by PenultimateManStanding » Fri 01 Dec 2006, 16:09:39
$this->bbcode_second_pass_quote('holmes', ' ')the surrounding hills were barren. Coyotes. I remember seeing inthe distance the encrouching plague tho. Now that house is in the middle of the LA suburbs. drowned out.
It's a misconception people have to think the scrub of chaparral is "barren" because there are very few trees. Those shrubs are quite distinct and aromatic. I grew up tramping around in chaparral. It's about the same in LA as it is in San Diego: sumac, sage, etc, and a very common brush that I later learned is called adenostoma fasciculatum, the common pleasant smelling (to me) chamise or greasewood. The area where my family moved in 1958 was just south of a large basin that had a lake in the glacial times when there was more rain in this area. There's a whole string of these up and down the southern California foothills between the coastal mesas and the inland mountains that get as high as 11,000 feet. This nearby one has a town called
El Cajon, which is Spanish for "The Box." Used to be filled with ranches, groves and farms (but no more of course). There's another one of the old Pleistocene lake basins to the north called
Escondido, which means "hidden." You get the idea. It seems to have something to do with a structural weakness on the western US coast down along the Coast Range where that particular tilted block of crust goes under the continental edge zone. Some kind of proneness to erosion where the ancient crystaline basement rocks meet the more recent sandstones deposited on the continental shelf. Anyway, my house was in an area that was a spur of the mountains going down to the mesas and the hills were rugged, variegated, with a lot of different vegetation regimes: south looking hillsides looked one way, north looking hillsides another, rivulets or creeks running through little valleys with meadows had pepper trees and sumac, tobacco brought north by Spanish Missionaries, cattails and reeds growing along them. It was still rural as I mentioned earlier in the late 50s and early 60s. But the suburbs were slowly spreading across these pretty hills, generally one house at a time. These houses were all individually designed and built in those days. The older ways of life were still seen abundantly: small open cement reservoirs not much larger than a swimming pool perched on a little hilltop. We used to go there all the time; there was usually a few feet of water at the bottom and there were dark stories of when some kid supposedly drowned there. There were old shacks and barns scattered around from maybe 1910 or thereabouts. One local hilltop had an olive grove on it. There was the Sweetwater River valley a few miles south which was then just pastureland but is now filled with those massive mega-tract housing developements that lack the charm of the older one-by-one neighborhoods where each house is distinct. They give this area the name of "Rancho California" and it has a concentration of Chaldeans whose kids are so often brats. South of there lies a sight very familiar to anyone who knows the San Diego landscape or to people like airline pilots who have ever flown into this area: Mount Miguel. This is basically a giant round hill, very smooth and symetric, which dominates the landscape for miles around. There are a number of these scattered up and down So. Cal. which show the peculiar way that the green metavolcanic rocks erode. They've got the beacon towers for air flight navigation signals right at the top that incoming airliners use to get their bearings for Lindberg Int'l Airport. These round metavolcanic mountains are a stark contrast to the granodiorite hills which are deeply eroded in the foothills but still covered with large white rounded boulders. These tend to occur in bunches and to be often cracked in half. They are usually about twice the size of a refrigerator and they were great fun, you can believe, to play on as a kid. If you ever watch a Charger game on TV and see the view east from the Goodyear Blimp, you can see all of this in one beautiful glimpse since the skies are so often blue and clear here. (btw, these posts about San Diego are sort of a tribute to John McPhee, one of my favorite writers who writes blends of social history and geology)