Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-06-02
YOLoS ARCADIA.
A ROMANTIC MAIDEN MUSES. ON THE
BEAUTIES OF NATURE,
As Found Along the "Cricko of Putah-
Native Calirornians and Pike
County NIissourians.

Native Californians and Pike
| County Missourians.
The boundary line between the counties
OF Solano and Yolo is a creek that goes
struggling along under the not very eu-
phonious name of Putah. 1t is pretty
stream, but it finally gets tired and sinks,
never to rise again. At one place it is
spanned by railroad bridge, and here,
perched on its north bank, is the town OF
Winters. 1t is one of those happy little
sociable villages where the clink of the
blacksmith's hammer mingles with the
roll and rumble of Gordon press, and the
Justices sign swings in the same breeze
with the lid of a coal-oil box bearing the
legend:
G h e ". fat WAS h nQiR o n,
1t is jotted down in the midst of most
magnificent orchard lands, and enjoys the
distinction of shipping the earliest fruits
| aid vegetables to the Eastern markets. 1t
also enjoys a railroad, "a little one for
| Bit" but quite sufficient to meet all the
needs of the valley through which it runs
1t carries both freight and human beings,
and canters merrily on its own time.
While the apricots and string beans are
being loaded, the traveller has ample time
to take in the town, play a game of bill.
lards, go fishing, or indulge in any innocent
pastime he may care to. When the
conductor thinks he wants to start he
gathers his family round him and away
they go-humming along over the beauti-
full country. As the little bob.tailed con-
trivance whisks over the rails it has the
appearance of running away with itself.
once upon a time party on board
amused themselves by dismounting, gath
ering wild flowers for the ladies, and gain
ing the train with little effort, and all the
while the train was at its usual rate of
speed.
Winters has an elegant new hotel. It
also has brilliant future, and time will
work wonders there.
Putah creek pronounced "crick" by the
natives) is picturesque stream, place
where poet and artist might pitch tent and
find material for verse and canvas many
days. One party has taken up quarters on
one spot, but they are neither artists nor
poets-they are Missourians. A camp fire
smokes vigorously under kettle of bru-
nette complexion, which emits an odor
that is extremely savory. Dish-rags and
red flannel trowsers flutter in the low
shrubbery, and stew-pans and horse blan.
kets strewn around promiscuously form
fantastic decorations. A half-score of tow
headed youngsters scOot under cover at the
appearance OF stranger, and as manv dogs
OF various colors and breeds set I'D q howl
that has to be heard to be appreciated. The
"pater" calmly smokes a clay pipe. and
gazes into space with stolid indifference,
while the mater" radiant in carpet slip.
pers and mans hat, is perched in the
wagon, from which the borses are de.
tached, penciling letter to friends in good
old far-away Pike county.
From little unassuming brook in mid.
summer, this creek changes to fierce
angry river in winter when the banks.
some rs feet high, hold in check the muddy
flood, bearing giant trees and drift of all
descriptions. Just now it is in its prettiest
humor. 1t putters along now sinking into
dark, deep pool, now rafting around a
bar that shows its teeth, and then widen
ing into clear space, where every pebble
is magnitied. Immense oaks and cotton.
woods throw dense shade and in this the
rank weeds flourish. Purple thistles grow
waist high in the slopes, and the buckeye
bushes dip their plumy blossoms in the
current like long white fingers. The elder
blossoms are like miniature yellow nm
brellas, and soon the purple berries will
bend them to the ground. In the long
grass the muddy-colored snake glides out
OF ones path, shooting out his tongue, like
woman at sewing circle. There are two
things to which l give plenty of room
one is snake, the other the man who has
not heard of McGinty.
Fish OF fabulous proportions have been
caught in this same innocent-appearing
brook, and the bare-footed boy with a
freckled nose, one suspender and guilty
conscience absents himself from school and
angles through all the long sunny after
noon. In the CLASSY, dark pools he finds a
bath mt for Egypts glorious Queen. In
boudoir carpeted with emerald and deco
rated with pink wild roses and honey
suckle, under a canopy of oak leaves that
the starlight filters through, the philo-
sophie tramp finds repose. safe from the
worlds busy hum and away from the hay
field, where gnats and heat and work
| abound. He fricassees his carp and pur-
Joined potatoes in an oyster can, and be-
| tween courses lies on his back, gazes into
heavens blue and dreams and dreams the
silent hours away.
On the south side of the creek are two of
the adobe houses built over thirty years
ago. They are coy and comfortable, and
bear the same semblance to the smart arch
| itecture of to-day that pea fowl bears to a
mud hen. One, in particular, must strike
deep into the heart of the lover of the an
| tique, and any one who has the magma
ton of granite slab cannot fail to weave
romances while resting under its broad
verandas. The walls are two feet thick,
the large bricks being made by the Ind.
ans of straw and mud (the bricks, not the
Indians). The roof is a gentle slope, and
verandas ten feet wide on upper and lower
| floor protect the mud walls from crumbl.
ing in wind and rain. A generous coat of
whitewash covers it all, and il stands in the
moonshine like grim old ghost. The
rooms are large, the ceilings low. and at
every turn one confronis a deep-sunken
window or porch starting off abruptly to-
ward-it doesn't know where.
In the twilight it seems meet that the
ghosts of long departed senors and senior.
ltas should come and take possession of
the quaint old pile. The surroundings
lend an Oriental twang, and are in keep
ing with the swarthy skinned and color.
decked phantoms that verify seem to throng
its portals. Where, in sunny Spain, are
skies more blue, fruits more luscious, or
air more gentle than in our own California?
Truly these few acres might have been
plucked from the heart of that beautiful
country across the seas.
Surrounding the curious old house are
vineyards OF purple and white grapes and q
grove of orange trees, where a belated
waxen blossom may be found under the
glossy leaves. There are palms and acacias
that clash their stiff leaves together; rows
of giant fig trees, and elbowing these are a
dozen or more olive trees, old as Methuse-
lab aud still in theirinfancy. Their leaves
are graceful and slender, gray and silver in
color, and answer to every whisper of wind.
The blossoms are so tiny and of such q
delicate creamy tint, and these misshapen
old monarchs, covered with a moss of
creamy filagree. might be likened to an old
man tricked out in bridal tinery. Climb
ing up one corner of the white washed
wall is pomegranate tree, its slender arms
filled with blossoms as scarlet and volup.
tuous as the lips of q maiden.
In hammock under this fancy NAV
paint dark-eyed senorita twanging a
guitar. Oleanders, tall and scraggy, glow
like pink blush against the white wall.
Mulberry trees are laden with their black,
wormy berries, and birds chatter cease.
lessly in the trees that hang a dazzling
mass of ripe red cherries 1t only takes
half fancy to fill the house and grounds
/ xx-.t AZ - /,