Autumn Days in Ventura [pp. 1-23]

Auitiuun Days in Ventura.
Spanish look remains, apart from the
old Mission church, fronting East Main
Street.
Margaret and I found ceaseless entertainment in the landscape pictures before our open windows. Under the softest of skies, beyond the wide streets,
abruptly ending at the water's curved
rim, the great mirror of the Pacific took
on infinite shades of blue that whitened
along the horizon. South of the vaporous islands off the coast, Point Magu
rushes headlong into the sea. On to
the left the hazy summits of the Guadalasca range run smoothly toward Los
Angeles. The eastern suburbs of the
town already extend out several miles
into the Santa Clara valley. On the
other hand the pastoral hills of San Miguelito roll backward from the Santa
Barbara Channel, the wealth of greenery at their base hiding the river as it
steals to the arms of the sea.
We haunted the beach at all hours:
in the glow and melody of the morning,
the sparkle and sheen of noonday, and
the subdued harmonies of evening time.
Sometimes we bathed in the long, warm
swells of breakers, or reposed felicitously
on the yellow sands, our senses in exquisite attune with the rhythm of the
waves, and conscious only of the desultory movement of thin clouds fanned
apart by soundless winds. But oftenest
we lazily paced a twilight-shaded strand
under the pale, fine fire of a marvelously
tinted sky.
One day we visited the venerable
church that was founded in I782 by Junipero Serra, the renowned President of
all the California missions. It is a massive structure with quaint Moorish tower,
stone foundations, and adobe walls six
feet in thickness. The old cracked bells
in the lower arches of the tower are
strapped to the cross-beams with pieces
of frayed rawhide and rope. The immense timbers that support the roof
were hauled from the pine mountains,
fifty miles away. All the dim traditions
of the past cling to these crumbling
walls, mysterious with the stains of ages.
One realizes for the first time how
mighty were the undertaking and the
achievement of those Franciscan monks.
Under their wise and humane policy,
numberless tribes of degraded Indians
were led to adopt methods and habits of
civilization. With their practical knowledge of the valuation of lands, and the
advantages to accrue from an unrivaled
climate, these friars utilized the surrounding valleys for grain and corn, or
pastures for innumerable cattle, horses,
and sheep. They called their new settlement "Saint Good Venture," the luxuriance of the Mission gardens fully warranting this title. For generations the
fruit trees of this garden were mute yet
eloquent reminders of the horticultural
capabilities of this sunny clime. With
such monitors the only wonder is that
Ventura waited more than a century, before she won a gold medal at the State
fair for the best green and dried fruits
produced in California.
Two stately date palms, said to be the
largest on the coast, and a few gnarled
olive trees, are the only survivors of the
goodly orchards of the padres.
The earthquake of I857 so damaged
the tile roof of the church that it was
replaced by one of shingles. Inside there
are evidences of more recent repairs, of
which Margaret bitterly complained:
"I wished you to see it as it was years
ago-so deliciously unmodern! In place
of that vulgar lead-colored ceiling was
one of brown beams, with somber shadows lurking between. This hideous innovation of a floor conceals a pavement
worn smooth by the knees of humble
worshipers. Contrast those pews painted a glaring white, and defaced by dirt
and pencil markings, with the seamed
and frescoed walls, the faded pictures in
their moldy frames, the strange figures
bending from the curves of their niches,
and the dingy light struggling through
the narrow windows! The charm of the
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