Spring brings the birth of a place
A deer is grazing at the water’s edge as the sun rides slowly
across the sky, and frogs call to each other in their perennial
chorus.
Spring brings the birth of a place
A deer is grazing at the water’s edge as the sun rides slowly across the sky, and frogs call to each other in their perennial chorus.
The deer’s ears suddenly quiver and it is motionless as it listens to a sound it has never heard before. Then it is gone silently into the brush away from the potential danger. The frogs’ chorus ceases.
A few minutes later a line of men in single file emerges, with pack mules bearing supplies and an Indian leading the way. It is March 21, 1772, and is the first time that Europeans have set foot upon what is now San Benito County.
The mules drink at the water’s edge and a few of the dozen or so soldiers dip their hands into it to wet their brows. It is only the first day of spring but marching in their heavy clothing can be hot work.
Meanwhile, a man in a long robe talks to the leader of the party and the latter nods. The priest prepares himself and the soldiers stand reverently with heads bowed as he raises his hands to the sky and prays.
Father Juan Crespi’s voice beseeches the blessing of God and he names the creek “San Benito,” Spanish for Saint Benedict who died on that day in 547. The prayer ended, Crespi stands for a few moments still in blissful communion with God. He shakes his head once and returns to the everyday world as Pedro Fages gently clasps his shoulder.
Crespi is 51, 13 years older than Fages, the commandante of Alta California, and has served his God and Spain in America for 23 years. Both are veterans of the frontier.
In them are embodied the Cross and the Sword by which the western part of that vast continent will be settled.
The party has come from Monterey the day before and will soon continue to San Francisco to build a presidio and eventually a mission. But the presidio is to come first as the port presents a tempting prize to other nations.
They camp that night on the banks of the arroyo and are up early the next morning to be on their way into history.
A small thing, the naming of an obscure creek but it presages many events: the establishment of a nearby mission 25 years later, the secession of Mexico from the motherland and the rise of a nation yet unborn that will hold dominance over the land and the teeming millions who will inhabit it.
As the party leaves the next morning, the dew is still on the grass and the bells tinkle gently on the mules’ harness. Soon the mules and men are out of sight and the tinkling trails off. A bird peeps inquiringly, others answer and the chorus of frogs resumes.
A dragonfly glides to the surface of the water and leaves a long wake upon it that expands to both sides of the creek until it vanishes into nothingness.
