THE COMING OF WINTER IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.
From Mr. Theodore S. Van d.y.k.e"s altogether admirable book on _Southern California_ I have permission to quote the following exquisite description of the floral procession from December to March, when the Land of the Sun is awakened by the first winter rain:
Sometimes this season commences with a fair rain in November, after a light shower or two in October, but some of the very best seasons begin about the time that all begin to lose hope.
November adds its full tribute to the stream of sunshine that for months has poured along the land; and, perhaps, December closes the long file of cloudless days with banners of blue and gold. The plains and slopes lie bare and brown; the low hills that break away from them are yellow with dead foxtail or wild oats, gray with mustard-stalks, or ashy green with chemisal or sage. Even the chaparral, that robes the higher hills in living green, has a tired air, and the long timber-line that marks the canon winding up the mountain-slopes is decidedly paler.
The sea-breeze has fallen off to a faint breath of air; the land lies silent and dreamy with golden haze; the air grows drier, the sun hotter, and the shade cooler; the smoke of brush-fires hangs at times along the sky; the water has risen in the springs and sloughs as if to meet the coming rain, but it has never looked less like rain than it now does.
Suddenly a new wind arises from the vast watery plains upon the south-west; long, fleecy streams of cloud reach out along the sky; the distant mountain-tops seem swimming in a film of haze, and the great California weather prophet--a creature upon whom the storms of adverse experience have beaten for years without making even a weather crack in the smooth cheek of his conceit--lavishes his wisdom as confidently as if he had never made a false prediction. After a large amount of fuss, and enough preliminary skirmishing over the sky for a dozen storms in any Eastern State, the clouds at last get ready, and a soft pattering is heard upon the roof--the sweetest music that ever cheers a Californian ear, and one which the author of "The Rain upon the Roof" should have heard before writing his poem.
When the sun again appears it is with a softer, milder beam than before. The land looks bright and refreshed, like a tired and dirty boy who has had a good bath and a nap, and already the lately bare plains and hill-sides show a greenish tinge.
Fine little leaves of various kinds are springing from the ground, but nearly all are lost in a general profusion of dark green ones, of such shape and delicacy of texture that a careless eye might readily take them for ferns. This is the alfileria, the prevailing flower of the land. The rain may continue at intervals. Daily the land grows greener, while the shades of green, varied by the play of sunlight on the slopes and rolling hills, increase in number and intensity. Here the color is soft, and there bright; yonder it rolls in wavy alternations, and yonder it reaches in an unbroken shade where the plain sweeps broad and free. For many weeks green is the only color, though cold nights may perhaps tinge it with a rusty red. About the first of February a little starlike flower of bluish pink begins to shine along the ground. This is the bloom of the alfileria, and swiftly it spreads from the southern slopes, where it begins, and runs from meadow to hill-top. Soon after a cream-colored bell-flower begins to nod from a tall, slender stalk; another of sky-blue soon opens beside it; beneath these a little five-petaled flower of deep pink tries to outshine the blossoms of the alfileria; and above them soon stands the radiant shooting-star, with reflexed petals of white, yellow, and pink shining behind its purplish ovaries. On every side violets, here of the purest golden hue and overpowering fragrance, appear in numbers beyond all conception. And soon six or seven varieties of clover, all with fine, delicate leaves, unfold flowers of yellow, red, and pink.
Delicate little crucifers of white and yellow shine modestly below all these; little cream-colored flowers on slender scapes look skyward on every side; while others of purer white, with every variety of petal, crowd up among them. Standing now upon some hill-side that commands miles of landscape, one is dazzled with a blaze of color, from acres and acres of pink, great fields of violets, vast reaches of blue, endless sweeps of white.
Upon this--merely the warp of the carpet about to cover the land--the sun fast weaves a woof of splendor. Along the southern slopes of the lower hills soon beams the orange light of the poppy, which swiftly kindles the adjacent slopes, then flames along the meadow, and blazes upon the northern hill-sides. Spires of green, mounting on every side, soon open upon the top into lilies of deep lavender, and the scarlet bracts of the painted-cup glow side by side with the crimson of the cardinal-flower. And soon comes the iris, with its broad golden eye fringed with rays of lavender blue; and five varieties of phacelia overwhelm some places with waves of purple, blue, indigo, and whitish pink. The evening primrose covers the lower slopes with long sheets of brightest yellow, and from the hills above the rock-rose adds its golden bloom to that of the sorrel and the wild alfalfa, until the hills almost outshine the bright light from the slopes and plains. And through all this nods a tulip of most delicate lavender; vetches, lupins, and all the members of the wild-pea family are pushing and winding their way everywhere in every shade of crimson, purple, and white; along the ground crowfoot weaves a mantle of white, through which, amid a thousand comrades, the orthocarpus rears its tufted head of pink. Among all these are mixed a thousand other flowers, plenty enough as plenty would be accounted in other countries, but here mere pin-points on a great map of colors.
As the stranger gazes upon this carpet that now covers hill and dale, undulates over the table-lands, and robes even the mountain with a brilliancy and breadth of color that strikes the eye from miles away, he exhausts his vocabulary of superlatives, and goes away imagining he has seen it all. Yet he has seen only the background of an embroidery more varied, more curious and splendid, than the carpet upon which it is wrought. Asters bright with centre of gold and lavender rays soon shine high above the iris, and a new and larger tulip of deepest yellow nods where its lavender cousin is drooping its lately proud head. New bell-flowers of white and blue and indigo rise above the first, which served merely as ushers to the display, and whole acres ablaze with the orange of the poppy are fast turning with the indigo of the larkspur. Where the ground was lately aglow with the marigold and the four-o"clock the tall penstemon now reaches out a hundred arms full-hung with trumpets of purple and pink. Here the silene rears high its head with fringed corolla of scarlet; and there the wild gooseberry dazzles the eye with a perfect shower of tubular flowers of the same bright color. The mimulus alone is almost enough to color the hills. Half a dozen varieties, some with long, narrow, trumpet-shaped flowers, others with broad flaring mouths; some of them tall herbs, and others large shrubs, with varying shades of dark red, light red, orange, cream-color, and yellow, spangle hill-side, rock-pile, and ravine. Among them the morning-glory twines with flowers of purest white, new lupins climb over the old ones, and the trailing vetch festoons rock and shrub and tree with long garlands of crimson, purple, and pink. Over the scarlet of the gooseberry or the gold of the high-bush mimulus along the hills, the honeysuckle hangs its tubes of richest cream-color, and the wild cuc.u.mber pours a shower of white over the green leaves of the sumach or sage. Snap-dragons of blue and white, dandelions that you must look at three or four times to be certain what they are, thistles that are soft and tender with flowers too pretty for the thistle family, orchids that you may try in vain to cla.s.sify, and sages and mints of which you can barely recognize the genera, with cruciferae, compositae, and what-not, add to the glare and confusion.
Meanwhile, the chaparral, which during the long dry season has robed the hills in sombre green, begins to brighten with new life; new leaves adorn the ragged red arms of the manzanita, and among them blow thousands of little urn-shaped flowers of rose-color and white. The bright green of one lilac is almost lost in a luxuriance of sky-blue blossoms, and the white lilac looks at a distance as if drifted over with snow. The cercocarpus almost rivals the lilac in its display of white and blue, and the dark, forbidding adenostoma now showers forth dense panicles of little white flowers. Here, too, a new mimulus pours floods of yellow light, and high above them all the yucca rears its great plume of purple and white.
Thus marches on for weeks the floral procession, new turns bringing new banners into view, or casting on old ones a brighter light, but ever showing a riotous profusion of splendor until member after member drops gradually out of the ranks, and only a band of stragglers is left marching away into the summer. But myriads of ferns, twenty-one varieties of which are quite common, and of a fineness and delicacy rarely seen elsewhere, still stand green in the shade of the rocks and trees along the hills, and many a flower lingers in the timber or canons long after its friends on the open hills or plains have faded away. In the canons and timber are also many flowers that are not found in the open ground, and as late as the middle of September, only twenty miles from the sea, and at an elevation of but fifteen hundred feet, I have gathered bouquets that would attract immediate attention anywhere. The whole land abounds with flowers both curious and lovely; but those only have been mentioned which force themselves upon one"s attention. Where the sheep have not ruined all beauty, and the rains have been sufficient, they take as full possession of the land as the daisy and wild carrot do of some Eastern meadows.
There are thousands of others, which it would be a hopeless task to enumerate, which are even more numerous than most of the favorite wild flowers are in the East, yet they are not abundant enough to give character to the country. For instance, there is a great larkspur, six feet high, with a score of branching arms, all studded with spurred flowers of such brilliant red that it looks like a fountain of strontium fire; but you will not see it every time you turn around. A tall lily grows in the same way, with a hundred golden flowers shining on its many arms, but it must be sought in certain places. So the tiger-lily and the columbine must be sought in the mountains, the rose and sweetbrier on low ground, the night-shades and the helianthus in the timbered canons and gulches.
Delicacy and brilliancy characterize nearly all the California flowers, and nearly all are so strange, so different from the other members of their families, that they would be an ornament to any greenhouse. The alfileria, for instance, is the richest and strongest fodder in the world. It is the main-stay of the stock-grower, and when raked up after drying makes excellent hay; yet it is a geranium, delicate and pretty, when not too rank.
But suddenly the full blaze of color is gone, and the summer is at hand. Brown tints begin to creep over the plains; the wild oats no longer ripple in silvery waves beneath the sun and wind; and the foxtail, that shone so brightly green along the hill-side, takes on a golden hue. The light lavender tint of the chorizanthe now spreads along the hills where the poppy so lately flamed, and over the dead morning-glory the dodder weaves its orange floss. A vast army of cruciferae and compositae soon overruns the land with bright yellow, and numerous varieties of mint tinge it with blue or purple; but the greater portion of the annual vegetation is dead or dying. The distant peaks of granite now begin to glow at evening with a soft purple hue; the light poured into the deep ravines towards sundown floods them with a crimson mist; on the shady hill-sides the chaparral looks bluer, and on the sunny hill-sides is a brighter green than before.
COMPARATIVE TEMPERATURE AROUND THE WORLD.
The following table, published by the Pasadena Board of Trade, shows the comparative temperature of well-known places in various parts of the world, arranged according to the difference between their average winter and average summer:
----------------------------------------------------------------------- Place.Winter.Spring.Summer.Autumn.DifferenceSummer,Winter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------- Funchal, Madeira62.8864.5570.8970.198.01 St. Michael, Azores57.8361.1768.3362.3310.50 PASADENA56.0061.0767.6162.3111.61 Santa Cruz, Canaries64.6568.8776.6874.1712.03 Santa Barbara54.2959.4567.7163.1113.42 Na.s.sau, Bahama Islands70.6777.6786.0080.3315.33 San Diego, California54.0960.1469.6764.6315.58 Cadiz, Spain52.9059.9370.4365.3517.53 Lisbon, Portugal53.0060.0071.0062.0018.00 Malta57.4662.7678.2071.0320.74 Algiers55.0066.0077.0060.0022.00 St Augustine, Florida58.2568.6980.3671.9022.11 Rome, Italy48.9057.6572.1663.9623.26 Sacramento, California47.9259.1771.1961.7223.27 Mentone49.5060.0073.0056.6023.50 Nice, Italy47.8856.2372.2661.6324.44 New Orleans, Louisiana56.0069.3781.0869.8025.08 Cairo, Egypt58.5273.5885.1071.4826.58 Jacksonville, Florida55.0268.8881.9362.5496.91 Pau, France41.8654.0670.7257.3928.86 Florence, Italy44.3056.0074.0060.7029.70 San Antonio, Texas52.7470.4883.7371.5630.99 Aiken, South Carolina45.8261.3277.3661.9631.54 Fort Yuma, California57.9673.4092.0775.6634.11 Visalia, California45.3859.4080.7860.3435.40 Santa Fe, New Mexico30.2850.0670.5051.3440.22 Boston, Ma.s.s28.0845.6168.6851.0440.60 New York, N. Y.31.9348.2672.6248.5040.69 Albuquerque, New Mexico34.7856.3676.2756.3341.40 Denver, Colorado,27.6646.3371.6647.1644.00 St. Paul, Minnesota15.0941.2968.0344.9852.94 Minneapolis, Minnesota12.8740.1268.3445.3355.47 -----------------------------------------------------------------------
CALIFORNIA AND ITALY.
The Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce, in its pamphlet describing that city and county, gives a letter from the Signal Service Observer at Sacramento, comparing the temperature of places in California and Italy.
He writes:
To prove to your many and intelligent readers the equability and uniformity Of the climate of Santa Barbara, San Diego, and Los Angeles, as compared with Mentone and San Remo, of the Riviera of Italy and of Corfu, I append the monthly temperature for each place. Please notice a much warmer temperature in winter at the California stations, and also a much cooler summer temperature at the same places than at any of the foreign places, except Corfu. The table speaks with more emphasis and certainty than I can, and is as follows:
+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+SanSantaLosSanMonth.Diego"sBarbara"sAngeles"Mentone"sRemo"sCorfu"smean temperature.+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+January53.754.452.848.247.253.6February54.255.654.248.550.251.8March55.656.456.052.052.053.6April57.858.857.957.257.058.3May61.160.261.063.062.966.7June64.462.665.570.069.272.3July67.365.768.375.074.367.7August68.767.069.575.073.881.3September66.665.667.569.070.678.8October62.562.162.774.461.870.8November58.258.058.854.058.363.8December55.555.354.849.049.368.4Averages60.660.260.460.460.165.6+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+
The table on pages 210 and 211, "Extremes of Heat and Cold," is published by the San Diego Land and Farm Company, whose pamphlet says:
The United States records at San Diego Signal Station show that in ten years there were but 120 days on which the mercury pa.s.sed 80. Of these 120 there were but 41 on which it pa.s.sed 85, but 22 when it pa.s.sed 90, but four over 95, and only one over 100; to wit, 101, the highest ever recorded here. During all this time there was not a day on which the mercury did not fall to at least 70 during the night, and there were but five days on which it did not fall even lower. During the same ten years there were but six days on which the mercury fell below 35. This low temperature comes only in extremely dry weather in winter, and lasts but a few minutes, happening just before sunrise. On two of these six days it fell to 32 at daylight, the lowest point ever registered here. The lowest mid-day temperature is 52, occurring only four times in these ten years. From 65 to 70 is the average temperature of noonday throughout the greater part of the year.
FIVE YEARS IN SANTA BARBARA.
[Transcriber"s note: Table has been turned from original to fit, along with using abbreviations for the months and a legend.]
The following table, from the self-registering thermometer in the observatory of Mr. Hugh D. Vail, shows the mean temperature of each month in the years 1885 to 1889 at Santa Barbara, and also the mean temperature of the warmest and coldest days in each month:
A = Mean Temperature of each Month.
B = Mean Temperature of Warmest Day.
C = Mean Temperature of Coldest Day.
D = Monthly Rainfall, Inches.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ MONTH.
Jan.Feb.Mar.Apr.MayJuneJulyAug.Sep.Oct.Nov.Dec.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1885.
A53.256.759.160.960.062.066.168.066.963.058.957.2 B57.065.562,570.564.668.073.078.878.872.064.865.7 C49.551,556.054.054.058.562.262.572.058.550.052.0 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1886.
A55.059.653.155.760.562.066.368.263.858.356.355.8 B73.570.059.561.565.567.572.072.068.362.566.265.8 C47.545.046.250.554.058.563.363.257.051.749.849.5 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1887.
A54.6750.457.058.4360.063.764.664.866.065.058.952.8 B63.561.164.866.867.079.071.369.770.574.065.359.6 C49.045.352.051.053.359.060.962.061.559.347.549.0 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1888.
A49.053.853.059.957.664.467.066.367.963.559 8.56.5 B58.757.560.575.064.569.072.072.076.276.961.363.0 C41.049.046.053.051.759.563.063.563.259.054.552.0 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1889.
A53.055.458.059.960.062.564.267.368.863.959.654.4 B58.065.067.072.768.565.784.077.078.070.365.760.7 C48.845.552.552.754.558.561.063.062.060.054.550.0 D0.291.297.310.490.760.13.........8.693.2110.64
Observations made at San Diego City, compiled from Report Of the Chief Signal Officer of the U. S. Army.
[Transcriber"s note: Table has been modified from original to fit, using abbreviations for the months and a legend.]
Column headers: a = Average number of cloudy days for each month and year.
b = Average number of fair days for each month and year.
c = Average number of clear days for each month and year.
d = Average cloudiness, scale 0 to 10, for each month and year.
e = Average hourly velocity of wind for each month and year.
f = Average precipitation for each month and year.
g = Minimum temperature for each month and year.
h = Maximum temperature for each month and year.
i = Mean temperature for each month and year.
j = Mean normal barometer of San Diego for each month and year for four years.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------OBSERVATIONS EXTENDING OVER A PERIOD OF TWELVE YEARS.
MONTH.abcde fghij ---------+------------------------------------------------------------+------- January8.511.211.34.15.11.8532.078.053.630.027 February7.911.39.04.46.02.0735.082.654.330.058 March9.6.12.78.74.86.40.9738.099.055.730.004 April7.911.910.24.46.60.6839.087.057.729.965 May10.912.18.05.26.70.2645.494.061.029.893 June8.1.15.26.75.06.30.0551.094.064.429.864 July6.716.18.24.76.30.0254.086.067.129.849 August4.716.99.44.16.00.2354.086.068.729.894 September4.413.911.73.75.90.0549.5101.066.829.840 October5.612.612.83.95.40.4944.092.062.929.905 November6.510.013.53.65.10.7038.085.058.329.991 December6.611.213.23.75.12.1232.082.055.630.009 Meanannual87.4155.1122.74.35.9.9.4942.688.860.529.942 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EXTREMES OF HEAT AND COLD.
The following table, taken from the Report of the Chief Signal Officer, shows the highest and lowest temperatures recorded since the opening of stations of the Signal Service at the points named, for the number of years indicated. An asterisk (*) denotes below zero:
a = Maximum b = Minimum c = Number of Years of Observation.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------Jan.Feb.March.April.May.June.------------------------------------------------------------------------- Locality of Stationcabababababab------------------------------------------------------------------------- Charleston, S. C.12802378268528873294479465Denver, Col.1267*2972*2281*1083492278950Jacksonville, Fla.128024833288319137994810162L"S ANG"LES, CAL.682308628993494391004010447New Orleans, La.13782080338437863892569765Newport, R. I.2482504604622675339141New York1364*669*472*3812094349547Pensacola, Fla.4742978317936873493479764SAN DIEGO, CAL.12783283359938873994459451San Francisco, Cal.12693671357739814086459548-------------------------------------------------------------------------
EXTREMES OF HEAT AND COLD.--_Continued._