Santa Barbara Attractions

Our first stop was the Queen of the Missions, as it is known. High on a rise between the Santa Ynez Mountains and the churning Pacific, its setting was the most regal of the missions we visited.

The mission was founded in 1786 (it was the 10th), but those original humble adobes are long gone. The chapel that stands today, which has doors that open toward the sea, was finished in 1820. The Franciscans introduced the Chumash to farming, and the mission was the center of a huge agricultural machine. Fields of wheat, barley, beans, peas and corn once stood here, and more than 11,000 head of sheep and 5,000 cattle grazed the land.

Our kids loved the graceful fountain out front. Amazed to hear that it was built 200 years ago, they re-examined it, noting the puckering goldfish in the murky water. We all agreed the fish was probably much younger. Inside the building, we walked on battered old tiles and beneath wood rafters during a short tour. Ben was fascinated by the swords, spurs and rifle on display in an ornate wood case, as well as the chess pieces and quill pen in another area. My daughter winced when she saw an especially bloody Jesus on the crucifix. "That," she said, "is very unpleasant."

The tour took us into the courtyard, with another fountain, six towering palms, rose bushes and lanterns complete with birds' nests. We couldn't hear any traffic in this hemmed-in space, just the mission's modern-day congregation singing "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" as Saturday services finished.

Our timing was perfect. We waited for the congregation to filter out and then strolled through the church, which is dotted with examples of 18th and 19th century Mexican art.

Outside, we met Father Richard McManus. "The most wonderful thing is not just all this history but that this is also a living church, a working parish," said the Irish-born McManus.

He directed us to the cemetery to take note of the mission's bit of celebrity: Juana María, the "Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island," the last surviving member of the Nicoleño tribe and the subject of the beloved children's book "Island of the Blue Dolphins."

Addison is a big fan of the book, and that got her to go past the skull carvings at the door of the graveyard. There was a grim, dark corridor lined with crypts -- some of them cracked open -- and we studied the names and dates and tried to imagine life here in this beautiful spot in those centuries when life was shorter and harsher and ghosts must have seemed much closer at hand.

"I'm getting a little creeped out," Ben said, and part of me agreed with him. We decided to call it a day, and we left happy and a bit haunted.

- Geoff Boucher, L.A. Times Staff Writer (March 11, 2008)