CALIFORNIA POPPIES. 



A flower of the South and the Sun, 



Sown upon Hmitless plains; 

 Fed by the death of the summer grasses, 



Watered by winter rains. 



When the wild spring streams are running, 



She raises her head and cries, 

 "Blow off my emerald cap, good wind, 



And the yellow hair out of my eyes!" 

 And a fair fine lady she stands, 



And nods to the dancing sea, 

 O the rose you have trained is a lovely slave, 



But the wild gold poppy is free! 



Cami 



la K. von K. 



Spring in California — soft, warm, full 

 and bounteous. Birds twittering and 

 buildingf nests everywhere. 



In February the poppies bloom in 

 splendor, and no season of the year is so 

 beautiful, so radiant with glory as the 

 poppy time. Coming after a spell of 

 rainy weather, when the mists have lifted 

 from the face of nature, they usher in-the 

 long summer. 



In California the interest centering in 

 the poppy is universal, and it is the most 

 beautiful of California's flora. It is the 

 favorite flower, being the State flower, 

 suggestive in color, divine in inspiration 

 and poetry, besides the precious gold and 

 orange to be found in this land. 



The naturalist Adalbert von Cham- 

 isso arrived at San Francisco in 1816 on 

 the ship Rurick. Seeing the poppy for 

 the first time, he christened it Eschscholt- 

 zia (esh-sholts-i-a), after Herr Esch- 

 scholtz, his friend and companion of the 

 ocean journey. The Spanish people call 

 it El oro de copo (the cup of gold) . 



This poppy grows in portions of Ore- 

 gon, ^ Arizona and Mexico, but in Cali- 

 fornia it has a beauty such as you can 

 find, nowhere else. 



They grow about one foot high. The 

 cups of gold rest on slender, graceful 

 stems ; the foliage delicate and olive green 

 in color. This roval poppy is rich in col- 

 oring, cool and refreshing in the midst 

 of tropical heat. It is one of the most 

 characteristic and beautiful features of 

 California's scenery. Associated with it 

 are sunny skies, beauty, sea breezes and 

 waving palms. 



Under the sun of a bright day the 

 scene is like an Italian landscape — a blue 

 sky without a cloud. The eye wanders 



here and there to the gold spread far and 

 wide, and' the question rises, Was there 

 ever such flowers as these? Myriads of 

 rich, gorgeous, brilliant poppies nod, 

 lean, dance and swing their dainty cups 

 of gfold in the breeze. A mass of tossing 

 gold, sheets of gold fire running up the 

 valley, hill slopes and mountains. The 

 pasture, mesa and uplands are all aglow. 

 Poppies everywhere, found along the sea- 

 shore in great patches, by the roadside, 

 hid in the fence corners, in the green 

 grass, at the edge of the woods, in the 

 deserts and waste places. They appear 

 like unfurled banners of a victor 

 army, like waving billows in the breeze, 

 like a g-olden sea, rippling against a blue 

 horizon. 



They are the flowers around which the 

 tourists linger, and they go into raptures 

 over them. Gathered by armfuls, they 

 are carried to hotels and pressed in 

 books, then taken East, as souvenirs of 

 this sunny land. 



On 'Toppy Day" the desks in the 

 schools, the tables and mantels in the ho- 

 tels are decorated with bouquets of the 

 golden blossoms. 



Children worship them in their de- 

 light and greet one another with ''The 

 poppies are in bloom !" then scamper off 

 by dozens to the mesas, where they deck 

 their hair with poppy garlands and race 

 to and fro like butterflies, wading knee- 

 deep in poppy dust of gold. 



Above their happy voices the songs of 

 the meadow larks can be heard, clear, 

 mellow and thrillingly sweet. 



A golden spell lingers around the 

 scene, an influence that penetrates the 

 soul. Clara Hill. 



73 



