Painting the Chinaberry Trees

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Chinaberry tree

Near the end of the three weeks, Aunt Grace got a phone call from Aunt Opal, the oldest of the sisters. Aunt Opal lived in Brawley, California a town almost as much like Casa Grande as Cleveland is like Chicago, which is to say, quite a lot and not at all.

Both desert cities had mixed populations of blacks, white Anglos and at least two flavors of Mexicans with a few Indians in Casa Grande and a few Asians in Brawley. Both had cattle ranches and farms surrounding them. Both grew a lot of cotton though Brawley's picking season was in mid-winter rather than early fall and farms around Brawley did more truck farming, like Wenatchee. Both did a lot of irrigation, Brawley from canals, Casa Grande from a convenient river and lots of wells.

Other than those economic facts, they weren't much alike, somehow. Despite being located in one of the deadliest, hottest, driest deserts in the world, Brawley seemed to be twenty times as green as Casa Grande. To anyone from a truly green city like St. Joseph, Missouri or Portland, Oregon, Brawley looked dry and drab and tan and gray. Compared to Casa Grande, though, Brawley could have been the Emerald City of Oz. After all, it was surrounded by a deadly desert.

By the way, the Mexicans pronounced "Casa Grande" as Spanish, "CAHsa GRANday" sort of. The Anglos said (and still do) "CAAsuh GRAAuhn". "BRAWlee" for the Anglos and "BRAHlee" for the Mexicans is not so much different.

Aunt Opal had moved to Brawley with her husband, Ray, and three children, Helen, Jane and John, a few years earlier. Ray had a habit of disappearing, sometimes for years at a time. According to Mom, he only showed up every two or three years to get Aunt Opal pregnant then he was gone again.

This time, Ray had left Aunt Opal with no money for food or rent and with three small children. She couldn't afford to hire someone to look after them and the oldest, Helen, was only twelve so she couldn't leave them at home while she went out to look for work. Helen and Jane went to school but John was only five and there was no kindergarten in town.

The only thing Aunt Opel had bringing any money in was doing other people's ironing and mending. In the heat of a Mohave desert summer, in an un-airconditioned cottage, she did as much ironing and mending as she could find to do. What money she earned went for food, she couldn't afford rent and if she had not been staying in Hanks' Court, owned by my Uncle Herman's brothers and sister, she would have been out on the street.

Uncle Herman was her brother-in-law, of course, and for Arkies and Okies back then, that relationship mattered. Herbert and Lloyd and Marie would not kick her out because of family but they sent a letter to Uncle Herman to see if he could get her some help. Then they let her make a long distance phone call to Aunt Grace in Arizona.

And there we were. We hadn't gone to Arkansas, first because of my tantrum about the Big Rock Candy Mountain and then because of the cotton harvest in Casa Grande and so we were available to travel the hundred fifty miles from Casa Grande to Brawley to Aunt Opal's rescue.

I got all excited because it meant seeing more cousins. John and Jane and Helen were all older than me and I only vaguely remembered them from back in Missouri but cousins meant fun. It would be my first visit to Brawley, a town where I eventually spent many of my growing up years.

We made the trip in Dad’s typical style, leaving Casa Grande at first light in the morning and arriving in Brawley before some people had had time to eat breakfast. After the burning deserts and sand dunes, Brawley seemed cool and soft and green. On the northwest corner of the town sat Hanks’ Court, a collection of small cottages surrounded by chinaberry trees.

And all of the chinaberry trees were painted white as high up as a tall man could reach. I never did know why, except perhaps that Herbert, Uncle Herman’s older brother, liked things to look neat and clean. Every tree also had a thick rubber boot made from an old inner tube just above the paint to keep cats and kids from climbing the trees. In the summer, the leafy green tops hid the boots but in the winter when chinaberry trees lose their leaves, the white trunks, black rubber boots and the pruned-back bare limbs made the trees look very odd. There were clotheslines strung from tree to tree, too, one on each side of each tree and two rows of trees.

We moved into one of the little cottages with Aunt Opal in one across the courtyard of chinaberry trees and clotheslines. These cabins came in two sizes; small and tiny. The bigger cabins were about twelve by twenty-five feet and were three rooms, shotgun-style; if you stood at the front door, you could shoot your shotgun through the house at something outside the back door. Full choke, I suppose.

The smaller cabins measured about ten by twenty and had only two rooms, though both sizes managed to squeeze in cramped bathrooms. When I say cramped, I mean a three-year-old thought they were too small.

The cottages had originally been built in the early 1920s to house people who worked on city constructions; streets, water, sewer, gas, power and municipal buildings. The court covered about half a city block with thirty or more of the tiny cabins. A single, larger house on the corner was home and office for the Hanks's; Herbert, his wife and his younger siblings.

At the back of the court, a long building with screen windows that could be closed in the winter with plywood panels held a laundry room. Modern for the time, because the washers were electric but there were no dryers. The two rows of clotheslines nailed to trees were usually full of clothes. In the desert air, even the wettest of clothes would dry in an hour or so, the danger being the dirty winds blowing off the farm fields north and west of the town.

Busy streets on three sides of the court meant that we little kids were not allowed outside to play without a parent or at least a bigger kid to act as babysitter.

Helen, who for some reason everyone called Vonzell at this time, was ruled not quite old enough to babysit. I was in high school before I found out her name was Helen. She had more freedom while at the same time getting assigned more chores, like helping with the ironing and running errands. I think Marie, who must have been only about fifteen then, helped Aunt Opal with the babysitting.

Lloyd and Herbert did repairs and I think worked as painters and drywallers on construction around town with a crew of Mexican immigrants. Dad worked for a time with them but he never was much of a painter and Herbert and he did not get along well when together for very long.

More than fifty years passed and Lloyd and Marie attended my Mom's funeral but they still remembered me best as the littlest kid who would run and run to keep up with the bigger kids and then suddenly be found sleeping in some unlikely place like a laundry basket or under the porch with a litter of puppies.

Comments

This is wonderful stuff

Angharad's picture

and I urge you to put it in a single volume as your autobiography, not everyone wants to read about celebrities who are famous for being famous but very little else, I'd much rather read about extraordinary, ordinary folk like our web mistress.

Thanks for another episode.

Hugs,

Angharad

Angharad

I agree

Even though the culture you write about is totally alien to me I'm loving this - actually probably it's because the culture is totally alien to me! The only problem I'm having is keeping track of the different uncles, aunts and cousins but that's a problem I have with other stories so probably not Erin's fault.

The bathroom in our small camper (Ford Transit long wheelbase) is barely a metre square. It has a toilet (chemical cassette), wash basin (small, folding) and a shower. So small bathrooms, even to a 3 year old, can actually work very well :)

I like the shotgun metaphor - particular the insistence on using the choke barrel to keep the shot from the door frames or walls. I suppose using the right (unchoked) barrel could be messy and require some redecoration at least!

Please continue your blog, Erin. I'm sure we're all enjoying the story and the way you tell it.

Robi

ps Just what are Chinaberries?

Cousins, bathrooms and shotguns

erin's picture

I had trouble keeping track of the relatives, too. :) Three aunts on each side of the family and three uncles total, plus great-aunts, great-uncles and shirt-tail and honorary ones, too. Just on Mom's side I had twenty-one great-aunts and great-uncles! A minor family reunion could involve seventy or eighty people, easily. I'll describe one in a later chapter called, "Uncle Hank and the Cold Potato."

The bathroom worked, though it was just a half bath, I think. When you sat on the toilet, the sink was in your face. The showers were communal, in the other end of the laundry room, one side for men, one for women. I didn't mention that in the story because I am not absolutely sure of the detail.

The shotgun metaphor is not original with me, I think they've been called that for more than a century. :)

Thanks for commenting.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

I quite agree

These vignettes are awesome, and tell of a time that is rapidly being lost. More, they tell a part of it that is so often "ignored" or "pretended it doesn't exist"... You tell it with compassion (and, many of others add-on comments help as well).

Thank you for sharing this "history" (That's what it is!), and please find a way to share this with a wider audience!

Annette

Thanks for the comment :)

erin's picture

I'm being encouraged by members of the family to make a book out of this but even with hundreds of cousins, I don't know if it would sell. There is a book out by a cousin of mine about my great-grandmother Dona Lee.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

I understand...

A pair of books were written about my very great (adult in the 1860-80s - in Reconstruction) grand father and mother...

Dunno how well it sold, but it had interesting moments and was based on letters, journals and the likes. I suspect your story would gain more value as time passed... Might even be used as primary source material...

One advantage you have - is that you can actually write in a way that people enjoy reading it. :-)

Annette

Dona Lee 1855-1946

erin's picture

Great grandmother Caledonia Ann Lacy Lee raised eleven children to adulthood in Arkansas. A book about her life, Arkansas Mother, was written by one of her granddaughters.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Would anyone buy it?

erin's picture

I have no idea how to market such a book.

Thanks for commenting.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Still more agreement. I love

Still more agreement.

I love these tales, Erin!

Kris

{I leave a trail of Kudos as I browse the site. Be careful where you step!}

Thanks

erin's picture

I have a few more written already and will post them one a day.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

The Fabric of America.

While I was born in San Diego, Mom and her parents seem to have made a practice of traveling back and forth, following the crops back and forth between there and Shawnee, Ok. Somehow, Mom got a job in one of the Aircraft plants during the early years of WWII and that got her out of harvesting.

Don't remember much about the years in Southern California. Somewhere along the line, she became estranged from relatives; her alcoholic, abusive father probably being the cause. Grandma and her other daughters would make periodic trips to Oregon, where we'd gone to hide from my Father, also an alcoholic. My stepfather was as abusive as any man i ever met, and years later, I begin to realize that the poor folk that survived the depression were deeply scarred souls.

I wonder if my people ever met your people? It could have easily happened.

Our lives were deeply marked by racial prejudice, and it was not until my late30's and 40's that I would be in situations that made me realize it was all damaging paranoia.

Connections

erin's picture

I was in high school and happened to mention Senath, Missouri to one of my teachers and he said, "Wait a minute, you're Smiley Melton's kid?" I had no idea that my father had such a nickname when he was young. Turned out my teacher, who was from Kentucky, had spent some time in Senath and had bought gas from my father when Dad was working in a gas station while going to carpentry school.

So I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out you and I connect somewhere. After all, when my brother was in the fifth grade, a Secret Service agent came in to the classroom to say that her cousin Dick wanted her to come out to his car and say hello. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Doug Melton

Seems to me I remember a Melton somewhere in my past. As I think of it, I may have met him in Fairbanks Alaska when I was in the Army Military Police, 66-69. Nah, probably too distantly related. Mom was a Webb (Good old Norman/English Name) and my father was a Boucher. I've only just begun to work on all the geniology stuff.

Much peace

Gwendolyn

Cousin Doug

erin's picture

I have a cousin Doug whose brother David was in the Air Police, but their last name is not Melton, though they are from that side of the family. So close! :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Damn, now I have to Google China Berry Tree..-- GRIN --

Utterly charming stuff, Erin.

BTW you *outted* your age in the first chapter but that makes you the same age as my dear cousin Nancy, still a lovely woman and person. AND freaking hard working as you are.

What is it about you early babyboomers that gives you this drive to suceed?

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Trees

erin's picture

Chinaberry trees were also called umbrella trees where I grew up. The other sort of umbrella tree was called a something-or-other magnolia, I forget.

I'm not sure I'm the driven person you think, after all, it's my brother the late boomer who made a lot of money in the tech industry. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Painting the trees

Hope Eternal Reigns's picture

There might have been a more important reason for painting the trunks of the trees. I don't know about California climate, but here in the North fruit trees oftern suffer from winter damage to the bark of the larger branches and trunk. On sunny days the dark bark can heat up the south side enough to cause the moisture in it to rupture the bark. This opens the tree to insects and disease in the spring.

Just a thought.

with love,

Hope

with love,

Hope

Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.

Paint

erin's picture

You know, you're probably right. Though it was hard for a person to get a sunburn in the Imperial Valley, the air was a couple of hundred feet deeper and so more opaque to UV, but I think it is the IR that sunburns trees. And that stuff came right through, enough to raise the temp of a random piece of metal lying in the sun to near 200ºF.

And maybe the boots were just to discourage climbing by kids.

Thanks for the comment.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

I dunno

erin's picture

Chinaberry trees are poisonous to most mammals and insects, only some birds seem to be able to tolerate the toxins -- and the berries make even birds drunk if they eat too much. They even smell bitter and unpleasant up close. The flowers are pollinated by a few moths, not bees. I have seen the painted trunks with other sorts of trees elsewhere and either sunburn or insect protection is probably the explanation. I'm still inclined to believe that Herbert, who was a painter and drywaller by trade, just like the look. :)

Thanks for commenting.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Novel...

Andrea Lena's picture

...like a good novel, your real life story is driven by the wonderful portrayal of your 'main character.' It feels both like a privilege and a blessing to get to know you more through these glimpses into your past. I'm so glad you chose to share yourself. Thank you!

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

LOL

erin's picture

I was a brat but charming. :)

Thanks for the comment.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

That's it, Hope

It's called sunburn, and many trees need the whitewashing to prevent the bark from blistering and leaving the tree open to damage.

The Chinaberry is a tree most used for its wood, much like mahogany, though not in the US. The small fruits are toxic to people, though some birds can eat them. If they eat too many they get sort of drunk on the toxins and/or reins in it.

As to the pronunciation of Casa Grande & Brawley, I'd go with the Mexican/Spanish pronunciation of Casa Grande, as the name is Spanish. But Brawley is an Anglo name. The town was named after J.H. Braly, who once owned the land it is on, but who refused them town the right to use his name, so they misspelled it. There, I'd go with the Anglo pronunciation. (Of course, those are also the way I learned them, and I've never heard Casa Grande pronounced the 'Anglo' way, even by sports announcers who slaughter the language.

It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice.

Holly

Ummm...

What IS (or would be) the "angelo" way to pronounce "Casa Grande"?

Angelo Sez

erin's picture

Angelo would doubtless be Latin enough to say Casa Grande properly. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Misspelled Town

erin's picture

I could write a book about the town names in the Imperial Valley. The place had a fascinating history for all the settlements being only about sixty years old when I was a kid.

Maybe it was just the Arkies back then who mispronounced Casa Grande. :) But I remember wondering when I was a kid why Warshington State had an R in it, like warshing machine, but Washington, D.C. did not. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Family Tree

Love these stories. The life style explained is nothing that any part of my family history would have in common. My anscetory is Eastern European Jewish. On both my Mother's and Father's sides, they came to the U.S. and settled in NYC. Our most exotic relative, my Aunt Rose lived in Alahambra, California.

We are being introduced to so many relatives, that we need a Family Tree to keep things straight. It seems that by the time were done we will need to keep track of scores of relatives.

RAMI

RAMI

Immigrants

erin's picture

Immigrant stories tend to have a similarity of hard work, though. And make no mistake, my folks were internal immigrants from the Arkansas hills to the deserts of California, Washington and Arizona. This was a strange life for them and full of wonders.

I do have a family tree to keep some of the relations sorted. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Joads

So which of your Aunts, Uncles and Cousins (which like the Admiral of the Sea) you reckon by the dozens would be the person Steinbeck copied one of the Joads. (and Yes I know we are off by about 10 years -15 years)

There was no little girl in the novel (as I recall, Ruthie was 12, so maybe one of the cousins) so can't pick one out for you. ;-0.

RAMI

RAMI

Oddly enough

erin's picture

I've never read The Grapes of Wrath, probably because from the synopsis I thought I might find myself as a character in it. :)

Thanks for the comment.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

I have ...

... and everyone should read it once. Once is all I could cope with back when I was an enquiring and intelligent person rather than the cop-out I've become. Give it a try, Erin. I'm not sure you'll enjoy it but you'll certainly appreciate it. Steinbeck was a very fine writer - one of the very best IMO.

Robi

It's on the list

erin's picture

I'll get to it sooner or later. It's not that long a book and I'm a fast reader. :)

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Um no

erin's picture

One, they are hard as rocks. Two, they taste terrible. And three, they are poisonous.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.