fornia is a very unexpected
country. You see a snug little ranch, good soil, near a railroad, just
what you were looking for, but three months of the year it may be under
water. After the spring rains we once went for a change of air to one of
the beaches, which we particularly disliked, because it was the only
place that we could get to, bridges being out in all directions. For the
same reason it was so packed with other visitors, maybe as unwilling as
we, that we had a choice of sleeping in the park or taking a small
apartment belonging to a Papa and Mama Dane. It was full of green plush
and calla lilies, but we chose it in preference to the green grass and
calla lilies of the park. We passed an uneasy and foggy week there. I
slept in a bed which disappeared into a bureau and J---- on a lounge
that curled up like a jelly roll by day. Mama Dane gave us breakfast in
the family sitting-room where a placard hung, saying, "God hears all
that you say." J---- and I took no chances, and ate in silence. Anyway,
the eggs were fresh. We explored the country as well as we could in the
fog, and found quite a large part of it well under water. On one ranch
we met a morose gentleman in hip boots, wading about his property, which
looked like a pretty lake with an R. F. D. box sticking up here and
there like a float on a fishing line, while a gay party of boys and
girls were rowing through an avenue of pepper trees in an old boat. The
gentleman in the hip boots had bought his place in summer! J---- and I
decided then and there that if we ever bought any property in
California, it would be in the midst of the spring rains, but we know
now that even that wouldn't be safe--another element has to be reckoned
with besides water--fire.

Of course Rain in California is spelled with a capital R. Noah spelled
it that way, but we didn't before we came West. It swells the streams,
which in summer are nothing but trickles, to rushing torrents in no
time. Bridges snap like twigs, dams burst, telegraph lines collapse;
rivers even change their courses entirely, if they feel like it, so that
it would really be a good idea to build extra bridges wherever it seemed
that a temperamental river might decide to go. I have heard of a farmer
who wrote to one of the railroads, saying, "Will you please come and
take your bridge away from my bean-field? I want to begin ploughing."

This adds natural hazards to the real-estate game. There are
others--Fire, as I