Pretinella's Journal and Windpower Arrives

Pretinella's Journal

When I turned the first, fragile flyleaf, it occurred to me that I had never actually read Pretinella's JournalHotwordStyle=BookDefault; .  I had only  cradled the old notebook while Grandma Flossie related the story. 

 Grandma Flossie had preserved the Summerland History of Everything in the closet archives, tied the letters in grosgrain ribbon, identified the photos in her flowery hand, boxed and labelled the generations.  After she died, I believed that Father never disturbed any of it; he maintained a disinterest in his near relatives—except for the few tall tales he liked to relate, a narrow repertoire of past events.

Pretinella's Journal begins in the early 1880's, after her marriage to George SummerlandHotwordStyle=Frame; .  Pretinella and George were living in the San Antonio Township—formerly Rancho San Antonio LugoHotwordStyle=Frame; .  They had two children, John and Mary.  George was a carpenter, but, like so many Californians, then and now, he had ambitions beyond his day job.  His hopes were invested in the prospecting dream of his father-in-law, Samuel Walker. Walker lived with them when he was not out searching for the treasure of Califia.

Pretinella's Journal ends when John Summerland and Samuel Walker came home from Fish CampHotwordStyle=Frame;   and Walker died, in 1895.

Windpower Arrives

The account of the Great Tehachepi Train Wreck in Pretinella's Journal (one story my father did like to relate) is a perfect example of the not-very-credible relationship between cause and effect in our family narratives.  Assuming that George Summerland was murdered, by Beale and Vineyard even, and that whoever did it did not scruple to take the lives of twenty-two other people—we have no evidence that George had any gold, or ever saw any gold.  It was the Summerland habit to assume that, because La Reina showed up later and said George was agitated, he had been murdered over the Treasure of Califia. 

The Journal must have had some recent importance to Father, or whoever had messed up his study.  Flossie had always kept Pretinalla's Journal on the top shelf of the closet—not the kind of thing you would get to accidentally.  And it was hard to imagine Father leaving it tossed on the study floor.

Among the folders strewn around, I also found a bulky file with other recent letters from Mr. Kramer at WindPower, Inc.  The gist of these letters was that Kramer had offered several thousand dollars in exchange for a surface lease on land Father owned in Kern County, at Liebre Springs, near the Tejon Ranch.  Name=Tejon Ranch; HotwordStyle=BookDefault; WindPower, Inc. wanted the 800 acres for testing, to see if there was enough wind to generate power. 

I have enough training in real estate to be routinely suspicious of promotions like this.  But, as I was in such a tight spot with the finances, I was willing to entertain a fanciful possibility that my prayers would be answered. 

I looked through the brochures.

There were pictures of forests of windmills.  The profitable windmills stretched for miles and miles along the TehachepiName=Tehachepi; HotwordStyle=BookDefault;  Pass.  There were testimonials from satisfied landowners who were swimming in royalties from the wind machines, charts and graphs showing how much an acre of leased ground could earn. 

 And there was the up-front money.  The cash came immediately, even if the tests turned out negative.  I couldn't wait to call Mr. Kramer and sign up.  My worries might be over. 

 Father had been looking out for us, after all.