She Left a Rich Legacy of California in the ‘90s

Margaret Helen Gilman Bowen, one of Orange County’s early pioneers, is dead at 97, and so passes one who was once “wee mite, called Puss, (who) stood shadowed in low-running dark along the honey-suckled side porch, across the south of the house--facing a yard and drive, barn, corral and orange trees.”

Recalling her early youth in Placentia District, Orange County, Mrs. Bowen wrote those words seven years ago in the opening paragraph of her autobiographical book “Mount Shasta or Bust--a Family Travelogue in the 1890s.”

After her book, dedicated to her grandchildren, Cary Sterling and Francis Sterling Butte, fifth-generation Californians, was printed by the Plantin Press, Los Angeles, Mrs. Bowen pulled up stakes again and left Fullerton with her daughter, Peg, to go live in Jacksonville, Ore. It was there that she died Oct. 10.

On that long-ago evening in 1893, amid the perfume of honeysuckle, Puss’ parents, Richard and Elizabeth Gilman, were being surprised by a farewell shivaree by neighbors. The family was leaving for Northern California to visit the scene of her father’s youth, where he landed in 1863, age 17, after sailing from Boston and rounding Cape Horn before the mast. At age 9, her mother had crossed the plains by covered wagon.

Now, the camping wagon was provisioned and ready. Two mesh bedsprings were hinged, each to a side of the wagon bed, Mrs. Bowen recalled. The bedsprings rode chains upward and hooked to the top to screen in the wagon. In making camp, they dropped down to form berths, over which flew green canvas wings branding the wagon as “Old Broody Hen.”

“Fishing poles and some evidence of hats fairly plastered the underside of the wagon top. And closing the back of the wagon were lightweight, open steps of oak that permitted one to enjoy the view,” she said.

Horsepower would be provided by Dan and Abe, chosen for their reliability as a team.

The first night out from home, 20-some miles over which our adventurers crossed the San Gabriel, Hondo and Los Angeles rivers, they arrived at the old Pueblo de Los Angeles, which then boasted a population of 66,000, There, they spent the night with friends.

A few days later found them straining up Conejo Grande, not to be confused with the present Conejo Grade, initiating the horses to what lay ahead in the way of travel for the next few years.

“And if los conejos (the rabbits) within earshot of that pull savvied what was said in the wagon, they would have interpreted the direct allusion to their namesake as odious comparison,” Mrs. Bowen recalled.

Our pilgrims progressed slowly but steadily. Now they are in Pismo Beach, where, she said, “Sand didn’t blow. Over it came skimming the tide, undermining small bare feet to stand on clams, twice their size.”

Onward. Camp was made at Nacimiento, which was quite a stream, seven miles from San Miguel. There was plenty of trout, but they wouldn’t bite. Onward and onward, to Monterey, where they camped among Monterey pines and overlooked the Serra monument. Then through the Gold County and on to Yosemite Valley. . . .

The family traveled as far north as the Ten Mile River above Mendocino, but alas, never made it to Mt. Shasta. As the century turned they returned home to the Placentia Fruit Co. and the ranch that would leave its marks horticulturally, as well as become the site of California State University, Fullerton. On that site in 1880, Richard H. Gilman planted the first Valencia orange orchard in California.

Mrs. Bowen had requested before her death that no formal memorial services be held. So I guess this small column will have to suffice in the memory department.

At any rate, via con Dios, to a bright, lively old lady, who set out, as she wrote, “to bag the thrill of the nineties.” Thanks for the rich legacy.