THE RAISIN INDUSTRY. 185 



direction the town stretches out, the center thickly built, the- outskirts / 

 with sparsely scattered houses. Adjoining these the country begins, 

 vineyards as far as we can trace, groups of houses shaded by trees in 

 different tints of green, while broken rows of endless poplars traverse 

 the verdant plains and lose themselves in the distant horizon. The 

 Sierra Nevada, with their snowclad summits, and the Coast Range in 

 the west, cloudy and less distinct, form the frame for two sides of this 

 attractive picture, while to the north and the south the open horizon, 

 where sky and plains meet, limits the extensive view. 



The street-car lines of Fresno do not run very far out in the country, 

 and to see the latter we must procure a team. The colonies or settle- 

 ments of small farms immediately join the town limits; we are thus 

 with one step out in the country. On either side we see continuous 

 rows of vineyards, the leaves green and brilliant, the vines planted 

 in squares and pruned low, with the branches trailing on the ground. 

 To begin with, the houses stand closely, almost as in a village. As 

 we get farther out there is a house on every twenty-acre farm, or every 

 one-eighth of a mile. The cottages are neat and tasty, surrounded 

 by shade trees, while rose-trees and shrubbery adorn the yard, and 

 climbers shelter the verandas from the sun. /At every step, almost, 

 we pass teams going in various directions, teams loaded with raisin 

 boxes, teams with raisin trays, teams crowded with raisin pickers hur- 

 rying out to the vineyards, teams driven by raisin-growers or colonists 

 generally, who rush to and from town to transact business connected 

 with their one great industry. Everywhere is bustle and life; every- 

 one is in a hurry, as the grape-picking has begun, and the weather is , 

 favorable; no one has any time to lose./ Some of the avenues are lined 

 with elm-trees, others with fig-trees, with their luscious, drooping fruit, 

 others again are bordered with evergreen and towering gums, with 

 weeping branches and silvery bark. Kvery acre is carefully cultivated; 

 there is room for only a few weeds. As far as we drive the same scene 

 is everywhere, a scene like that in the outskirts of a populous city, 

 where villas and pleasure grounds alternate with the cultivated acres, 

 here those of the raisin-grower, and" where every foot of ground is 

 guarded with zealous care and made to produce to its utmost capacity. 

 * It is a pretty sight, a sight of thrift and intelligence, of enterprise and 

 of success, of wealth and of refinement, found nowhere else outside 

 of the -fruit-growing anc^raisin-producing districts of California. 



The raisin harvest has just begun ; the vineyards are full of workers, , if 

 grape-pickers are stooping by every vine, and are arranging the grapes 

 on small square or oblong trays, large enough to be easily handled; 

 teams with trucks are passing between the vines distributing the trays 

 or piling them up in small, square stacks at every row. Some trays 

 with their amber grapes lie flat on the ground in long continuous rows 

 between the vines, others again are slightly raised so as to catch as 

 much of the sun as possible. In some vineyards the laborers are turn- 

 ing the partially cured and dried raisins by placing one tray on top of 

 another, and then turning them quickly over. In other places, again, 

 the trays with the raisins already cured are stacked in low piles, so as 

 to exclude the sun and air, and at other stacks a couple of men at each. 



