Dear Family, Friends, and Diary,
Now that Fresno weather is good again, our garden flowers are trying to recover from summer baking. It's tough, but they do their best. As for us people, we needed a break too. First, Marianne wanted to have a much-delayed mother-daughter trip with Gabby. They have done this over the years, but not since Covid and the elephant. Too long a gap.
This left me needing to create a keep-busy project. Staying home alone did not sound good, so I planned a photo-trip, my go-to when needing a distraction.
But where? Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia National Parks were too crowded. Instead, I turned to the Rodney Dangerfield of California, the West Side of the San Joachin Valley: California's own fly-over country; small farming towns, surrounded by fields and orchards that feed the world. It's an area I know little about and it was time to learn.
On Sunday, I drove Marianne over to Casa de Fruta where Gabby met us to start the girl trip. Hugs, but no pictures. Highway 152 over was pot holed, as usual, and this time one bounce disabled the Tesla's high tech control system. My trip just got harder. The car is heavy and quite unwieldy on twisty highways such as the Pacheco Pass freeway. Sheesh.
My first stop was at the Romero Overlook Visitor Center on the San Louis Reservoir. Preparing for my trip, I had read the account of an early 18th Century pioneer who looked out from near here onto a vast array of colorful early-summer wild flowers. My end-of-summer view was golden hills. Those pioneers could also see Sierra peaks far off in the distance, but air quality for me was different.
The visitor center showed a picture of the critical role of water in this valley. Originally a seasonal flood plain, the San Joaquin is now one of the world's most re-engineered valleys. All entering rivers are dammed and hundreds of miles of canals and levees push water toward money from farms, orchards, gardens and green lawns, as far away as Los Angeles.
Turning north from the exit of Pacheco Pass, my next stop was Santa Nella. No mater how hard you look, you will not find church records of a Saint Nella. That is because this place was originally a Mexican land grant called Rancho Centinella. English-speaking settlers apparently mistook "cent-inella" and they wrote maps and guide books with an imaginary saint's name.
The community is now primarily a travel stop on Interstate 5, filled with restaurants, gas stations, and a large "filling station" for electric cars.
The most famous restaurant is Pea Soup Anderson's, the junior of a two-store business that started almost 100 years ago. (The Santa Nella location was opened in 1976.)
Nearby is the Hotel Mission De Oro. From the website description: "Hotel Mission de Oro was built and opened in 1974 by Jesus Monroy, who was inspired to recreate the mission in his father's hometown of Tepoztlan in Morelos, Mexico. Jesus's dream was to construct 27 missions, each 400 miles apart, thus creating a new Kings Highway on Interstate-5 from Alaska to Argentina." The dream failed, but left behind a remarkable middle-of-nowhere hotel with a bell tower, gardens, ponds, and a large greenhouse.
A few miles north on Highway 33 brought me to Gustine, a town of about 7,000 people. It was founded by Henry Miller in the early 1900s and named after his daughter Sara, who reportedly loved "getting all gussied" up, hence earning the nickname his father chose for the town. Sadly, at eight years old, Sara was killed when she fell from her horse. (I hope to learn more about him when I visit his namesake museum in Los Banos, but at the time he owned or controlled millions of acres of ranch land, possibly the richest farmer in the world.)
My visit was anchored by an appointment I had made to see the Gustine Historical Society's museum. Installed in a 1911 Mission Revival-style jail, the museum was filled with local memorabilia, from a stuffed bear to dairy-cow displays. The docents were friendly and helpful, proud of the story of the town and their families who had been here for generations.
Next in the lineup of my west valley towns was Newman, a community slightly larger than Gustine and also proud to be "historical". Founded in 1988 by Simon Neumann, a Bavarian who eventually Anglicized his and the town's name. Like others in the area, the town prospered in the early 1990s as a dairy community and is still agricultural-prosperous, surrounded by miles and miles of orchards and fields.
Walking through town, I was impressed with the many restored (or maintained?) buildings and houses. I'll let my pictures speak for me, but you will note that I managed our European tourist trilogy: castle, church, and square.
A castle. Really.
I stopped in the red brick coffee house for a snack. Good.
Details are important.
Saint Joachim's church was reportedly key to the Portuguese community that was the mainstay of the local dairy industry. (Note the slight difference is spelling: Joachim vs Joaquin. Portugese vs Spanish?) Housed in a 1913 Carnegie Library building, the Newman History Museum was not open. I need to return.
Before I get to the next village, let me try to give an impression of what else I am seeing: orchards, miles and miles of orchards. Old trees. New trees. Big and small-ish fruit trees. Huge walnut trees. Every once in awhile tomato fields. Pioneers settled this area with family dairy farms, trucking products over the hills to San Francisco communities. Now, for less labor and water, industrial operations ship fruit and nuts around the world. The scale of the business is hard to imagine.
Speaking of fruit, my next village was Patterson, self-nominated as "the apricot capital of the world". Little humility here. Originally part of an 1844 Rancho Del Puerto Spanish land grant, the area was sold to John D Patterson in 1866 for $5,400. Heir Thomas Patterson sold the land for 100x that in 1908 to a corporation that laid out "Patterson Colony", selling surrounding parcels to families and small farmers. They systematically plotted the village center along the lines of Washington D.C. or Paris a century earlier. At 20,000 people, the town is larger than its neighbors, but smaller than neighborhoods in those cities.
A few buildings remain from the early days, done in Mission Revival style. Otherwise, little tempted my cameras as picture-worthy. Not as nice as D.C. or Paris; not even as picturesque as Historic Newman.
A few miles north, Vernalis, California showed up on my map but, in person, seemed to be a single, boarded-up building. I stopped to take what I thought would be my only memory of the wide spot on the road.
As I reviewed my notes that evening, I discovered I had missed the real town, or at least remnants of a large World War II military hospital and German POW camp. When I came back this way the next day, I found another boarded up building, reputed to be the original train station. I think Vernalis is almost gone.
Next up was San Joaquin City, at least a roadside marker. Starting with the 1849 gold rush, SJ City was the site of an important boat landing and cross-river ferry on the San Joaquin River. Thirty years later, the Central Pacific Railroad made river traffic obsolete and the people and post office moved a few miles west to Vernalis. Today, the much smaller river is bridged and "the town" seems to be just a fall-down shed. History has marched on.
Driving on, I made it to Tracy, the end of the road for my first West Valley day. I ordered a decent spaghetti and salad dinner at Junior's 395 restaurant and settled into a roomy but plain room at the Microtel Inn and Suites. Nice sunset. I slept fitfully, given the close-by freeway and the neighbor room's always-on television. The joys of travel.
Marianne sent me a picture, including her cute dinner partner.
Travel with her is better than without.
The next morning, I had a 10:00 am appointment set at the Tracy Historical Museum. (I had emailed to make sure the small place was really open on Monday morning. It was, at least via the back door.) Having a couple hours to kill, I looked for something photographic and found the Tracy bus station. The Art Deco building had started life as an important Central Pacific train station, but track-side now hosts smaller transport. Nice restoration.
Nearby, a statue memorializes local history with an old miner and a trainman.
The street facing the station, the original Tracy downtown, was also restored, a bit artificial, but pleasant.
Though bigger than the Gustine History Museum I had visited the day before, staff here was indifferent, a bit of a put-off. The collection was bigger, but somehow less connected to specific history. Maybe I was just having a bad tourist day.
One interesting display was this map of "El Camino Viejo", the 19th Century trail that connected Los Angeles and the San Francisco Bay. Shorter than the more famous El Camino Real, this trail was reportedly favored by cattle drivers and folks wishing to avoid local authorities. Now it is Highway 33 and Interstate 5.
The rest of the day was spent retracing my Sunday steps, including make-up pictures in Vernalis and another Supercharger stop in Santa Nella. From there, I took Interstate 5 down to the Shields Avenue exit, to stop at Del Bosque Farms. Our friend Priscilla had introduced us to her family's farm business, including this shop her brother opened to serve neighbors. His operation is much, much larger, including sales to Whole Foods and to buyers of high quality organic melons worldwide. A satisfying last stop.
On Thursday, I plan to add another section to my Highway 33, West Valley, excursion. Stay tuned.
John