An Old House

We decided to meet late in the day at the old ranch house, just four local ladies trying to be useful. We call ourselves the non-committee because we're very informal, but we do care about this house and have been involved in tending to it over the years. Now we walked along a gravel path through the orchard, past persimmon trees beginning to bear fruit, and there it stood before us, still grand.

A bit of background: The house was designed for Jim and Lottie Hollister by Bliss and Faville, which was the top San Francisco architectural firm in its day, and constructed in 1910. The Hollisters were both highly educated city folks who wanted a very comfortable, civilized house as a buffer against the rural isolation of this Gaviota land. It was built of redwood that was brought in by train and unloaded at the San Augustine siding. There were hardwood floors and French doors, redwood paneling and gold curtains, and an elegant stairway that led down from the upstairs hallway into the living room. It was a classy town house that stood a bit incongruously in the middle of this wild and often windy country.

J. Smeaton Chase, who traveled alone by horse along the California coast in 1911, was surprised by the sight of it. He wrote: At El Bulito Cañon, I caught a glimpse of the handsome large house of a local cattle baron. Gleaming white among noble oaks, it had the air of a French chateau.

Lottie cultivated luxurious gardens filled with exotic flowering plants that she ordered by mail from all over the world. There was a sun dial, a lily pond, and a lawn. A swimming pool was built in the 1930s, the first in Santa Barbara County. (It was filled with earth in 1970.)

Thick wisteria vines, spectacular when in bloom, still cling to the porch and the eaves. Kate Dole, who lived here during the early 1960s, once told us that the wisteria had grown so dense and tangled over the years that it had to be cut down with an ax just so people could to get to the door.

Early on, rats chewed up Lottie's sheepskin Ph.D. diploma, which seemed rather symbolic, and she never quite adjusted to the harsh and isolated life she found here. Weekly trips to Santa Barbara helped. Family members waved a red handkerchief to flag down the local commuter train at Drake Station near Santa Anita Canyon, a privilege granted them by the railroad in exchange for the right of way.

The house became known as the “Big House” and is referred to as the Hollister House today.

The composite photo at the top of this page (meticulously reshot and layered by Kam Jacoby) is of two of the Hollister children, Clint and Jane, pre-1920, standing before the house as it appears today.

It's fascinating all these years later to sit in the front room, its beautiful wood floor partially covered with a Persian rug, late afternoon sunlight slanting in through the wavy glass of the windows, a motley assortment of furnishings gathering dust, some of it fitting, some of it junk. We're deciding on priorities, what the landscape needs, what the kitchen is lacking, what should really be boxed and taken out of here. It's a small and pleasant way to be of service.

We remember Christmas parties in this house, with kids running around, and a jolly local Santa Claus hamming it up with his ho-ho-hos. There were murmurings of ghosts in the attic. We remember the year of El Niño, when it really did rain, stranding us all on this side of the creek and we held school for the children in here. There have been poetry readings in this house, and potlucks and lectures, and meetings both constructive and contentious. It's our community center, in a way, but a place where the past lingers too.

When our non-meeting ended we locked the door behind us with an old skeleton key. We looked up at the oak tree Jane used to climb.

The autumnal light was the same as it was a hundred years ago.