The Coolidge examiner., 1936-07-17

trained Indians to do the
first irrigation work in Southern
California. Some of their old
bitches still exist.
You can tell by where these mis-
sions stand what good judges of
land the priests were. They never
built church on poor soil.
Local farming owes these padres
a great debt. They not Only
brought the first cattle and horses,
but they experimental with seeds
to see what would grow best in
California.
They planted the first oranges
and grapes. Lemons, figs, and OIL
ives they brought, too, and wheat,
destined to become tremendous
crop.
Almost feudal in aspect were
these mission farms. Indians were
trained as farmers, cowboys, car
penters, saddle makers, and Weav-
ers. They made things not only
for the use of priests and them
selves, but for Spanish soldiers as
well.
Cattle became the mainstay of
life, with beef the chief food; hides
made leather for saddles, harness,
and shoes, and even served as
money. Early sea traders from
New England called them Cali
fornia bank notes."
Sheep, too, were raised; and In
dianS made blankets and cloth for
suits from the wool. They raised
some hogs also, mostly for lard
to make soap.
Missions served as stock farms
from which private owners could
borrow enough breeding animals to
build up their own herds. Horses
of a tough, speedy type, with a
strain of Arabian from those
brought to Mexico by conquis-
tadores, thrived there, multiplying
so fast that in time wild herds
became a nuisance. Men used to
drive them into the sea to drown
them.
Cattle often ran wild over the
open range. In self-defense trav-
elers sometimes had to shoot saw
age bulls. At slaughtering time,
vaqueros rode down the thunder
ing herds, slew what they wanted,
and left carcasses to be skinned
by butchers who followed. Melted
talloW was packed in hides and
transported to sailing vessels along
the coast. This trade dwindled aft
er gold was found.
THE inflowing of population
made an end to the great droves OF
CATTLE" wrote Dana in 1859, on his
second trip to California.
Old Ranches Cut Up.
Today this once huge industry,
which kept the shoe and leather
trades of New England supplied.
is a dim tradition. In museums
you see old oxcarts and horse
gear, massive handmade furni-
ture and pioneer weapons.
Santa Barbara stages a fiesta
each season, in which modern
beaux and bellies dress in pioneer
Spanish costumes, ride horses
with Spanish saddles, sing Span
ish ballads, and dance fandangos
to early Spanish music.
But the modern spectacle is
more splendid than the original
hard, frugal life of toll ever was.
Practically all old ranches are
cut. up now. One or two, like the
Santa .Margarita and the TETON,
remain; but overseers make their
rounds in motor cars. In fields
where grunting oxen once pulled
wooden plows, you hear now the
staccato voice of gas tractors.
Among long-tailed, squawking
macawS and tinkling bells in the
Mission Inn garden at Riverside
stands an old, OLD orange tree. 1t
is one of two navel seedlings
sent here from Brazil, by way of
Washington, in 1873. Both lived
and are ancestors now of countless
trees whose fruit reaches not only
the most obscure hooks Of the Unit
ed States, but goes to forty-odd
ports overseas, even into Alaska
by dog-sled delivery.
What a colossal feat Of distribu-
tion
Think of 100000 carloads a year,
cars riding an average of 1900
miles each. Fantastically, you Wis
ualize this endless orange flight
as a universe of tiny yellow plan
cts flying forever out of California
and into space! Orange picking
never stops. Navels move from
December to May and Valencias
the rest of the year. With oranges
go lemons and grapefruit, picked,
packed and shipped from some
part of California every day in
the year. Europe alone takes up
ward of a million boxes, and Ca
nadians drink orange juice even as
we do.
To move and sell such incredible
cargoes, more than $4,000 growers
form the Fruit Exchange Their
statesmen are posted in SO central
markets here and abroad. Their
brand stamped on fruit is known