Some of my earliest recollections are of things my Mother told me; how my Grandfather (my Father's father) drove his little spring wagon up to Azusa to meet the train that brought my Mother and Father to Covina. My parents had just been married in San Jacinto, which was Mother's home at that time. They were married at six o'clock in the morning--just so they could catch the train!

Mother also told me about the little old California home she came to as a bride. The little house was held up by piles of rocks at its four corners. It was open to the rafters, and old socks, pants, shirts, and rags had been stuffed under the eaves to keep out the cold and the dust. It was a poor little place, but not for long.

Father fixed it up. He put in a good foundation and match boarding all around the house. He installed two nice big windows, one in the living room and one in the dining room, and built on a kitchen. He laid new floors over the old ones, and put up a wood ceiling. When he had finished, he and Mother had a very pretty, cozy home.

There was no running water in my parents' house, but there was a cistern and a big hand pump. Buckets were filled with water at the pump, and carried into the house.

I can remember that our kitchen had a window on the south side. All across the east side were shutters, and one window. The shutters could be removed in the summer time and the breezes helped to keep the kitchen cool.

We did our cooking on a big wood stove.  Flat irons, for ironing clothing, were heated on the wood stove, as was our water. Even the water for our baths were heated on the stove before being poured into a large laun­dry tub that served as a bathtub. The kitchen, at bath time, doubled for a bathroom.  We had no electricity in the house, and used coal oil lamps for lighting. The acrid coal oil made our eyes smart and sting.

I can remember when my Father and Grandfather (Mother's father) built a three-story tank house to provide us with running water. Using heavy ropes, they lifted a large water tank to the top floor of the tank house. They then installed a windmill that pumped the water up from the cistern to the storage tank. Three stories below, we were able to turn a spigot for the luxury of running water in our house!

Every month, we filled the cistern with irrigation water. The water came through a pipe line into our back yard, then flowed into an open cement flume. When filling the cistern we allowed the irrigation water to run for three or four hours, until we knew it was clear and safe to use. Then we opened a water gate and filled the cistern, turned on the windmill and prayed for a good breeze. When the third floor storage tank was filled, we turned off the windmill, and refilled the cistern. This monthly task had to be completed before our allotted run of water -- 36 hours of 50 inches -- was shut off.

The ground floor of the tank house had three rooms. One room held the pipes that connected our water tank to our house, the lever that turned the windmill on and off, and our hand washing machine. The middle room served as our cooler room. Mother would dash a bucket of cold water on to the floor of this room, swish it around, then close the room up tight. The room was really cold! The milk from our cow was kept in the room. It was placed in big pans. In the morning, the milk would be covered with a layer of deep yellow cream. Mother skimmed off the cream and put it into a hand churn to make our butter. The eggs from our chickens, and our other perishable foods were kept in this room.

I can remember that before we had the tank house and cooler room, we had a little square frame cooler that was covered with screen to keep out the flies and the bugs. This little cooler hung under a big fig-tree that grew in our back yard. When it was very hot, the cooler was hung in the cistern, just above the water level. This was refrigeration in the early days! 

The third ground floor room of the tank house served as our bathroom. We had a bath tub --yes, indeed--and a flush toilet, separated by a partition. We did not have hot running water, so we still heated our bath water on the wood stove and carried it to the bathroom.

The second floor of the tank house served as a nice comfortable bedroom.

I can remember that sometime later on mother bought an ice cold loyal stove with an oven.  When the weather was hot we could use it instead of the big wood stove.

Mother, being English, loved flowers and having a garden. I can still remember, to this day, the large bed of Violets that stretched all along the north side of our house. In the Spring their delicate blue and their heavy perfume seemed to be everywhere. Spring also brought out the big, thick, long fragrant blooms of mother's lilac bushes.

We also had a large bed of banana trees, and when I was older, I used to take the fruit to school in my lunch. It was very good. The people in the packinghouse used to call this section of the valley the “banana belt.” Although bananas freeze easily, and are killed by frost, we had a large bed of them, and they did thrive in our valley climate.

As I look back to childhood days, I can see that my lot as a child was good. I had lots of room to play in--ten acres of room. We had a dog and a cat, chickens, a cow, and two horses.

Before the age of trucks and tractors, my Father did all of his ranch work with a team of horses. Every day, except stormy days, we could look up and see the beautiful mountains. We enjoyed clean, clear air, in other words, no smog. There were beautiful canyons with lots of big trees and streams of clear cold water to explore. I can remember wading in the quiet stream pools while little minnows darted around my toes.

One trip that we used to enjoy taking was the train ride into Los Angeles. We would spend the day in the big city, "window shopping,'" having lunch, and having a good time. We always had to be prompt and on time at the depot for our return trip home. If we missed the train home, we were stranded.

One of my most vivid memories from childhood is a Christmas morning. On that particular morning, I was awakened in the early hours before sun-up. The house was shaking and there seemed to be a din of confusion. I thought it was good old Santa Claus parking his sleigh and coming down the chimney. I quickly got out of bed and ran into the dining room. There under the Christmas tree was a lovely doll and doll buggy. Happy little me!

I still have the doll, in fact, two of them, and, old as I am, I still love them. After my discovery of the presents, I learned that I had been awakened by a bad earthquake, not Santa Claus. The center of the quake was located in San Jacinto and Hemet.

Among my other cherished memories is the beautiful morning with air so fresh and clear, that I could hear the bells ringing out across the valley from the San Gabriel Mission; the Springtime when the orange trees were white with bloom and, on. moonlight nights, seemed to be covered with fresh fallen snow. The whole countryside was heavy with their perfume.

I remember too, the drippy fogs that moved into the valley. On one July morning, after a heavy night fog, the sun came up over the tree tops and every tree branch and flower was drenched with sparking, precious jewels. It was a beautiful sight!

I can remember Cypress Avenue as a dirt road, typical of most of the roads at that time. Along the south side of the Avenue was a long row of tall Eucalyptus and Cypress trees. Used as a "wind break" the trees grew all along the north side of the old Mission Ranch which extended from Citrus Avenue east to where Barranca Avenue now lays. Barranca was not cut through until 1956. The F. M. Chapman Ranch adjoined the Mission Ranch on the east, and Cypress Avenue fronted it to Grand Avenue. There were palm trees all along Cypress here, and the trees lined the Chapman drive to their beautiful stone house, the Palmeto Ranch.

Many years ago, there used to be an old two-story building on the corner of Citrus and Cypress Avenues, on the northwest corner across from the Mission Ranch. As I remember, it was never painted. The building was half hidden by several large pepper trees. I have been told that the Crenshaws owned the building, and that it was our first post office. The building also housed a store, and the upstairs was used for dances. B.T. (Bing) Wilson bought the property, and later demolished the old building, replacing it with a nice home.

When I first started to school, my Father took me on his bicycle. He built a little platform for me directly behind the seat of the bike. I would stand on the platform and hold on to Father's shoulders as he wheeled me to the schoolhouse. Later on, I had my own bicycle to ride to school. When I went to high school, however, I walked both ways. It was quite a walk from our home to the high school which was situated between Dexter and Puente Streets on Citrus Avenue.

It was in July of 1904, that my Father met his tragic death. I was nine years of age at the time. I was playing outside when I heard Mother calling to me. When I went to her, she told me what had happened. Two evenings before, Mother and I had stood on the landing of the second floor of the tank-house watching a terrible storm rage on Greyback Mountain. My Father, a cousin, and a guide were on the mountain. My Father, Mother told me, had been killed instantly by a bolt of lightning in that raging storm we had watched from the tank house.

Shortly after my Father's death, my Grandfather and Aunt came to live with us. How my Mother carried on, I don't know, for she was not well, and the burden of running the ranch was a heavy one. But, carry on she did. She cleared the property of its mortgage, and worked up a fine business with her chickens. She sold settings of eggs, even as far away as Petaluma. Mother and her chickens were known a fall are! Er industries which my father had planted to replace many of the big and deciduous trees were producing and doing well.

Then, in 1913 came the big freeze. Our orange trees were bearing one of the finest crops of oranges we had ever had when the freeze hit. We had to hire the packinghouse to come to the ranch and pick the fruit and throw it on the ground for it was ruined. However, there were some off bloom oranges which had set and were too hard and too young to freeze. The packinghouse crew, in stripping our trees of frozen fruit, also began picking off bloom fruit. Mother made them stop. They were left on the tree and without subsequent damaging frost; they eventually ripened into fine fruit. Mother realized enough financially from the rescued oranges to run the ranch that year.

On those cold, cold nights and days we experienced in the winter months, we had to fire up our grove smudge pots. Often, the smudge was so thick and heavy, it was necessary to turn on car lights even in the daytime. I remember one morning I had to drive downtown on an urgent matter.

Mother was very worried because the smudge smoke lay so heavy and thick. Even though it was almost eleven o'clock in the morning, I had to turn on the car lights and drive with extreme caution. Fortunately, all went well, and I made the trip without incident. During the smudging season, the house suffered worst of all. Although we stuffed paper into all the cracks we could find, the heavy, dirty smoke drifted and filtered in. Everything was a blackened sight!

The year 1914 was the year of the big flood. Many fruit groves along the banks of the washes were wiped out. Soil and orange trees disappeared in the swirling flood waters. Bridges washed out, and power and telephone lines were downed.

I remember that I was in high school at the time the flood hit. The streets ran full of water, from curb to curb. Water ran through the stores in town. At Warner and Whitsel, where my Aunt worked, they swept the water through the store and out the back door. The supply of sugar and flour that was stored in their basement was ruined. A delivery man by the name of Jim Perry, who worked at the store, was making a delivery out near my house, so he took me home through the flood waters.

I was fortunate to make it home. Many of the girls at school who lived quite a distance out were not able to get home in the flood. Mrs. Houser, who lived in a large two-story home on the southwest corner of Center and Citrus, took several of the girls into her home, and they bunked on the floor until the water receded enough to allow them to get home.

No trains could get through, for the bridges were washed out. It was a fearful and exciting experience!

In 1928, the time came when we had to destroy the old home Father had built for us. The house was eaten up with termites and dry rot. It could not be salvaged. Mother had saved almost enough money to build us a new home, but she did not have quite enough. The cousin, who was with my Father when he was killed, felt a burden of responsibility for his death, so, to help Mother, he gave her the remainder of the funds necessary to finish the building of our new home. We learned to love the new home as much as the old one.

My Grandfather, John Farmer, had passed away in 1925, and 1930 my Aunt, Edith Farmer, died. Mother and I lived alone.

I never married, as I felt that my place was with Mother. I was all she had. On December 24, 1954, at the age of 89, Mother passed away.

After Mother's death, I knew I would have to do something about the grove. A subdivision had gone in to the west of our property, and the people in the tract continually raided the grove, taking away the fruit. Neither a fence nor signs kept the thieves out. In 1955, I sold the grove for subdividing.

The making of a subdivision is one trial I never want to go through with again. It was summertime, and four big bulldozers circled around and around my house. All of the windows and doors were shut tight against the flying dust and dirt. With no air conditioning the heat often became unbearable, and everything inside the house was covered with a layer of sifted silt. Each day, when the dozers were finished, I went outside and hosed down the house, windows, porch, walks, shrubs, lawn, and walks before I opened the doors and windows. After the dozers came the carpenters and the new homes they built. Then came the new people. Looking back, I think I was more nervous with all of those people around me than I ever could have been sitting all alone in the middle of ten acres: But, the new people, with time, became good neighbors. Progress took out the old, and brought in the new--such is life, so it seems.

To be sure, the years have had their share of heartaches, sickness, and hard times. But, the years have also contained happiness, health, and good times, and most important of all, the years have given me a wealth of warm and wonderful memories. I have seen and felt and lived my years in a time span from the horse and buggy to conquering the moon.  As I live out my years among new-found friends whose homes dot my childhood acres, I know that that which I miss most is the peace and quiet of the grove; the whistle of the Bobwhite calling his family together at evening time; and the songs of the Sparrows and the House Wrens and the Chickadees. To be sure, it is gone, but, it is not forgotten.