Adella May Fowler                                 1875 - 1966

       Born:   June 27, 1875   Arroyo Grande, San Luis Obispo, California    

             & 

Edward C Coomer                                             -

       Born:     

               &

James Rutherford                                              - 1915

       Born:   

         Reminiscences of the Black Lake District

By May Fowler Rutherford.

      "Lives there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said,” This is my own, my native land; Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned as home his footsteps? He hath turned from wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe--go mark him well let no such man be trusted"

  Being. Dreamer, I shall return to the vague and unknown past and will endeavor to carry you along with me if you will refrain from saying, "Oh, no, she must be mistaken----this could never have happened", yet in spite of all that. I fully believe it did.

  It could have been millions of years ago when this Earth was in the throes of upheavals and drastic changes, that the little valleys now known as the Arroyo Grande, the 0so Flaco arid the Los Berros were blood brothers, lying low, and damp and perhaps boasting a sluggish river which meandered through the swampy environs. And eventually found its. Way to the Pacific Ocean, far below the outlet of what is now the Arroyo Grande Creek.

                About this time the fierce and deadly winds began their relentless, task of carrying with them the sands of the dunes along the shore of this mighty ocean. Blowing steadily these valleys began to disappear as they became covered with more and more of this sand until the river itself began to be buried in places and even its outlet blocked. What miracle ever put a stop to this disastrous force we have no way of knowing, but when we drive over this vast Mesa land it is through acres and acres of Sand---and it is down sandy grades we drive to enter these low valleys where, the soil is heavy and black: Had this force not to have come to an end this same sand would now be at the base of the Picacho Mountain.

When we were children we found evidences of this low flat country as we crossed the dunes to the Beach where we went at times to the so called, "Pockets or 0asea" where we gathered wild strawberries which were quite plentiful in those days. These Oases were of some size and covered with soft, green grass and shrubs and willows. They were warm and sheltered from the ocean winds. The sand seemed to swirl about them but never to cover them. They looked like the last vestiges of some lost Continent, and no doubt they were. I hope they still remain untouched for they were lovely places to set up a camp or for picnics.

        We had, as children, a short cut across the Dunes to the Beach. We could walk but we often took a crowd with our Teacher as a Chaperon. And were carried in the big Studebaker wagon by a team of horses. We would gather straw berries, dig clams for a clambake and hunt for pretty shells and seaweed. It was great fun. On our return home, the berries were dropped into large pails of cold water and the sand settled to the bottom. These were very delicious either cooked or raw.

        Through the centuries this broad Mesa developed and took on the appearance of real soil. Great Live oaks came into being, probably from acorns early natives or great birds dropped, Winds carried seeds from the nearby hills and mountains until small winds-breaks came into being. Acres of sagebrush began to develop; wild Lupine and manzanita and all sturdy shrubs, which could defy the cold winds and so in time this country was ready for man to take over. As soon, however, as the plow turned over the soil the land might begin to drift again. Man had learned some hard lessons from Mother Nature and being a stubborn creature he persevered and profited by them.

        My first impressions of this vast Mesa land was when, at the age of seven, my father purchased 480 Acres of the Old Spanish Grant known as the Bolsa De Chemisal Rancho. Standing in the doorway of our partly finished redwood house, I could see one mile across the field to the bluff sloping down to the Laguna Negra Slough where we later built our permanent home. Here we escaped the strong Trade winds, which were quite disagreeable during the springtime.

        At this time the grain was just peeping up through the soil and be­ginning to show some green when I saw great flocks of wild white geese come swooping down and settle upon the field. Soon men came rushing out with guns and frightened them so that they flew sway on their journey south to greener fields. I still remember hearing my father say that fall, “Well five thousand sacks of grain--that's what I call good”.

        All that was left to us of that lost age as this Slough which became
the dividing line between the North sad South Mesas. Each Rancher had a right to the center and no further. On our side the land sloped gently down to the edge of the water and there was green grass and heavy sod but on the opposite side the banks were            quite precipitous with great Oaks growing in places and jungles of a tall fern called Brake. This Jungle became the habitat of wildcats, weasels, coons, badgers and an occasional coyote. Squirrels, rabbits and rattlesnakes also made homes here. Woe to us if we did not house our chickens and ducks for these animals lived by foraging and many a fat hen fell a prey to some one of them.

        This slough, no doubt, was s long lost river of another age; it was partly buried in sand in places and then again emerging where there was less Sand. It's Waters were fresh; in places where plants could find a foothold there were golden Tiger lilies, small willows, blackberries, and what we called Bunch-grasses which grew on little hummocks. If one was not careful and should slip from a bunchgrass there was danger of stepping into an almost bottomless hole filled with black mud and quicksand. We children learned to jump from bunch to bunch without fear and the cattle did the same. The horses, however, were in deadly fear of the place for a few times some one of them would compelled to be drawn out of a deep hole by a team of horses hitched to him before he sank out of sight. The waters of this slough finally reached the lake called at that time, Laguna Negra”. No doubt it's water once ran to the Pacific but great sand hills barred the way and the waters had piled up until they had formed a great body of water.

        This lake always had the appearance of being black but the water was as clear as crystal. Whether it was the reflection of the great trees, which grew on its borders, the shadows of the great san dunes on the far side or its great depth it is hard to say. They did say that the bottom was covered with many layers of black silt, and great masses of lily bulbs, and it was of great depth. Every one had a brilliant idea but nothing to my satisfaction, was ever proven.

        As we grew older this lake became quite a meeting place for the young people. There we often went for picnics and for boat-rides. In later years it was stocked with fish and became some sort of game preserve.  

        Our Fowler boys always had a rowboat there to take the sturdy and fearless for a ride. The boat, however, was always leaky, so when we girls went for rides we carried tin cans and pails to bail out the water while our parents stood on the shore ready to either scream or try to rescue us should we start to sink. No one ever sank, however, and in all the years no one was ever known to drown there.

        I once read a very fascinating book entitled "Wind, Sand And Stars"--somehow it reminded me of our first years on the Mesa. In time we set out many windbreaks of Eucalyptus and Cypress. The Cypress did not take so kindly to the soil but the Eucalyptus grew to Giant sizes. However, the soil within a distance of some twenty feet would not grow even a weed as they sapped all moisture from the ground, besides appropriating all fogs that fell near. In the following mornings after a foggy night the ground underneath the trees was soggy with water. They say that in Australia they are called "The Rain Trees"

        In due time we had our own school district after spending over a year attending the crowded Cienaga District in the lower valley. It was one-teacher with all eight grades. The children were of all sizes from mere infants to man-size boys. The teacher must of found it difficult, to say the least. As I remember that there were times when it was too noisy to do much studying. I remember that I could read and spell and had Just entered Long Division. My very earliest schooling was in the Branch District where our former home was located.

        The young people who were Ranch owner's families were the Cheadles, the Seamans, the Dodges, the Archibalds, the Barra and the Fowlers. As renters there were the Fachs, the Philbricks, the Roskwells, the Buchards, the Arwlnes and some others I cannot    recollect.

        In later years the Cheadle family left us for the Santa Maria country, the Seaman family departed for the San Joaquin valley where the younger generation still remain; the Dodge family returned to Santa Maria to educate the younger children, the Jessie had just graduated from the San Jose Teachers College. The Archibalds moved to some northern county and so they came and went. Our ranch was sold at the time of the Eucalyptus craze and perhaps that was the best time to go.

        To return to our school district: A corner of our ranch and the Archibald ranch Joined and there it was decided to establish a school house, and grounds, each owner donating half of the acreage and half of the expense also. The house was built of long Redwood boards and to keep out drafts long redwood batons were nailed over each crack. The interior was in due time painted and papered. There were ample black-boards, a roll-top desk for the teacher, double desks for the students, a good library of text and reference books, a large clock on one wall, where a little bird came through a hole which a wood-pecker had made and built her nest on top, much to the enjoyment of the children.

        In one corner was a large wood burning stove and at the opposite corner was a bench where stood the water pall with the usual dipper, which we all shared. None of us at that time had ever heard of a Virus or that other strange and dangerous germs sometimes came like a thief in the night and attacked us. We shouted lustily as we ran and played on the grounds and were strong and sturdy in spite of the dipper.

        There was much discussion over the naming of our school district and
some dissension some wanted to retain the name Laguna Negra to comply with most of the County’s Spanish titles but some of the ranchers thought we should have an English name so the beautiful Laguna Negra became Black Lake and to this day it is still   called by that name.

        Many teachers came to grace our school. As I recall, there was

Miss Lesa Dell of Oak Park, Miss May Ware of Los Berros, Miss Romic Clevenger of Arroyo Grande. Mr. Tunnell of Piamo, H.W.Simpkins of Arroyo Grande, who later married Miss Nellie Abbott, One wonderful gentleman whose name I can not recall and who was witty and Jolly and a fine teacher, Miss Edna Young of Santa Cruz, who later taught in Arroyo Grande and was for six years County School Supt. of Santa Cruz County. Then there was Will Ent of San Luis and W.S.Wight of Stanford, who later was County School Supt of San Luis Obispo Ca. Then Miss Annie Bailey of San Luis and Miss lda Lane of Ruasna. Some long time after I taught in the same school. The building, though a little shaky was as good as ever.

        When the great Eucalyptus boom started the farmers were pushed out and the district lapsed for want of students. Later when hordes of people came in to work in the Blue Gum industry, a new schoolhouse was built near the Hotel Cal lender, which carried on for five years and then lapsed when the industry came to an end.

        In this community we thrived and grew up with about as many advantages as children in larger communities we had a series of Music Teacher, one of who was Prof. Dahlke who taught both Violin and Piano. He was e hard taskmaster and we disliked him heartily but we soon learned to respect him. My brother Harry learned the Violin and I took up the Organ technique, which stood me in good stead when I had to go into the schoolroom or to pinch-hit for someone in Sunday school.

        As we grew older our schoolhouse became our social center. Here we held our Sunday school classes and an occasional sermon--usually taking the Minister home to our Sunday dinner. Sometimes we pushed the school desks back against the wall and had a little dancing party or a play. Here we learned the rudiments of ballroom dancing and ballroom etiquette learned the Virginia Reel, the Lancers and later the waltz, the Polka and the newer dances as they came out.

        As the years slipped by we joined with the young people of Los Berros in a literary society where we took up Debating, the study of Parliamentary Law and occasionally put on a Play or a song-feat. Some wrote poetry or story which were read at the meetings but woe to him who dealt in personalities for most likely he would have a notion of what REVENGE meant at the next meeting.

        In a more sophisticated day we organized a Whist club to which we went very sedately but we had fun and life was sweet. As I recall it I find that very few of the old-time members are with us now. A very few come to our Berkeley Reunions where we sometimes reminiscence.

        Suddenly into our lives came a stirring, a great sense of excitement, for word came that instead of being in a sense, isolated as we had been for many years, we were to become connected with San Francisco and Los Angeles by the great Southern Pacific trains which would some day soon come flying past and perhaps we might be able to flag it if we had a yen to travel.

        We heard that both Arroyo Grande, and Santa Maria were “On their toes", too, hoping not to be by-passed, but when it came roaring down the Pismo way, instituted a real live station at the new town of Oceano and really gave us a Flag Station called Callender, in 1895, it was a reality for us but Santa Maria sighed as it came roaring down through the town of Guadalupe. We also found that we could set our clocks by the train whistles, which sounded gay, and Jubilant by day but had a sad and mournful sound as they roared by during the night.

        About this time a Mr. Pomeroy of Los Angeles dashed up this way and persuaded Mr. C.H. Cal lender to sell him the entire Mesa which he owned, and which had hitherto been leased out to Rancher who needed more grain territory.

        Mr. Pomeroy now proceeded to build a hotel at the Flag Station and named it Cal lender in honor of the former owner. This hotel became the rendezvous of quail and duck hunters and there is where my brother     A.H. Fowler and his wife lived for four years. The land he had purchased he now cut up into suitable parcels and sold them for small ranches.

        Suddenly a Mr. T.F. Lukens and a Mr. Churchill of Pasadena appeared with a wonderful scheme of making millions from the raising of Blue Gum Trees and persuaded Mr. Pomeroy to sell them at once the remaining 8000 Acres of Mesa land, which he proceeded to do.

        From 1905 to 1913 this new tract called the Los Berros Forest Company, was a thriving, booming territory. The sagebrush was cleared away; the rattlesnakes made a general exodus toward the hills, leaving almost ditches of tracks it, the sand as they left. Foremen, Superformen and Subformen, rushed frantically about, all adding more excitement. The little Blue Gums were shipped in by the millions and set out. They took kindly to the nice soft soil and thrived. Suddenly, one morning the, thermometer skidded down pretty close to zero--the next morning it was the same and the poor little trees simply died.

        Even all the leaves on the older trees died and the wonderful dream and most of the employees vanished. Such s cold spell was most unusual but it was the same in the Southern counties that winter.

        As I look back I remember so well one beautiful spring morning when I arose before the rest of the family had awakened, saddled up the Broncho and went for a ride around the ranch. Finally I decided to ride up to the highest elevation near, which was on the border of the old Archibald Ranch.

         The sun had arisen brightly, which was unusual and as I sat there I looked down upon our house, nestled against a background of dark Eucalyptus trees. The fruit trees in front were in full bloom, the Maple tree at the gate was at its best in pale, soft greens, the slough was a mass of different shades of green and over it all the sun shimmered and shone. I looked long and lovingly upon this scene closed my eyes and looked again when a voice suddenly came to being within my consciousness and said “Look intently and so impress this scene upon your consciousness that it will remain forever for the day will come when this picture will be no more and the family scattered". I turned and rode on down the hills much saddened. But the vision has never faded and the prophecy was a true