Travel-Worn Pioneers, Who Have
Been Tossed About Like Boulders In Flood Time, Are Thronging Hither As
To A Kind Of A Terrestrial Heaven, Resolved To Rest.
They build, and
plant, and settle, and so come under natural influences.
When a man
plants a tree he plants himself. Every root is an anchor, over which
he rests with grateful interest, and becomes sufficiently calm to feel
the joy of living. He necessarily makes the acquaintance of the sun
and the sky. Favorite trees fill his mind, and, while tending them
like children, and accepting the benefits they bring, he becomes
himself a benefactor. He sees down through the brown common ground
teeming with colored fruits, as if it were transparent, and learns to
bring them to the surface, What he wills he can raise by true
enchantment. With slips and rootlets, his magic wands, they appear at
his bidding. These, and the seeds he plants, are his prayers, and by
them brought into right relations with God, he works grander miracles
every day than ever were written.
The Pasadena Colony, located on the southwest corner of the well-known
San Pasqual Rancho, is scarce three years old, but it is growing
rapidly, like a pet tree, and already forms one of the best
contributions to culture yet accomplished in the county. It now
numbers about sixty families, mostly drawn from the better class of
vagabond pioneers, who, during their rolling-stone days have managed
to gather sufficient gold moss to purchase from ten to forty acres of
land.
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