Riverside

Today's overpopulated and hair-trigger southern Californians live in a land much different than its counterpart in 1963. It is difficult today to even remember the sweeping beauty of it's Mediterranean landscapes and it's life-charging bursts of yesterday's clean and uncorrupted air. The town I grew up in, Riverside, was built, by and for dreamers. From the turn of the twentieth century on, California drew immigrant midwesterners due to its financial opportunities and ideal weather. But ultimately what really lured them was Riverside's familiar rural landscapes and leisurely pace. Even the names of the towns around Riverside had a "manana" quality to them...San Bernardino, Indio, Colton, and Corona. But ultimately it was the smell that I would never forget. You were overcome with the sweet fragrance of magnolias and orange blossoms. Sometimes, in the spring, the smell of orange and lemon blossoms were so intoxicating that it would startle you out of a deep mid-day nap. Street after street framed by tall, majestic palms and lush Australian eucalyptus. All matter thrived in southern California. It was as if God had prepared a newer, more perfect, Eden.

Most of the neighborhook homes were well-built bungalows. Modest and inviting they were the perfect home for the newly arriving hordes. But by the 1950s so many people were moving to California that the large acreages and citrus groves were being devored up and chopped into small tracts. The subdivision was born.