My Reaction to My First Sight of the Ocean

In the spring of 1907 I was taking my vacation from my work, which had confined me to the desert areas of Arizona and California. And in this condition, which was so far removed from the scenes in which I was born and raised, specifically the verdant agricultural area of Missouri. There I was accustomed to see the green fields, the grazing lands of the prairie and valleys and the towering trees of maple, oak, hickory and various other kinds.

You may realize in a way my reaction to a year spent in the burning sands of the desert, broken only by the spare bushes of sagebrush and the small and also giant cactus plants. I have walked out into this cauldron of heat and sand many, many times just to see the miracle of the mirage of lakes. Like the rocks of the sirens of mythology, they lured the thirsty prospector to his death, after thirst had exhausted his mind to the extent that he failed to realize that this picture of lakes of water was but the reflection of the shimmering heat waves in the land of desolation and death.

One day I was allowed to make the trip over the mountains to Bakersfield, California and as we made the ascent, the side facing the Mojave Desert was barren, but as we commenced the descent my spirit was filled with exultation as my eyes filled with a vision of green trees and miracle of miracles – little brooks with water cascading down its rocky beds and sides. Wild flowers were in riots of color, and then as we rushed into the City of Bakersfield, I was wrapped in an estate of rapture at the gardens of roses. There were roses of all kinds, climbing roses that covered the sides of buildings and reached their very top. It is verily the City of Roses, which it is called.

Taking the train from Mojave to Los Angeles, I was sitting in the smoking car, reading a very interesting book, but I have forgotten what it was. We went through a very long tunnel and after we had gone through, the porter came through the train and opened all the windows to let the smoke out that had drifted into the cars. Presently I was back reading my book when all of a sudden, I smelt the odor of the most delicate of perfume. I turned my head and looked over the smoking car, thinking that some woman entered. If such had been the case, it would have indeed been rare for that was in the days before women had assumed the habit of smoking. Finding none in the car, I looked out the window and there I saw my first orange orchard. There were beautiful blossoms with ripe and green oranges hanging on the trees in the profusion of the lovely blossoms. I saw rows and rows of trees, all set the same distance from each other and