CHAPTER III

Ah well! one cannot stay forever on the Monterey Peninsula to hear the
sighing of the wind in the pines and the lapping of the waves on the
shore. One cannot take the Seventeen Mile Drive day after day to see the
wind-twisted cypresses, to come upon the lovely curve of Carmel Bay, and
to look down from "the high drive" upon the Bay and town of Monterey far
below, for all the world like a Riviera scene. Once more we turn our
faces southward and drive through the broad streets of Pacific Grove
along the mile of coast road to Monterey, and from Monterey into the
country where masses of lupine paint the hills blue on the right, and
live oaks dot the green valley stretches on the left. Coming into
Salinas Valley we drive through hundreds of acres of level beet fields,
south of the town of Salinas. We meet a redheaded, shock-bearded man
with his sun-hat tied on, walking alongside a rickety moving-wagon drawn
by two poor horses. He responds most cheerfully to our question
concerning directions. As we pass his wagon a big family of little
children crane their young necks to see us. The mother in their midst, a
thin, shabby looking woman, holds up her tiny baby for me to see as I
look back, and I wave congratulations in response. Later, near Santa
Maria, we pass another moving party eating supper. They are prosperous
looking people, very different from the forlorn, toiling little party
outside of Salinas. They are comfortably encamped in a grassy spot, and
the woman waves to me with a big loaf of bread in one hand and her bread
knife in the other. I wave with equal heartiness to her. This is part of
the charm of the open road, these salutations and this jolly passing
exchange of sympathy, not between two ships that pass in the night, but
between two parties who enjoy the air and the open, and who are one in
gypsy spirit. It all belongs in the happy day.

Salinas Valley is very different from the lovely valleys which we have
thus far seen. Sonoma Valley is a rolling, irregular valley, part grain
fields, part rough, hilly pasturage. Napa Valley, narrow at the south,
wide toward the north, with orchards and pleasant homes, breathes of
order and shut-in prosperity. Santa Clara Valley is a Napa Valley on a
grander scale. Its surrounding hills are higher, its spaces are wider.
Salinas Valley is a grain-growing valley, its fields of grain stretching
away up into the foothills. As we proceed south we observe that th