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Virtually every California fourth-grader is required to work on a project about one of the 21 Spanish missions in the state, and the stakes are high. The project accounts for a healthy chunk of a child's grade, so it was with a bit of breathlessness that Addison, my 10-year-old daughter, brought home her teacher's advice that students should visit a mission and preferably pick one that sets them apart from their classmates.
Instead of the typical amusement-park trek or guilt-reducing visit to Grandma's, we were packing bags in the name of "scholastic tourism." That was just the first surprise. The second was that the trip, which included stops at four missions in four cities, would be as much a learning experience for my wife, Tracy, and me as it was for Addison and her little brother, 6-year-old Benjamin.
FOR THE RECORD:
California missions: An article about California missions in the March 16 Travel section identified Lompoc, site of La Purisima Mission, as a community in San Luis Obispo County. Lompoc is in Santa Barbara County. —
I grew up in southern Florida, where history doesn't exactly seize your imagination ("Just think, some of these buildings are 40 years old."), and Tracy grew up in the state's northeastern corner, in Jacksonville. We've lived in Southern California since 1993 but had only a vague sense of the missions and their history.
And what a history it is -- framed by both the holy and the horrible, marked by moments of individual altruism and mass greed. The fourth-grade teachers filter out many of the harshest details and, at the missions themselves, the Roman Catholic Church emphasizes the good works and California achievements. (One mission was a major exception to that; more on that later.)
We came home with enough answers to get our daughter that good grade, but we also found out more about the place we call home and the intense, conflicted and compelling saga that is the history of the Golden State.
Our trip started with a plan. We knew we wanted to go north and combine our academic enterprise with a visit to Hearst Castle. So Tracy took on the task of finding a route and the options for missions. The California missions were built between 1769 and 1823 by the Spanish Franciscans, and they follow El Camino Real (the King's Road), the onetime mule-and-horse path that mirrors the coastline all the way up to Sonoma.
Many of Addie's classmates would be writing about one of the five missions between Ventura and Oceanside, so we decided to venture up toward the state's Central Coast and visit three missions in Santa Barbara County, as well as one in San Luis Obispo County.
Old Mission Santa Barbara
2201 Laguna St., Santa Barbara; (805) 682-4713, www.sbmission.org.
Our first stop was the Queen of the Missions, as it is known. High on a rise between the Santa Ynez Mountains and the churning Pacific, its setting was the most regal of the missions we visited.
The mission was founded in 1786 (it was the 10th), but those original humble adobes are long gone. The chapel that stands today, which has doors that open toward the sea, was finished in 1820. The Franciscans introduced the Chumash to farming, and the mission was the center of a huge agricultural machine. Fields of wheat, barley, beans, peas and corn once stood here, and more than 11,000 head of sheep and 5,000 cattle grazed the land.
Our kids loved the graceful fountain out front. Amazed to hear that it was built 200 years ago, they re-examined it, noting the puckering goldfish in the murky water. We all agreed the fish was probably much younger. Inside the building, we walked on battered old tiles and beneath wood rafters during a short tour. Ben was fascinated by the swords, spurs and rifle on display in an ornate wood case, as well as the chess pieces and quill pen in another area. My daughter winced when she saw an especially bloody Jesus on the crucifix. "That," she said, "is very unpleasant."
The tour took us into the courtyard, with another fountain, six towering palms, rose bushes and lanterns complete with birds' nests. We couldn't hear any traffic in this hemmed-in space, just the mission's modern-day congregation singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" as Saturday services finished.
Our timing was perfect. We waited for the congregation to filter out and then strolled through the church, which is dotted with examples of 18th and 19th century Mexican art.
Outside, we met Father Richard McManus. "The most wonderful thing is not just all this history but that this is also a living church, a working parish," said the Irish-born McManus.
He directed us to the cemetery to take note of the mission's bit of celebrity: Juana María, the "Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island," the last surviving member of the Nicoleño tribe and the subject of the beloved children's book "Island of the Blue Dolphins."
Addison is a big fan of the book, and that got her to go past the skull carvings at the door of the graveyard. There was a grim, dark corridor lined with crypts -- some of them cracked open -- and we studied the names and dates and tried to imagine life here in this beautiful spot in those centuries when life was shorter and harsher and ghosts must have seemed much closer at hand.
"I'm getting a little creeped out," Ben said, and part of me agreed with him. We decided to call it a day, and we left happy and a bit haunted.
Instead of the typical amusement-park trek or guilt-reducing visit to Grandma's, we were packing bags in the name of "scholastic tourism." That was just the first surprise. The second was that the trip, which included stops at four missions in four cities, would be as much a learning experience for my wife, Tracy, and me as it was for Addison and her little brother, 6-year-old Benjamin.
FOR THE RECORD:
California missions: An article about California missions in the March 16 Travel section identified Lompoc, site of La Purisima Mission, as a community in San Luis Obispo County. Lompoc is in Santa Barbara County. —
I grew up in southern Florida, where history doesn't exactly seize your imagination ("Just think, some of these buildings are 40 years old."), and Tracy grew up in the state's northeastern corner, in Jacksonville. We've lived in Southern California since 1993 but had only a vague sense of the missions and their history.
And what a history it is -- framed by both the holy and the horrible, marked by moments of individual altruism and mass greed. The fourth-grade teachers filter out many of the harshest details and, at the missions themselves, the Roman Catholic Church emphasizes the good works and California achievements. (One mission was a major exception to that; more on that later.)
We came home with enough answers to get our daughter that good grade, but we also found out more about the place we call home and the intense, conflicted and compelling saga that is the history of the Golden State.
Our trip started with a plan. We knew we wanted to go north and combine our academic enterprise with a visit to Hearst Castle. So Tracy took on the task of finding a route and the options for missions. The California missions were built between 1769 and 1823 by the Spanish Franciscans, and they follow El Camino Real (the King's Road), the onetime mule-and-horse path that mirrors the coastline all the way up to Sonoma.
Many of Addie's classmates would be writing about one of the five missions between Ventura and Oceanside, so we decided to venture up toward the state's Central Coast and visit three missions in Santa Barbara County, as well as one in San Luis Obispo County.
Old Mission Santa Barbara
2201 Laguna St., Santa Barbara; (805) 682-4713, www.sbmission.org.
Our first stop was the Queen of the Missions, as it is known. High on a rise between the Santa Ynez Mountains and the churning Pacific, its setting was the most regal of the missions we visited.
The mission was founded in 1786 (it was the 10th), but those original humble adobes are long gone. The chapel that stands today, which has doors that open toward the sea, was finished in 1820. The Franciscans introduced the Chumash to farming, and the mission was the center of a huge agricultural machine. Fields of wheat, barley, beans, peas and corn once stood here, and more than 11,000 head of sheep and 5,000 cattle grazed the land.
Our kids loved the graceful fountain out front. Amazed to hear that it was built 200 years ago, they re-examined it, noting the puckering goldfish in the murky water. We all agreed the fish was probably much younger. Inside the building, we walked on battered old tiles and beneath wood rafters during a short tour. Ben was fascinated by the swords, spurs and rifle on display in an ornate wood case, as well as the chess pieces and quill pen in another area. My daughter winced when she saw an especially bloody Jesus on the crucifix. "That," she said, "is very unpleasant."
The tour took us into the courtyard, with another fountain, six towering palms, rose bushes and lanterns complete with birds' nests. We couldn't hear any traffic in this hemmed-in space, just the mission's modern-day congregation singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" as Saturday services finished.
Our timing was perfect. We waited for the congregation to filter out and then strolled through the church, which is dotted with examples of 18th and 19th century Mexican art.
Outside, we met Father Richard McManus. "The most wonderful thing is not just all this history but that this is also a living church, a working parish," said the Irish-born McManus.
He directed us to the cemetery to take note of the mission's bit of celebrity: Juana María, the "Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island," the last surviving member of the Nicoleño tribe and the subject of the beloved children's book "Island of the Blue Dolphins."
Addison is a big fan of the book, and that got her to go past the skull carvings at the door of the graveyard. There was a grim, dark corridor lined with crypts -- some of them cracked open -- and we studied the names and dates and tried to imagine life here in this beautiful spot in those centuries when life was shorter and harsher and ghosts must have seemed much closer at hand.
"I'm getting a little creeped out," Ben said, and part of me agreed with him. We decided to call it a day, and we left happy and a bit haunted.
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