Yuma, YPG and life in the desert: part two

Yuma, the closest city, was 45 minutes away and worth the drive if only to see the Territorial Prison Museum and the Quartermaster Depot. Bonus was a fantastic Mexican restaurant called Mi Rancho. So tiny but so authentic I could hardly wait for our next meal. We had lunch then dinner a few days later. Why are these fantastic restaurants so out of the way?

The boring part of Yuma is you need to drive there to do laundry or buy food. There is a small convenience store about ten minutes from the campground at the Yuma Proving Grounds base. Gas, ice, and a few necessities can be purchased there but anything serious needs to be picked up in Yuma. Their paramedics respond to local emergencies around the YPG base which eased my fear for my sister and her husband. Not that anything is wrong with either one of them but a bumpy 45 minute ride to Yuma with a broken arm would be unbearable.

The good part of Yuma was the prison museum and the park that once was the Quartermaster's Depot. If you thought life was difficult in 1863 in the southwest corner of the US it was even worse if you were a prisoner. Finding a need for a more secure place to keep felons, rapists, bank robbers, and murderers they built this fine prison. What was amazing to me was prisoners did escape from this fortress; but to what? Yuma was a tiny spot on the map, far from an other city, and the rest of the area was a harsh desert devoid of anything except snakes, coyotes, and a few natives. Your only hope to survive was the Colorado and Gila river but even that was wrought with danger. Yuma was built as a depot to move goods from California to all the other godforsaken outposts in the California/Nevada/Arizona territories and needed a steamboat to make the crossing. The Colorado, before us Californios sucked it dry, was a formidable river to cross.

The park that now surrounds what's left of the Quartermaster's Depot is quite lovely. A green expanse of a lawn is a welcome site from the rocks and sand of the desert and sitting on the edge of the river afforded us with a lovely breeze. The Depot was the hub of excitement of it's time and, though the commanding officer's wife was less than happy with her situation, it must have been better than other posts. Her writings complained bitterly of the smell and heat but I'm assuming it had something to do with the Victorian modesty of wearing those hideously hot clothes and high button shoes. And the fact that bathing was not a daily ritual as it is today.

The city of Yuma, growing outwardly from the Depot, is very logical, if not boring, in it's street planning. The streets going east and west are numbered as well as the avenues going north and south starting with Main Street. I'm only assuming some tired little man with a pince nez and a heavy wool coat over a waistcoat came up with that idea for lack of the imagination to create names for the newly burgeoning township of Yuma. It is logical but might cause a bit of confusion to an outsider. Always remember to ask if it's fifth street or avenue.

Yuma also is a huge agricultural area irrigated by the tail-end of the Colorado River and is said to keep most of the US in lettuce. I can attest to the fact they are trying. We drove through lots of fields before getting the Yuma proper.

Part three; coming soon.

The tasty grape

You can't write about our vacation and not mention a little wine tasting. The central coast of California in the past decade had turned from rolling hills of cattle grazing to vineyards.

We found Roblar Winery in the Santa Ynez valley when we went looking for an establishment listed in the travel book that featured olives. Don't trust those Chamber of Commerce books they send you, this one was more wrong than right.

Frustrated with the address given we pulled into the parking lot of a beautiful building that looked like a very large restaurant. No signage. None. But once inside we realized we'd found a tasting room/restaurant and completely ignoring the fact it wasn't even noon, approached the bar. This was the first of many.

The wine was very tasty and after the seven servings we were on our way. The Syrah was, in my uneducated opinion, the best but at 48 bucks a bottle not on my shopping list. Onward.

A few more stops, one for a light lunch which I did not partake and this is a key part to the afternoon for me, and then to Fess Parker Winery. Whoo doggies, everyone remembers Fess Parker, right? Well, for some of you youngins, here's what we were doing in the early 50s. Watching Davy, Davy Crocket, king of the wild frontier.

After that, it was all a blur, a few more wineries, some good others crap then, at the last, I realized how the word "tipsy" got associated with inebriation. First, let me state I was not drunk but tipsy, yes. I bent over to pick up something and just keep going. My inner ear was screaming at me to – balance, get your balance, girl – but my brain said, hey man, just go with the flow. So I flowed down to my knees. Glad I was alone.

All in all it was a wonderful day and by the time we got back to our camp, I was fine. I was surprised at how much wine I'd bought but fine.

On a mission

La Purisima Mission, just one in a chain stretching the length of the state, is a wonderful stop while heading to Lompoc. We put it on our list of "Things to do" while vacationing in Central California.

Because it is far from any city the mission complex has the space to show the vastness of outposts settled by the church in the 18th century. This large tract of land is used to illustrate the hardships of creating a settlement so far from Spain and whether you agree with their intrusion on the native population or not, it is interesting to see how they lived.

The local Indians did not fare well under the Mission rule, many died, their culture stripped from them in the name of civilization, and many conscripted into the army. Oh, and let's not forget their baptisms into Mother Church.

In 1834, when the Missions were ordered to secularize, the native population, once again, got the worst of the bargain. The promised land they'd farmed was eventually taken away and the Padres left Purisima to populate another Mission in Santa Ynez leaving the Chumash Indiangs to fend for themselves.

Walking through the buildings you get a sense of the pride once there but also the sadness of the treatment of the native peoples. Working so hard to be treated with respect that never came. My fourth-grade history never talked of this aspect of the California Missions but then that was in the late 50s. I wonder what they tell the kids now?

Bees as far as the eye can see

It's only natural to find bees in a field of lavender but this was amazing. I've heard that with global warming there were less honey bees. You'd have never thought that by seeing this beautiful field. This is Andre's Lavender and they sold a variety of products as well as plants. Since I'd scalded my hand a few days earlier I bought a small bottle of oil. This oil is said to have medicinal properties and I can't say it helped but the aroma is great; and that's enough for me.

This is the second field we stopped to visit. The first was Clairmont Lavender Farm owned by a curmudgeon who, when asked about the tour touted in the vacationers handbook, told us we could walk through any of the fields if we liked. What a jerk.

If it weren't for the bees I'd have laid right down in this field it was that beautiful.

More little cuties.

The one horse wasn't happy until everyone was up.

Too late!

Vacation was filled with chuckles, this is just a sample. We did laugh a lot but eventually got around to a snap or two. I'll be posting them this week once I concur Dirty Laundry Mountain.

The horses referred to in the sign were miniature horses at the Quicksilver Ranch. Click on the link to see what they are all about but I'm warning you, it's a real schmaltzy website. The designer should be hung by their thumbs for that one.

The ranch is free to visit and if you're in the Santa Ynez Valley in Central California do stop by. These tiny horses are so cute and the babies even tinier.

Sisters

Publishing photos of myself is something different for this blog but I got such joy from finding this photo. I was contemplating giving away an old book and there it was, stuck in the back. As with all photographs there is a story.

In 1988 Doodles and her beloved invited us to their condo in Key Largo, Florida. They were living in Connecticut and thought it would be fun to celebrate Christmas in their little corner of paradise. I even made t-shirts for the trip for everyone--I'm wearing one in this photo-- which was not something our sixteen-year-old lil bird had a desire to wear but did without too much complaining.

We had a great trip of sightseeing, snorkeling, and boating and way too much laughing but that's what family's are all about. Now the next June, sister Doodles invited me down to celebrate my 40th birthday, just the two of us, and we won't tell anyone what we did.