History of California by Bandini, Helen Elliott - Chapter XIII

(download Open eBook Format)

History of California

Chapter XIII

To All that Sow the Time of Har­vest Should be Giv­en

In all but sav­age coun­tries, wheat is the most im­por­tant prod­uct of the soil, A large pro­por­tion of hu­man be­ings liv­ing on the earth to-​day are so pover­ty-​strick­en as to make the ques­tion of food a mat­ter of anx­iety for ev­ery day. The prayer for bread unites more voic­es than any oth­er.

The padres who set­tled Cal­ifor­nia un­der­stood this well. A num­ber of bushels of wheat, snug­ly in­cased in leather sacks, formed a pre­cious part of the car­go of the San Car­los, that stout Span­ish ves­sel which in 1769 brought the first set­tlers to Cal­ifor­nia. This seed-​wheat was di­vid­ed among the ear­ly mis­sions and as soon as pos­si­ble was plant­ed– not with suc­cess at first. For a time the padres made lit­tle progress in crop rais­ing. They had to learn by their fail­ures. In San Diego the first wheat plant­ed was sown in the riv­er bot­tom and the seed was car­ried en­tire­ly away by the ris­ing of the stream in the win­ter; and the next year, which proved to be a dry one, it was plant­ed so far from the wa­ter that it was al­most all de­stroyed by drought. At San Gabriel the first crop was drowned out, but the sec­ond, plant­ed on the plain where it could be ir­ri­gat­ed, was a suc­cess. San Gabriel was chief among the mis­sions for wheat rais­ing, and was called the “moth­er of agri­cul­ture.”

Grain plant­ing and har­vest­ing, in the days of the padres, dif­fered wide­ly from the meth­ods which pre­vail to-​day. Then the ground was plowed once or twice, but in what man­ner? A yoke of ox­en, guid­ed by an In­di­an, dragged a plow with an iron point made by an In­di­an black­smith. If iron could not be ob­tained, the point was of oak. Seed, which had been first soaked in lye, was sown by hand, broad­cast, and har­rowed in with branch­es of trees. The grain was cut by the In­di­ans with knives and sick­les. It was af­ter­ward placed on the hard­ened floor of a cir­cu­lar cor­ral made for the pur­pose, and in­to it was turned a band of hors­es which were urged to a run by the shouts and whips of the In­di­an va­que­ros. Af­ter run­ning one way they were fright­ened in­to turn­ing and go­ing the oth­er. In this man­ner the grain was tram­pled out of the husks. It was freed from the chaff by be­ing thrown high in the air by the shov­el­ful, when the wind was blow­ing hard enough to car­ry away the light straw.

Next, the grain was washed and dried, then ground, gen­er­al­ly be­tween two stones bolt­ed to­geth­er. A pole for a han­dle was al­so fas­tened by the bolt, and the stone was turned, some­times by mules, some­times by In­di­ans. La Per­ouse, the French sci­en­tist who vis­it­ed the coast in 1786 and gave to the padres of San Car­los a hand­mill for grind­ing grain, said that it would en­able four In­di­an wom­en to do the work of a hun­dred by the old way. Be­fore many years the padres at San Gabriel built a wa­ter mill of stone and adobe which ground grain in large quan­ti­ties, but not with en­tire suc­cess, un­til Chap­man, the first Amer­ican in that re­gion, gave them his as­sis­tance to per­fect the ma­chin­ery. This in­ter­est­ing build­ing has been re­stored by Mr. H. E. Hunt­ing­ton and is an ob­ject of in­ter­est to those who vis­it San Gabriel.

In 1815 the mis­sions raised enough wheat to sup­ply the whole pop­ula­tion, and there was even an at­tempt to ship grain to Mex­ico. This was a fail­ure, but a lit­tle grain was sold to the Rus­sians at Fort Ross. At the time of the change in the mis­sion set­tle­ments, when the padres were sent away, all agri­cul­ture de­clined. Dur­ing the Mex­ican War and when the crowd of gold seek­ers came, there was very lit­tle grain or flour to be had. Some of the gold hunters, who had been farm­ers in the East, fail­ing to find a for­tune in the riv­er sands, and see­ing the lack of food stuffs, went back to their old oc­cu­pa­tion. They put in crops of wheat and bar­ley along the wa­ters of the Sacra­men­to and San Joaquin, and were amazed at the fer­til­ity of the soil and the suc­cess of their ven­ture.

From this time the cul­ti­va­tion of wheat in­creased rapid­ly. In 1899 was har­vest­ed the largest crop record­ed. Af­ter that there was a de­cline in wheat rais­ing, be­cause many farm­ers plant­ed much of their grain lands to fruit for can­ning and dry­ing. To Cal­ifor­nia in­ven­tors is due the cred­it of sub­sti­tut­ing steam for hand la­bor in plant­ing and har­vest­ing grain.

Let us look at the busy scene on a grain field in the Cal­ifor­nia of to-​day. It is fall or ear­ly win­ter, and the time for plant­ing has ar­rived. In­to the field, which is sev­er­al thou­sands of acres in ex­tent, comes a great en­gine, one that does not need a track to run up­on. Over the ground it rolls. With strength equal to fifty hors­es it draws be­hind it six­teen ten-​inch plows, four six-​foot har­rows, and a press drill to match. It takes on­ly a few men to man­age it, and in a short time it has plowed, har­rowed, and sown the broad acres; noth­ing is left to do un­til the har­vest time ar­rives.

When the grain is ripe, there comes an­oth­er great ma­chine. This is the har­vester, whose knives or cut­ters may be as much as twen­ty-​six feet wide. This one ma­chine cuts off the heads of wheat, thrash­es them, cleans the grain, and sacks it, clear­ing sev­en­ty-​five acres in a day, leav­ing on the fields the piles of sacked wheat ready for mar­ket. It is most in­ter­est­ing to watch one of these gi­ants of steel and iron trav­el­ing over the un­even ground, cross­ing ditch­es, crawl­ing along side hills, with­out any trou­ble or change of pace, gath­er­ing in the ripe grain, turn­ing it out snug­ly tucked away in the brown gun­ny-​sacks wait­ing for its long jour­ney by ship or car. How the padres would won­der if they could see it work­ing!

The grain of the Cal­ifor­nia wheat is white and soft, and con­tains much gluten. No mat­ter what hard red or yel­low va­ri­eties are brought from oth­er coun­tries and plant­ed here, in a year or two they change to the Cal­ifor­nia type. It is not cer­tain­ly known what caus­es this pe­cu­liar­ity. The grain most in fa­vor through the state is called “club wheat” from the form of the head, which is block­shaped, in­stead of long and slen­der. The “club wheat” holds fast its grain so that it can be har­vest­ed with­out falling to the ground, which, in so dry a cli­mate, is a great point in its fa­vor.

Wheat is raised all over the state, both on high and on low land. Some of the largest grain ranch­es are along the tule lands around Stock­ton. These were marsh­es once, but have been drained, and now are choice grain fields. Wheat was first sent out of the state to Eng­land as bal­last for re­turn­ing ships, but the trade grad­ual­ly in­creased un­til there are now over one hun­dred of the finest sail­ing ves­sels en­gaged in it. Un­for­tu­nate­ly, few of these ves­sels are Amer­ican, per­haps but one fourth. It is a pity that our coun­try­men should not ben­efit more by this trade. Dur­ing the grain sea­son at most of the Pa­cif­ic ports the flag of near­ly ev­ery na­tion on earth is rep­re­sent­ed. All styles of ship­ping, from the largest mod­ern steam­er to the small­est ocean sail­ing ves­sel, are then to be found in the har­bors of the coast.

Grain is car­ried to the docks in barges, schooners, or on cars, and is sel­dom shipped ex­cept in sacks. Wheat, un­less it needs to be cleaned or grad­ed, is kept in the sack in which it leaves the home field. To watch the grain be­ing load­ed in the ship is a sight well worth see­ing. If the wharf, or car, or ware­house where it lies is high­er than the deck of the ves­sel on which it is to be shipped, the sacks are placed on an in­clined chute down which they de­scend to the hold of the ship. If the deck of the ves­sel is the high­er, some­times an end­less belt, run by elec­tric­ity, is placed in a chute, the sacks are laid on the belt, and so car­ried to their rest­ing place.

In load­ing wheat for ex­port, a num­ber of sacks in each row are bled; that is, a slit is made in the sack which al­lows a small quan­ti­ty of grain to es­cape and fill the spaces round the cor­ners and sides of the sack, thus mak­ing a com­pact car­go which is not li­able to shift. At Port Cos­ta is lo­cat­ed a grad­er, where, when nec­es­sary wheat can be cleaned and grad­ed; here al­so are many large ware­hous­es.

For a long time about two thirds of the wheat crop of the state was sent to Ire­land, but now our new lands in the Pa­cif­ic take much of it. Cal­ifor­nia has an im­mense trade in wheat that has been ground in­to flour. Over six mil­lion dol­lars’ worth of flour is shipped each year, near­ly three fourths of it go­ing to Chi­na, Japan, and the is­lands of the Pa­cif­ic.

It is be­lieved by sci­en­tif­ic agri­cul­tur­ists that bet­ter re­sults will be ob­tained in wheat rais­ing as small­er ranch­es be­come the rule, where the farmer can give more at­ten­tion to the needs of the grain, adding what is nec­es­sary to the soil. Of­ten the al­ter­na­tion of crops in­creas­es the yield–wheat do­ing much bet­ter if plant­ed where beans or oth­er legumes were raised the year be­fore. Where the grain fields are not so large, ir­ri­ga­tion can be de­pend­ed up­on in­stead of the rain­fall, and crops then are sure and more even in quan­ti­ty.

Bar­ley is the grain next in im­por­tance to wheat in Cal­ifor­nia. It can be raised where wheat can not, as it needs less mois­ture for its de­vel­op­ment; and if the rains fail, it can be cut for hay which al­ways brings a good price. Bar­ley hay, with the heads on, is in Cal­ifor­nia the chief food of hors­es, and in many cas­es of cat­tle. A horse for or­di­nary work fed on bar­ley hay gets all the grain nec­es­sary. If on ac­count of heav­ier work, stronger food is re­quired, rolled bar­ley is giv­en in ad­di­tion. A large quan­ti­ty of the bet­ter grad­ed bar­ley grain raised in the state is used by the brew­ers for malt.

Corn does not do so well through the state in gen­er­al, but in some lo­ca­tions it is just­ly claimed that a man can ride on horse­back down the rows of corn with­out be­ing seen over the tops. This, too, the padres brought in­to the state. The tor­tilla, the com­mon food of the Span­ish set­tlers, was made of coarse-​ground or pound­ed corn.

Al­fal­fa, the won­der­ful for­age plant of dry re­gions of the West, is a mem­ber of the clover fam­ily. Through­out the south­ern and mid­dle por­tion of Cal­ifor­nia are large ranch­es de­vot­ed to its cul­ture for hay. It is al­so raised ex­ten­sive­ly for green feed for hors­es and cat­tle. It pro­duces from three to six crops a year ac­cord­ing to lo­ca­tion and care giv­en it, and is treat­ed for the mar­ket much the same as bar­ley hay, ex­cept that it is gen­er­al­ly made in­to small­er bales. Al­fal­fa is raised by ir­ri­ga­tion, the best method be­ing from flumes open­ing in­to in­den­ta­tions, not so deep as fur­rows, from which the wa­ter spreads, flood­ing the whole sur­face.

Many a Cal­ifor­nia young man from high school gets his first taste of work away from home in the har­vest fields. Gen­er­al­ly this is a good ex­pe­ri­ence for him. He re­ceives some pret­ty hard knocks, and sees the rough side of life, but if he has self-​con­trol and good prin­ci­ples, he will be the bet­ter for the ven­ture, re­turn­ing more man­ly, earnest, and self-​re­liant.