14 
JOURNAL OF THE ROYAL HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY. 
seasons merge into one another so gently, and the line between 
them is so dimly defined, 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 69 deg. shown in August, the thermometer drops 
to 58 deg. on an average in September; ranging from 60 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 shpwer 
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 
