August, 1920 
t3l)e"Tlower (Brower 
123 
in innunnnnnini mnninninn nnnnnnni him; 
MRS. AUSTIN’S TALKS 
z ( W'rtttfn txprtuli for The Flower (iroxuer. ] 
A Ride and Picnic in 
California. 
“ At six o’clock sharp.” 
‘‘All right, we’ll be ready.” 
And at ‘‘six o’clock sharp” 
the next morning- a Cali- 
fornia winter morning giv- 
ing promise of a beautiful 
day we, Mr. Austin and 
myself, with Mr. Robert 
Hamilton and wife and son, 
Austin Hamilton, started on our trip 
from Campbell to Point Lobos, a picnic 
grounds not far from the old town of 
Monterey. 
“ We will first drive over to San Jose 
where I have some errands, and strike 
the state highway from there,” said 
Mr. Hamilton.” 
“You are very convenient to San 
Jose,” said Mr. Austin. “ I take it that 
you are about five miles from there.” 
“Yes, just about that. Campbell is 
really the center of the fruit orchard 
section, being five miles from each of 
the towns, San Jose, Santa Clara, Sara- 
toga and Los Gatos.” 
“ Papa, I want a hatchet,” piped 
young Hamilton from the rear seat, 
but no reply came. 
“ Well, Rob3rt,” said Mr. Austin, 
“ When my father gave me the name 
of his boyhood chum, Albert Hamilton, 
your father, he little dreampt that we, 
when gray-haired men, would become 
acquainted and be riding together over 
this beautiful country. How did Uncle 
Bert I alwavs called him Uncle -hap- 
pen to settle here in Campbell ?” 
“ Papa, when you get to San Jose, 
will you get me a hatchet?” came from 
the rear again, and again no reply. 
“ Well, I think that at first it was 
partly on account of the weather in the 
east. Although I was but a small boy 
when we lived in Connecticut I can re- 
member the stinging cold of winter and 
intense heat of summer. Then my moth- 
er was a western girl and accustomed 
to our genial climate. I think, too, 
that he foresaw the possibilities of this 
valley. He bought land and set it out 
to prunes, apricots and English wal- 
nuts, and built the house that stands 
there now. He was as much a leader 
in all progressive movements on land 
as he had been leader and manager 
when captain on the whaling ship so 
many years at sea. When it was de- 
cided to make an exhibit of Santa 
Clara Valley fruits at the Chicago 
World’s Fair he was deeply interested. 
I suppose you saw the prune horse and 
rider?” 
“ Yes, it was a very fine exhibit. He 
visited us that year, coming direct to 
us from the fair, and brought photos 
of his home and orchards. We have 
them yet.” 
“ Papa, won’t you get me a hatchet 
at San Jose, I want a big one so I can 
cut kindlings.” 
“ After he passed away the place was 
divided and sister Edith, Mrs. Marr, 
has the part on which the house stands. 
Maybe you noticed the large 
English walnut trees and in 
front and along the street. 
She understands curing 
fruits and often does some 
of the work herself. There 
are some fine old trees on 
my place, too. One of those 
just north of the house, bore 
a ton of fruit one year re- 
cently. We have a fine dry- 
ing plant in Campbell. In 
fact it’s the largest drying plant in the 
world. Twenty-five thousand trays of 
fruit can be placed on the ground at 
one time. It is a co operative institu- 
tion and the farmers bring their crops 
in to be dried. We have three fruit 
canneries, too. Santa Clara fruits go 
all over the world now.” 
“ Papa, won’t you get me a hatchet 
here in San Jose,” as we stopped at the 
curb, “ I want a big one to cut kin- 
dlings with, and I want it now to cut 
wood to-day to cook our dinner.” 
Evidently young Austin Hamilton be- 
lieved in the old maxim : “ Constant 
dropping wears a stone,” which proved 
true in that case, for although our stop 
in the city was short, when we left a 
hatchet was added to the picnic lug- 
gage and a boy was made happy. 
The car purred on over the state 
highway, which, by-the-way, is in the 
form of a great Y centering at San 
Jose, one arm going to San Francisco, 
on the north side of the Bay, and the 
other (when completed) leading to 
Oakland, on the other side, and the 
tail of the Y running southward by 
way of Gilroy, and extending to the 
southern part of the State. 
“ You certainly have wonderful roads 
here,” said Mr. Austin.” Coming from 
Los Angeles by rail up the coast route, 
we could see the highway running 
parallel, the white fences bordering it 
around dangerous curves making it 
conspicuous. It must be a beautiful 
auto trip, winding in around the moun- 
tains. They called it the Kings High- 
way down there, but I noticed that 
some of the Californians objected to 
that name, preferring to call it the 
State Highway.” 
It is a concrete road with asphaltum 
surface, making a wide smooth boule- 
vard. We passed many miles of or- 
chards of prunes, apricots, walnuts 
and almonds, the almonds just coming 
into bloom. On through pretty towns 
where homey-looking bungalows nes- 
tled in their setting of flowering plants 
and vines. 
It was Daffodil season and never 
have I seen such quantities, nor such 
perfection of that golden flower. There 
were many Hyacinths and Tulips com- 
ing into bloom also. Passing through 
ranching country we were fortunate in 
being able to see the cattle ranch of 
Miller and Lux, one of the greatest in 
the state, where thousands of animals 
are cared for, some in the feed-lots, 
and others on the ranges and grazing 
on the hill as far as we could see. Mr. 
Hamilton pointed to a conspicuous 
clump of evergreen trees. “ Do you 
see those trees? The wife of one of 
the proprietors of that great ranch 
lies buried there. She was accidentally 
killed and was buried in that beautiful 
resting place instead of a cemetery.” 
We came to the Mission of San juan, 
Bautista, and stopped to walk under 
its massive arches. Later, we passed 
the Carmel Mission another interesting 
one. Our trip thus far had taken us 
up over the mountains and down and 
again up into what -if I remember 
rightly — what, I think, was called the 
Heights of Carmel. A lovely place 
anyway. 
“ This beautiful wooded place is 
where the artists come to paint their 
pictures, and poets receive inspiration,” 
remarked Mrs. Hamilton. “ Some of 
the greatest artists and writers visit 
here, stopping in pretty secluded cot- 
tages, like those. When the trees are 
in full foliage some of them are com- 
pletely hidden from roadside view.” 
The sun shone warmly in the open- 
ings and many plants needing only 
this slight encouragement, were cover- 
ing themselves with a profusion of 
bloom. Shasta Daisies were in abun- 
dance. 
Nearing the picnic grounds of Point 
Lobos, we entered under the sheltering 
branches of great live oaks, windswept 
pines and the famous Monterey cy- 
press. I could not help but notice how 
these guardians of the bluff adapted 
Some of the famous Monterey Cypresses in the bank 
of the Ocean. 
themselves to that environment. The 
cypress especially had a dished in ap- 
pearance as if the tops had been broken 
out and they had raised their side 
branches in protest against the rigors 
of the sea, but Monterey cypress grown 
on the grounds of the Stanford Univer- 
sity, at Palo Alto in a place protected 
from strong winds, grew in sharp 
pyramidal form. 
In the sunny opening young Hamil- 
ton used his hatchet with great zeal 
and good results and soon his father 
had coffee on the stone cooking oven 
and barbecued the steak, while Mrs. 
Hamilton spread the cloth and placed 
the food upon the picnic table. “Enough 
for threshers !” I exclaimed, but they, 
