14 



JOURNAL OF THE ROYAL HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 



seasons merge into one another so gently, and the line between 

 them is so dimly denned, that it can only be designated as 

 existing between two dates some distance apart. In this State 

 the year is generally divided into what are termed the wet and 

 dry seasons, but this does not properly designate nor appro- 

 priately define them. Summer lingers so long in the lap of 

 winter that set calculations cannot be relied upon. 



In September come the first perceptible indications of ap- 

 proaching change from the bright, warm, sunshiny days of 

 summer. The nights become the least bit cooler. From a mean 

 temperature of GO deg. shown in August, the thermometer drops 

 to 58 deg. on an average in September ; ranging from GO deg. 

 to 70 deg. in the daytime. About the only fruit that makes 

 its first appearance in September is the pomegranate. The 

 bulk of the fruit crop has been gathered, though some yet hangs 

 on the trees. Almonds are almost ripe, and grapes are ready 

 to be picked. All kinds of vegetables are yet in the market, 

 and flowers bloom as usual. Farmers who have grown care- 

 less because of the long drawn-out summer afternoons have hay 

 uncovered in the field, or perhaps a stack of wheat yet waiting 

 to be threshed. The days are a shade cooler towards the end 

 of the month, with just a suggestion of haziness. A shower 

 at this time would be very unusual. 



In October come more prominent signs of change. Yet they are 

 signs which would be almost imperceptible to one not acquainted 

 with the peculiarities of our climate. The air grows hazy and 

 seems oppressive. Smoke rises slowly and hangs over the valley 

 or along the mountain slopes. The winds are no longer constant 

 from any quarter, but become variable, both as to direction and 

 force. Perhaps they cease. Perhaps sudden blasts send leaves 

 fluttering down from the trees or whirl the dust along the road. 

 The days are cooler, and the peculiarly dry feeling which 

 characterises the air in summer is replaced by one of dampness. 

 Dark lead-coloured clouds drift across the valley and clouds may 

 hang over the mountain tops, but it does not rain. It is just 

 getting ready. No one is justified in purchasing an umbrella in 

 the Santa Clara Valley upon the mere suggestion of a rain cloud. 

 The first clouds that come are evanescent. They go floating 

 lazily over the valley, and their shadows play hide and seek on 

 hill and dale — but still it does not rain. Then some day the air 



