. L. Gordon Fiske Mr. and Mrs. Hugh H. Evans Mr. and Mrs. Churchill Groves Mr. and Mrs. Fallis Oliver Senator and Mrs. Alvin Weingand PATRON Mr. and Mrs. Albert Essig Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Janeway Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth T. Riley BENEFACTOR Mr. and Mrs. Burton A. DeckiT Mr. and Mrs. Herbert S. Woodward

HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERSHIP There are five classes of membership: Benefactor, SlOO; Patron, $25; Contributing, $15; Sustaining, SIO; Active, $5. Dues are tax deductible.

MAILING

address;

OLD

MISSION,

SANTA

RARBARA,

CALIFORNIA

N'OriCIAS QUARTERLY BULLETIN OF THE SANTA BARBARA HISTORICAL SOCIETY OLD MISSION SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA

Non-Profit Org. U. S. Postage PAID Santa Barbara, Calif.

Permit No. 534