California Milk, Honey, and Icons

Milk, Honey and Icons

May 11, 1999

The End of the Trail

Stepping out of our motorhome into the evening cool, we breathe the fragrance of orange blossoms -- so strong it is almost intoxicating.  Then in the morning, I jog around the neighboring orange grove where the fallen petals of orange blossoms carpet the earth with white -- as if trying to hide the embarrassment of a ground littered with orange, but decaying fruit from a severe freeze that rendered the fruit unmarketable.  I pass white, commercial, honey bee hives and watch the bees emerge in the morning chill to gather orange pollen and nectar.  A sign beside the grove reads: “No Trespassing” (for the Gringo/Boleo) and “Prohibido El Paso” (for the Spick/Chicano).  Seems a little culturally insensitive of the owners not to include a warning in German, French and Japanese for international tourists driving by to the National Parks -- how will they know not to trespass this sacred grove?  Culturally and colorblind, big, black dogs bark at me from the end of their chains as I pass.  

Our hometown for the week is Lemon Cove, CA, near the southern entrance of Sequoia National Park.  For three days we have taken the various slow, serpentine roads up six to seven thousand feet into the Sierra Nevadas to pay tribute to the pioneers who fought the lumber interests to conserve the majestic, giant Sequoias.  As we strolled through the forest, the morning sun shone down through the lofty canopy and struck the rough, heavy, auburn bark of the Sequoia grove.  The contrasts of the deep green of the leaves, the reddish bark and the clear, deep blue sky of higher altitudes -- was inspirational.  I can understand the awe-inspired temptation of writers to compare the scene to that of some great European cathedral and maybe the paintings of Michelangelo.  

For several days we have slogged along a rain-drenched trail through chaparral, wandered along nature trails, driven about 10 jillion sharp mountain curves, played in the snow, received an education at the various visitor centers and climbed Moro Rock.  We walked around the General Sherman (world’s largest tree) and saw the General Grant tree from all sides.  When we tired, we found the futuristic, cave-like and very comfortable chairs, with built-in speakers, in the Grant Grove Visitor Center, where I could nap while listening to the story of Sequoias.  We drove almost every major and many minor roads in both Sequoia and King’s Canyon National Parks.  Our Atlas of California roads looks like a plate of spaghetti where I have marked the roads we have crisscrossed in a bright pink color.  Seen lots of birds, a fresh cougar track and marveled at Sequoia, Sugar Pines, White Firs, and various other trees, shrubs and rocks.  The snow-covered mountain crags and meadow vistas have been seen from many angles and through the changing light of day on cloudy, foggy, rainy and clear days.  It has been, almost simultaneously, hard work of driving mountain roads and the intense pleasure of grand nature. 

General Sherman

 

One of the minor pleasures experienced on these mountain drives was seen along a small, country, mountain highway, where a sign on a weathered post read: “Almosta Ranch!”  Off the beaten tourist track, we found a small paved road leading up the North Fork of the Kaweah River to the far western edge of Sequoia National Park.  The road climbs, narrows, turns to gravel, then rougher rocks and finally ends at a parking lot at the edge of the park that leads to the Yucca Flat Trail.  At one time this road must have been a major entry into the park, but now the bridge across Yucca Creek is washed out.  To cross the creek requires a vertical drop of about ten feet, using a large, oak tree root for climbing support.  After surviving that obstacle, we followed the trail up an old road along the creek to meadows of wildflowers.  Some flowers we knew, but many we did not.  Searching our flower book was unproductive because in small letters we found that our book is for the flowers of the Eastern USA.  Oh well!  We will be better prepared next time.  Pat was a little euphoric at the scene of so many wildflowers, bright green grass, blue oaks, laurel, Buckeye, manzanita, gooseberry, and elderberry.  We called a few birds, viewed the conifer-crowned peaks and reluctantly strolled slowly back to the car for a lunch of sardines and crackers. 

In the excitement of viewing the mountains and Sequoias, we tended to overlook the simpler pleasures of the San Joaquin Valley and foothills.  Tulare County is not exactly a tourist haven, but it may be the most agriculturally productive county in the country.  It is certainly a very diversified agricultural area.  Considering that they produce milk, grapes, oranges, cattle, cotton, nectarines, plums, alfalfa, olives, peaches, corn, almonds, walnuts, hogs, nursery, tangerines, wheat, lemons, grapefruit, silage, prunes, kiwifruit, pasture, turkeys, pistachio nuts, snap beans, apples, barley, persimmons, honey and 20 or more other commodities.  I could not have guessed which is the most valuable product.  Milk!  So where is honey on the list?  We saw lots of commercial beehives, but honey is the 30th most profitable.  It is certainly a land of “milk and honey.”

Maybe there is something in Tulare County that reminds me of my childhood in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, among the citrus and palm trees.  But with the snowy Sierra Nevadas in the background, the scenic beauty of the Rio Grande Valley sorta pales by comparison.  At least the Gulf of Mexico has water warm enough for swimming.  Water off California beaches is cold!

Visiting the town of Visalia was a most interesting experience -- much like seeing an old friend.  There we saw a veritable icon of the Indian Movement.  This icon has adorned magazines and is strongly representative of Indian culture in Oklahoma and elsewhere.  I have seen it more than once in my life but never knew its source.  I faintly remember seeing it on the cover of one of my Dad’s Cattleman magazine when I was a kid.  Well, in Visalia, CA, I finally read about the history of this icon.  Maybe you have seen it too.  It was initially a work of art that won the gold medal in a 1915 Exposition in San Francisco.  Designed to mark the closing of the American Frontier, it consists of a 2 ½ times bigger than life statue of an Indian brave on a horse.  Both the horse and the rider are bent and weary from battle.  The horse lifts its shuffling hooves with difficulty and the rider slumps with chin resting on his chest -- apparently drowsing – his spear tip down near the ground.  The Indian brave’s feather points downward and the horse’s tail is tucked between its legs.  It is a very evocative piece of art done by James Earl Fraser, who also designed the Buffalo Nickel, Navy Cross, a statue of Lewis and Clark and many others.  He titled his work: “The End of the Trail.”

The history of this statue is almost as fascinating as the art itself.  After the San Francisco Exposition, the people of Tulare County purchased the statue and placed it in Mooney Grove Park in Visalia.  It was made of plaster-of-Paris, and for 50 years, it stood in all kinds of weather and required considerable maintenance – shoring it up with 2x4's and paint to hold the plaster to its chicken-wire frame.  School kids carved their initials in it.  But finally, the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City decided that they needed it.  They made an agreement with Tulare County officials to take the original work and place it in their museum.  It was replaced in Visalia -- at no cost to the county -- with the bronze replica that was cast in Italy.  Now this durable replica resides among the large Valley Oaks in the tranquil setting of Mooney Grove Park, where it can be appreciated.

We now have the incentive to visit Oklahoma City to view the original version of “The End of the Trail.”  Maybe when my driving skills deteriorate to the point that we must give up the RV lifestyle, a visit to this icon might be appropriate.  There, I should be able to sympathize with the weary brave as we approach the end of our trail.  Wonder if braves enjoyed hunting scalps on a horse as much as we have enjoyed exploring nature on the road in an RV. 

---------------------
Table of Contents:  https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/6813612681836200616/3382423676443906063?hl=en