April 24 - Tuesday "Orange juice anyone?"

In the 1850's California's Central Valley was a vast flat expanse that was the nearly exclusive home of thousands of birds. The whole region was called "Grass Valley" and that was probably all they thought the place was good for, however, a few enterprising farmers began to cultivate the land, using windmills to pump water from the aquifer below and diverting streams for irrigation. A few towns started popping up, but it was hard going for a small town without a good source of income.

Deborah Lazar takes pictures in a Grass Valley sunset

The main business in that region, other than gold mining, was logging but the logs were far up in the mountains and processing them was difficult. The problem was how to get the logs to where they can be processed and shipped. Since there wasn't a river nearby to do the job, they built one, above ground, to carry the logs over 60 miles out of the mountains! This is the famous “V” flume that terminated in Madera- the Spanish word for "wood."

Into this little town came many hopeful Californians looking for a good place to settle down.  For Solomon Lazar the year was 1886 - the year his first son, our grandfather William was born. Solomon had tried his hand at businesses in several locations. The last was Tulare, where several fires had destroyed parts of that town. Before that, he had been in the Oregon territories, Seattle and La Connor. But his fortunes proved illusive in those places and he returned to California to join with his true love and start again, this time in a little promising town called Madera that was growing by leaps and bounds.

That Madera, and the one Deb and I arrived in, are worlds apart, never-the less, they had many things in common. No longer a lumber town, Madera is still a working class town with many surrounding farms of almond, pistachio and olive trees, as well as miles and miles of vineyards. One of the largest plants is owned by Italian Swiss Colony. Some grapes in the valley are grown for the table, many for raisins, while others are used in port wine production.

We arrived in Madera late in the day, tired and ready to rest, so we looked for a place to stay right away. We got a room on the fourth floor of a large hotel, a nice high spot to see our surroundings. Before going up we had a nice talk with the desk attendant, whose roots we learned went about as far back as ours do in that town. In fact, her grandmother probably knew our grandfather!

Everything was going great, then, on the elevator, an odd thing happened when we met another guest.  At our floor Deb got stuck on the elevator trying to get her luggage together. The other guest, a man, was clearly a little tipsy and got off with me, even though it wasn't the floor he had selected. I waited at the door for her and he finally walked off down the hall. (This guy would prove to be a problem later.)

Downtown Madera

As the sun went down we went out to take a few pictures and get some of that Mexican style fast food available everywhere. With several buildings missing, the main part of town has the appearance of  a smile with a few missing teeth.

I had read that the main street used to have at least a dozen bars. Back then, there was even one establishment with a roller skating rink on the second floor where the whole building used to sway when it was full. It was a party town then, and we learned, it is a party town now.

We drove down D street and saw the kind of housing that might have suited the Lazar family when they lived here. There were a couple of Victorian homes still standing that seemed like they could have been a good fit.

House in Madera on D street

Back at the hotel we went to sleep with the window closed because we realized a group of people in the house behind the hotel hadn't finished their last drinks yet and were still a little noisy. We both managed to fight through the noise and catch a little sleep, but at 3AM the party went to a whole new level.

Despite her earplugs, Debbie was awakened by a few large thuds which she thought might have been thunder but on closer inspection she discovered that oranges from the trees were being hurled at the rails and glass door of our veranda. Then we heard the drunk guy in the room above us egging the people down below to throw more!

Deb is not one to take such insanity very long and soon she was on the phone with the desk who were not aware that it was going on. The pummeling and yelling continued for about a half hour but eventually the police came to make them stop and clean up the mess. Later we were glad that we were able to get the cost of the room reimbursed for our troubles. Thank you hotels.com.

Old vine at Ficklin Vineyard

So much for our wild night. On to the wine tasting! The plan the next day was to find a vintner using old vines in the same vicinity where Solomon had planted twenty acres of Malaga grapes in the early 1890’s. The area has a pretty lengthy wine tour, but Deb had looked Ficklin Vineyard up and decided it was the best one to see.

It turned out to be one our favorite stops on the journey. The people were so nice and the aged port wine, grown with very similar grapes as Solomon had planted, was very good. The owner had wild flowers growing between some of the oldest vines and we had a great time taking pictures there.

We also checked out the Historical Society Museum before leaving Madera and were given access to their treasures even though it was typically closed on that day. We got the full tour from a helper who happened to be there putting up displays. His help, and all that was preserved by the Historical Society added to our knowledge of that region immensely.

Our next stop is another crossroads-- the gateway to Yosemite, an old (possibly haunted) village, and the honeymoon spot of our great grandparent's great getaway.

Deborah at Ficklin 

April 23 - Monday "Down by the river"

Misty hills beyond San Juan Bautista

Deb and I were finally going to be leaving the Central Coast and the morning gave us a moist kiss of misty fog for our good-bye. One could sense the nearness of Monterey in the air, yet the ocean is actually quite far from San Juan Bautista. It made it even more clear to me that the town was special and must have held a very important place in Anna Flynn's heart. Before leaving we searched the local graveyard for an hour but found nothing notable for our research. Then set off on the next leg heading east.

From San Juan Bautista we traveled up and over the Diablo Range, into the San Joaquin Valley towards Madera. I say traveled-- but really going through the pass was more like being lifted, cloud-like, into a world of tilting, rolling, and swerving landscape. Pacheco Pass takes nearly the same route as it did 150 years ago and it wasn't hard to imagine Solomon on this same trip headed out of the mountains to see his girl. I wonder how many sad Sundays he retreated back alone on a stage coach or buck board up this winding road to Firebaugh's Ferry and the long work week ahead.

Driving Pacheco Pass

My dream was to find any sign of the place where that famous ferry might have crossed the San Joaquin River. When Solomon first came to California around 1875 he worked as a clerk for a man named Jake Myers. Firebaugh’s Ferry was never much in the way of a town, but the stop had the one thing all good merchants seek: location, location, location. The river in those days blocked travelers going both east/west and north/south owing to its snake-like course. Now, with canals and irrigation, the water of the once formidable San Joaquin is no longer wide or deep enough to matter.

I didn't tell Deb what I was looking for as we passed over canals that showed there was once a waterway nearby. I had studied the map of that whole area on Google Earth and found nothing that looked like a ferry landing. I was explaining the story to her when she noticed a little town just off the state highway called Firebaugh. It seemed like a good possibility so we headed there. Driving past the main streets and out to the edge of town we found a park. Deb figured it was a dead-end and wanted to get on to our next destination. Up until now there had been no sign of water. I decided to climb an embankment and peer over the edge. Here was flowing water, here was a path, here was something important!

The Water

We donned our walking shoes and ventured onward following the bank. In a little while we saw a highway bridge and continued along the creek's curves out to where we could see another park. A strange giant wheel jutted out from the water there, and further down the path we saw a painted sign. That was when we knew we had arrived.

The Signs

The sign said we were standing in the exact location of the old Firebaugh’s Ferry crossing! The giant wheel was a relic of a later installation, a swing bridge that had allowed steamboat traffic to pass. That meant the landing where we were standing was the place where the ferryboats came and went taking carriage passengers all the way from St Louis to San Francisco and between Los Angles to Sacramento. Not far from this spot would have been Jake Myer's Store.

The renamed town of Firebaugh had created a wonderful park and exposition for its community and visitors, putting historical signs all along the creek about the glory days of the past. We are very thankful to them for that gift of history which was put together in 2004. Looking around the area further we noticed a rodeo corral. It isn't hard to imagine the horses and buggies watering here as they wait to cross.

In the Distance: the Wheel for the Old Ferry Bridge

It was so amazing standing on the spot where Solomon found his footing in the world, where he fell in love, where he made friends that would last many years. It probably looked very different now, but I think it felt the same to us as it would have to him. Like coming home the first year of collage and seeing the town where you grew up in a new light.

Leaving Firebaugh we set out for California's Wine country. What? Napa? Sonoma? No! Not only is the coast good for growing the celebrated fruit, vineyards were also planted in the Central Valley as far back as the 1850's. It was the start of the gold-rush and people who weren't looking for gold were looking for ways to make a living. Just a few miles west of here, 40 years after the gold-rush, around 1890, our great grandfather planted a 20 acers of malaga grapes in Medera. We were on a mission to see what might remain of those early vines, and to taste the fruits of such labor for ourselves.

April 22 - Sunday "You put a spell on me"

If you say: "I'm going to San Juan Bautista" to a group of native Californians, about 80 percent won't know what you are talking about. That is understandable when you consider the town has remained, to this day, quite like it was 150 years ago. Most people know the El Camino Real, the road that once connected north and south California through a network of Franciscan missions. Just off that course, and the main highway, is the little town named for the mission that was established there in the 1700's.

Earthbound Farm

Our drive from Berkeley took us past Earthbound Farms Organics and miles of expansive fields of baby lettuce growing in deep brown soil. One can tell at a glance that the valley here is rich and productive. I remember reading in 1800's travelogues that the rolling hills between Santa Clara and San Juan Bautista were always filled with wild flowers in the spring. Although it wasn't possible to see the valley the way it must have been for our great grandparents, it was surely possible to imagine.


When we hit the little town of Gilroy, famous for its garlic festival, we had no idea we would get sidetracked there for hours. It was time for lunch, but the antique stores kept calling out to us. Once inside we were entertained by shopkeepers of many types. We even heard the story of a famous Native American, "cigar store Indian" that once stood in the doorway of a store in San Juan. Outside on the sidewalk speakers on the main street piped Mexican music, which we discovered works on the body in two ways: a hypnotic effect, and something similar to having too much caffeine.

We made our way to the local Taquería to explore some Mexican cuisine. Deb ordered something from the menu that was all in Spanish, but admitted she wasn't sure what we were going to get. It turned out to be three tacos with three kinds of meat and a drink that was white, fruity, and very sweet. After our meal we wandered the little convenience store, ending up in the potions aisle. Here Deb took a few pictures of the spiritual bath and floor wash she had never seen before. They had potions for bringing love, money or luck your way or any other situation you may have that is bothering you. An older Latino gentleman offered a bottle for her to consider. His gesture soon became the best explanation for the day--

Old Man: Maybe you should consider this.

Deb: Oh, “Black Chicken.” What is this one for?

Old man: It's for spells. To prevent evil spells.

Deb: Oh thank you, I’m OK (smiling and putting it back).

Do you think I should be concerned about that?

Old man: Could be.

We got back on the road not long after that, but first we had to rescue Deb's reading glasses which she had left on the counter at one of the antique stores. I also decided to buy a small knife there to replace the one I usually carry. Our actual destination was only 5 minutes down the road and we were hit with a dilemma as soon as we got there- the historic buildings we had come to see were open to the public on Sundays, but they were closing in 30 minutes!

If Gilroy had put a spell on us, San Juan Bautista made us fall in love with her. The town is situated between verdant hills, far enough away to seem like mountains, close enough to feel like encircling arms. With only about five crossroads, the town is situated on a small plateau, overlooking a backyard valley that stretches out in three directions. At one time that open land was filled with cattle and vaqueros- the Mexican cowboys who worked for the Mission San Juan Bautista. Now it is acres and acres of produce. The natives of the area at that time were the Mutsun Indians, many of them were loyal coverts to the Catholic religion during the mission period. A tiny graveyard behind the church tells their story.

Native American graveyard behind San Juan Bautista Mission

It was within this culture that our great great grandmother settled and raised her family in the 1850's. If America was a melting pot, California towns were the place where the individual molecules of different cultures rubbed together. San Juan Bautista was a bustling town in those days and there were establishments run by native-born French, Italians, Germans, Swedes, Chinese, and Irish. The O'Flinn family (Anna would later take the name "Flynn") lived in the home that is now known as the Castro-Breen Adobe. In her time the house was owned by Patrick Breen, a member of the ill-fated Donner party that had been reduced to cannibalism during a harsh winter crossing. 

The story goes that when the Breen family arrived from their ordeal in 1849 young Patrick heard about the strike of gold at Sutter's mill and promptly went there to see what he could find. When he turned up a nugget worth $10,000 he decided to stop mining and go back to San Juan to buy the best house in town for his mother. The former owner- Don Jose Maria Castro, a Mexican official, was probably in a mood to sell, since California was rapidly going over to the American side and soon would be the country's 31st state.


The Donner story was very well known in those days and it put people off, so Patrick ended up moving his family to a house on the outskirts of town and hiring Mrs. O'Flinn, Anna's mother, to manage the adobe as a boarding home. She lived there until her death in 1909, but there is no reference to her part in the history of the house in any of the park pamphlets.

The Castro-Breen Adobe

Today the adobe is preserved in it's 1880's condition as part of California’s San Juan Bautista State Historic Park along with several other buildings, most notable the "Zennetta House" and the "Plaza Hotel." In the short time we had, Deb and I scouted out the building's secrets, finding all its coves and window views. I took pleasure in climbing the narrow staircase, as it was most likely place that Anna's room would have been, and looking out from second story patio overlooking the plaza. The rooms were laid out with furniture and personal items, as well as mannequins (is that Deb and Nancy?) dressed in period clothes.

View of the Mission plaza from the second story veranda

There is also a carriage house and blacksmith’s shop, each one in the exact locations they had been when our great grandfather Solomon Lazar courted Anna Flynn. We have to thank the generous attendant of the park for letting us roam the grounds past closing time. We appreciate that she allowed us a little extra time since the park was to be closed on Monday. After wandering through all the buildings we set our sights on finding our next hotel and got a good deal on a night in town. 


We enjoyed our stay at The Posadade San Juan for the ambiance of Spanish style, the hallway arboretum, and because it was right in town. That night we shared some fantastic paella at Matxain Etxea Basque Restaurant with enough left over for lunch the next day. We planned to take the morning to check out the mission buildings and grounds before setting out. 

The next leg of our trip had me a little worried, but I didn't tell Deb about it. I had heard chilling stories about the drive over Pacheco Pass. They say it has some surprising blind turns, but we planned to go over in daylight, so I figured we'd be fine. After that we will be looking for a river crossing that was once a major thoroughfare. I wasn't sure whether any part of it remained. The old town had been named "Firebaugh's Ferry" but it didn't exist anymore. Finding that town would mean finding Solomon Lazar's jumping off point, the place where his life really began in America..