Perched on a hill are two lone trees that appear to be standing sentry over the city of Ventura, California. There is a path leading from Foothill Road to the summit, a hike I always meant to take, but just never did...
Two Trees is a beloved landmark to Venturans and despite the fact that I was born in Ventura County and spent most of my life there, I never knew anything about it, how it got its name, or how it even got there. I guess I thought it was a natural setting. I mean, southern California's landscape is dotted with California Live Oaks that grew wherever the Santa Ana winds happened to deposit the acorns. But I was wrong about that, too. They're not oaks at all, but Blue Gum Eucalyptus.
I never knew that it actually started out as "13 Trees" in 1898 when horticulturist Joseph Sexton hired his neighbor, Owen Marron to trudge up that hill with 13 saplings and a shovel in hand. Why? Because it would be a nice thing.
But Marron's job didn't end with that trip. For months, Marron hauled up water on burro and horseback to make sure the trees survived.
Five years later a typical California brush fire (my guess it was the Santa Anas) destroyed all but five of the trees. After that, the hill was called Five Trees for nearly 40 years, until shortly after World War II when some Halloween vandals decided it would be fun to cut the trees down. Asshats.
The citizens of Ventura fought back and three of the trees were replaced, until once again vandals struck, leaving one of the older trees and one of the newer. In 1966 the Ventura Junior Women's Club decided to replant the hill to recreate Five Trees. The motion must have been denied, or something, because today there are just the two lone trees, survivors of vandals and fires.
Two Trees has been painted and photographed and as much as I love the landmark, I wonder why it holds such fascination. For some of us it's not the history -- I never knew the tale, for instance, but I was always drawn to the scene. When I could see Two Trees standing high above the Pacific Ocean, I knew I was home. Funny, that. The trees are so emblazoned on my mind that I unconsciously used them in my children's opera, The Faery's Daughter, as sentries that protect the gate between the human and fairy worlds. Only years later did I realize where the idea came from.
Jacki, a friend of mine who enjoys hiking, once told me that the distance between the trees is farther than one thinks, but from below, they seem to nearly be touching each other. She and I planned to spend an afternoon up there, but it never came about.
Will I ever climb that hill? It's doubtful. But I will always soar to Two Trees in my imagination whenever I see it.
