So to begin where it really began, let’s go back to my Northern California trip last fall, when I took an unexpected detour to the Soledad Mission (or Mission Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, if you prefer). It wasn’t the first mission I’ve been to—that would be Santa Barbara—but that’s where I saw a display with models of California’s twenty-one missions, and that got me thinking: why not see Capistrano, where the swallows famously return on St. Joseph’s Day each spring? For a better view of that model, however...
...let’s jump ahead a few months and about 330 miles south to the model at Mission San Juan Capistrano itself. The mission—the only one in Orange County, in fact—has quite the history of triumphs and setbacks: It was founded twice, on a site consecrated by the Franciscans in 1775 but soon abandoned due to native unrest, then reconsecrated a year later. After that, things went well for a time, with the mission establishing California’s first vineyard and expanding to include the Great Stone Church you see on the right there. But then the latter was devastated in an earthquake, and once Capistrano was secularized in the 1830s, it was used as a private ranch until Abe Lincoln returned it to the Catholic Church in 1865. Even then, it was another thirty years before anyone attempted to undo the disrepair the mission had fallen into, and longer still—1910—before Father St. John O’Sullivan arrived and effected a permanent restoration.
And that’s the short version. So how does the place look a century after Father O’Sullivan stepped in?
Well, none too bad, considering; I can see why it’s called “the Jewel of the Missions.” This is the plaza area—you can see one corner of the main quadrangle on the left, and on the right, a surviving wall of the Stone Church. Fire up some Ink Spots, then let’s start with the latter.
So this is what remains of the Great Stone Church. Due to the mission’s initial successes, a magnificent sandstone cathedral was commissioned to supplant the original chapel in the main quadrangle; construction began in 1797 and completed in 1806. With its Byzantine influences, it was unlike anything in America at the time (and even called “the American Acropolis”), but it only lasted six years—on the Feast Day of the Immaculate Conception in December 1812, a 7.0-magnitude earthquake struck, collapsing the bell tower and most of the nave, killing forty congregants and the two young bell ringers. Time and neglect did the rest; restoration efforts have seen limited results, to the point that only the sacristy and sanctuary are largely intact, though the transept and nave walls are partially standing as well.
Even less remains of the bell tower, however—just the footprint, where the two largest of the mission’s four original bells, also damaged in the quake, now sit. Each bell was named after a saint, so here we have San Vicente and San Juan; surprisingly, they remained in use for decades despite their cracked tones, until finally being replaced with replicas in 2000.
As for San Antonio and San Rafael—and Vicente/Juan 2.0—they remain in place in the campanario, the bell wall connecting the Stone Church and the quadrangle, and are still rung on a regular basis. In fact, they’re having a bell-ringing ceremony today to welcome the swallows back—guess I’d better hurry to the plaza side of the wall if I’m to catch that, huh?
Aw, the crowd beat me to it. Everybody present cameras...and go!
Ladies and gentlemen, your rhythm section.
But did the bells summon the birds, you ask? Honestly, my expectations were low because fewer swallows have been reported in recent years, probably due to the area becoming more urbanized and the birds having more options for nesting sites than the mission’s eaves and archways. And I mean, if I’d just flown in from my Argentinean migration, I’d probably want a little more privacy too. Still, there were a few viewing stations set up with binoculars zeroed in on existing mud nests, such as this fourplex under the roof tiles, in case they decided to grace us with their presence.
Nothing yet.
Nonetheless, the mission holds festivities on St. Joseph’s Day for people hoping to see the prospective swallows, with food, crafts, performers, and other such fare—it basically goes back to O’Sullivan himself, who used the tradition of the swallows to drum up interest in the mission. Hey, whatever means a good opportunity for me to tour the place while the crowd’s distracted. Well, and sneak in a shot with the cutouts.
And where better to start my solo tour than the Serra Chapel? So named because it’s the only place Junipero Serra is known to have held Mass, although it’s also notable as the oldest extant building in California to have been in continuous use since its construction in 1782; after the collapse of the Stone Church, services resumed here and continue to the present day. Granted, there were a few lost decades where it didn’t serve as a chapel—when Father O’Sullivan arrived, it was actually being used as a granary—but that counts toward the record, and more importantly, he was able to make it a cornerstone of the mission’s restoration, from installing a new roof to touching up the colorful wall ornamentation.
On the way up the aisle, between the Stations of the Cross, we find the mission’s namesake, San Juan Capistrano, originally known as Giovanni da Capistrano of Italy, a 15th-century theologian famous for going into battle armed with only a cross and a flag. Ballsy. Actually, even this painting has some crazy history behind it, having been lost for years until it turned up in a flea market in Mexico, where it was bought and returned to the mission. What were the odds?
But the obvious centerpiece of the chapel is the 400-year-old retablo, a stunning Baroque altar of gilded Spanish cedar that was shipped over from Barcelona in nearly 400 pieces, then reassembled here, requiring that O’Sullivan have the sanctuary deepened and the ceiling raised in order to accommodate it. Kind of hard to quibble with the end result, though.
One other noteworthy feature of the Serra Chapel that I’ll mention: the Peregrine Shrine, dedicated to St. Peregrinus, patron of cancer patients and, more recently, AIDS patients, where worshipers can come light a votive and add their prayers to a book. I wouldn’t normally do this, but with a couple of people I know dealing with ailments at the moment, I couldn’t very well not make an entry of my own. Hopefully Peregrinus can make out my paw-writing—I do the best I can without thumbs, you know?
Then right outside the chapel is the campo santo, the mission’s cemetery, where some 2,000+ people are buried, including the native converts who died in the Stone Church’s collapse as well as Father O’Sullivan himself, who was the last person to be interred here. Rest well, Padre; your work continues, with your mission still standing and still beautiful.
I also swung through the quadrangle, where many of the rooms are on display as recreations of their original functions—kitchens, pantries, workrooms, or in this case, soldiers’ barracks. Probably most notably, the soldiers stationed here had to fend off an attack from Hipólito de Bouchard, “California’s only pirate”...and lost. To be fair, they were outnumbered four to one, but I guess we should just be happy Bouchard’s men left the place standing at all.
Fun aside: You know how historically, people tended to be shorter than they are today? Look at this shrimpy little doorway—for reference, I’m 1’2”, including the ears.
I also stopped by the California Missions Resource Studio, AKA the kids’ room. Among other things, they have a display of the cattle brands for all twenty-one California missions, which I immediately jumped on—might as well add to my rubbings collection, right? Although instead of Capistrano’s brand, I chose the one that was closest to my initial, which belonged to Mission San Gabriel Arcángel. A future stop? We shall see.
All the while, though, I kept one eye skyward whenever we were outside, always looking for swallows. No such luck—birds, I saw, but crows are what I specifically heard. Big deal. I can hear those at home any given day!
So for lack of any other avian payoff, I went ahead and stopped by the gift shop, where I...bought a swallow charm. Yeah, it’s not remotely the same. Better luck next year?
Of course, that’s all the more reason to come the day of the festival—even if I don’t see a single swallow, at least I can still spend the afternoon eating my weight in churros. So I suppose I’d best get started on that; never know when the vendors might start running low on cinnamon sugar, right?
Three missions down, eighteen to go! Uh, eventually.
