The Bradford House

 It was one of those lazy fall days when I found myself in the city of Placentia with not much to do.

Some days are just like that. Cruising down this avenue or that avenue, sort of randomly driving here and there. I had to be somewhere but as usual, I was hours early and had time to kill. So, there I was, randomly driving around.

Not like how millennials use the term ‘random.’

“It’s so like, random,” one millennial will say to another.

“What’s so random?” another millennial would respond.

“The sun, its so random how it rises every day and sets every evening.”

That may a bit of a stretch – perhaps but truly random things do happen daily, if not more often.

So, I’m cruising near Palm Circle in Placentia when I randomly spy a beautiful turn-of-the-century styled home. Not the Twenty-First Century, but the Twentieth Century.

“I must stop and take a gander,” I said to myself. 

In all transparency, I do sometimes talk to myself about this or that, but I never answer. That could be considered a bit off or even crazy.

“We will, we will,” I heard my inner voice responding to me.

Turns out that I had discovered The Bradford House in the City of Placentia, which is located about 75 miles southwest of Victorville, or 3,000 miles west of Shapleigh, Maine where the owner of this stunning home had been born on August 8th, 1860.

The Bradford House

Albert Sumner Bradford, otherwise known as the ‘Father of Placentia,’ grew up on a farm but due to some health issues including asthma, he missed a lot of school and at the age of twelve, he ran away from home.

He had an independent nature and wanted to prove to the world that even at that tender age he could make a success of himself.

Laureen and I had a hard enough time just getting our girls to make their beds each morning let alone having them prove to the world they would take it by storm.

“I successfully made my bed this morning,” Erica would state before leaving for school.

Laureen would only nod. “It’s a start.”

An interesting sidenote on Bradford. His father was William Bradford, a native of England, who was also a descendant of another William Bradford, the governor of the Plymouth Colony from 1621 until 1632. 

And Bradford’s mother came from a very patriotic and loyal Revolutionary family.

A lot of historical branches on that Bradford tree.

Anyway, Bradford ended up in Boston working in the agricultural field and learned how things grew. He learned about horticulture - no idea, hotbed culture - no idea, and vegetable gardening – that I know since I do it each year and end up feeding feral rabbits and squirrels for an entire growing season.

That is what those agricultural type folks, like Bradford, do successfully.

In 1887, Bradford left the east coast and headed west to truly seek his fame and fortune.

And he did, in the city of Santa Ana which at the time was in Los Angeles County. 

The rumor has it that the folks in Santa Ana and the surrounding towns did not like being in Los Angeles County and wanted to form their own county.

“If Los Angeles can be a county, why can’t we?” A man in a top hat yelled at a meeting of other like-minded people.

“Humph, humph,” was the reply from all gathered.

In 1889, he was part of a group of citizens who helped establish Orange County.

Most people at the time grew grapes or raised hogs in the area at the time.

Why Orange County then?

I suppose, when the locals thought about it, Hog County did not sound quite right.

“I reside in Hog County,” a rather oversized person may have stated.

“Yes, we can see that,” may have come the reply.

Could have been worse.

“I’sss lives in grap, no grain, no Grape County, I thinks,” a rather inebriated person may have stated.

“Yes, we can see that,” may have come the reply.

So, Orange County it was.

Soon, people moved into the area and started planting all sorts of citrus trees. It turned out that the orange trees they planted, over a million by 1890, gave the state of California its second gold rush.

Everyone loved oranges and with refrigerated railcars reaching nearly every section of the nation, the citrus industry blossomed.

Bradford knew this is where his family’s fortune would be made and purchased the Tesoro Ranch on Palm Avenue, in the Placentia District. As profits rose, he continued buying up more lands to grow his Valencia and navel oranges to sell at markets across the country.

With his fortunes growing, he built the beautiful home at Palm Circle in 1902.

Another view of the Bradford House

I was surprised that the house, which is now a museum decorated as it was when the Bradford family resided there in the early 1900’s was short on visitors.

Such a gorgeous abode once owned by the man who founded the city of Placentia should have a waiting line of looky-loos.

Wandering about the property, I noticed tours had to be arranged by appointment.

Since this was a random discovery on my part, this Bradford House, (random being used correctly), I knew there would be no tour for me this day.

But, as luck would have it, a young woman by the name of Nancy exited the house by a side door.

“Howdy,” I said. I always say ‘Howdy.’

She looked at me and then clasped her purse a bit more closely.

“I’m a travel writer and just love the history of this place,” I said, while raising my arms to show I was not carrying anything lethal.

The ice was broken.

“Usually you need to have a reservation for a tour,” Nancy said, “But it turns out that a group of Girl Scouts are coming in an hour to visit. Would you like to wait and go with them through the house?”

No, I thought. I really did not want to tour with a group of young giggling girls. 

So, Nancy took me on a private tour of the Bradford House. 

There are public tours from 2 to 4 pm the second Sunday of each month. 

The Bradford House is a two story, 15 room mansion that is like walking back into a different era. Large colored carpets lay over highly polished wood floors, staircases that seem to have been chiseled out of solid pieces of wood by a professional sculpturer, furnishings – many that had belonged to the Bradford family, were in each room giving the place a feeling of warmth.

Beautifully carved staircase

Nancy was a fount of knowledge.

“As beautiful as this house is, Albert’s family only thought of it as a farmhouse,” she said. “In fact, they had to leave their muddy shoes at the entrance after traipsing through the groves when they came in.”

No mud in the dining room!

I nodded while following this docent about the rooms.

“I tell school children that there are eight bedrooms but only one bath. They all say yuck, but at that time, this was very special in a person’s house.”

The only bathroom, a luxury

When I had arrived, I noticed small windows at ground level. “Is there a basement here?”

“Yes, and Albert had it made special, since he moved from the east, a basement was expected,” she replied. 

She did not offer any tour of the basement. I did not pry.

Turns out, Bradford’s wife played an important role in the Placentia Women’s Club, which is still active today.

The Bradford family was crucial to the growth of the city and surrounding communities with their generosity, forward-looking attitudes, and knowing how to be at the right spot at the right time.

The city of Placentia was incorporated in 1926.

After Albert’s death, the house reverted to his son who visited rarely. He had his own successful businesses in Los Angeles, and besides, did not seem to enjoy visiting the farm in Placentia.

“His son only stayed here on weekends. His main residence was in Los Angeles but much of the furniture you see was purchased by him and shipped from Italy. He liked to travel.”

If one considered the Bradford House as simply a farm house, then I would expect they had a lot of moola-boola to travel with.

“Honey, should we spend the weekend at the farmhouse or a stay at the Gritti Palace in Venice?”

“Una domanda stupida.”

Don’t need a translator for that reply.

With the personal tour over, I thanked Nancy for her assistance and vast knowledge of the grounds.

“We love visitors,” she stated.

And this Bradford House in Placentia should be visited to understand how even twelve-year-olds from Maine can think big and prove they can make dreams come true.

Albert S. Bradford certainly did.

And look at this wonderful desk he ended up with

For more information: https://thebradfordhouse.org/

The Christmas That Almost Wasn't...

And a Happy New Year!

The greeting cards have all been sent; the Christmas rush is through, and as we settle in to enjoy the holiday with our loved ones that one time of year when hopefully, all roads truly do lead us all home, we thought back how much Christmas celebrations and traditions have morphed and changed over the years. With a smile and a nod to the Carpenters, who turned Christmas into a verb with the 1978 release of what would become a Christmas classic, Merry Christmas, Darling - (I'm Christmasing with you....) let's journey back to a time when Christmas almost wasn't.

As any good American school child knows, most early European emigrants traveled to what would later become the United States from Western European nations. For various political and religious reasons, some adherents to particular religions, especially Irish, Scottish, and some British may have kept their customs quietly at home rather than disrupt life in the new Colonies.

In what would become Virginia, Captain John Smith and company, you will remember from stories of that first Thanksgiving, were mostly followers of the Church of England and observed Christmas much as they had always done -- good food, good company.

God Bless Us, Everyone

But to the north where settlers would eventually found Massachusetts, the travelers from the Mayflower observed their first Christmas a few short weeks after arriving and had no time to celebrate -- not if they wanted to survive. They were still living aboard the the ship and not yet erected a shelter.

When we look back on history, we remember it often in general terms. We remember Pilgrims who came looking for religious freedom. True. To a certain extent...and from a certain point of view.

Mayflower- 1620

Once the Mayflower folks were able to establish themselves with shelter and other necessities of life, the 41 religious dissidents, as it were, who had fled England and the Netherlands (17 men, 10 women, 14 children) in search of freedom to worship were outnumbered by 61 other passengers - Pilgrims, servants and others. These Pilgrims were looking for a new life in a new world, a purer life, hence Puritan.

Streets of Joy!

Ah, but there was trouble in this new paradise, even at Christmas. As some in the newborn colony excused themselves from work to celebrate the day on that second Christmas in new world, the governor, William Bradford, took exception. It seemed he did have a problem with their Christmas celebrations. They could, he explained, keep Christmas at home as a matter of devotion. There was to be no visible signs of celebration -- certainly no joy, no playing of children in the streets while others went solemnly to work. It went against his conscience, his Puritan work ethic, that they should play while others worked.

It reminds us of that (terrible) saying that seems so popular today: If momma ain't happy - ain't nobody happy. Or Happy Spouse - Happy House. Perhaps I am judging the poor governor by modern eyes,  but I see him as a spoiled child who has to clean his room and he cries that it's not fair as he watches the other children run out to play.

For a country that was founded on religious freedom (not freedom from religion, we remind folks from time to time), it seems frighteningly ironic that we almost lost that very freedom within a year or so of our very establishment. And all over wanting to celebrate the birth of our Savior. Can you imagine this country, this time of year, without Christmas, without the carols, without the tree-lighting ceremonies, without all the tiny little reminders of why we are celebrating in the first place?

So, this Christmas, celebrate with all your spirit! Let the world see you love and cheer! And William Bradford, wherever you are, we're taking my celebration to the street! Unless it rains.

Silent Night