A key player in the development of this astonishing cornucopia was the famed horticulturist Luther Burbank. Born on a Massachusetts farm in the gold rush year of 1849, Burbank recalled that one of the first words he ever heard was "California." As a boy, he observed the smallest details of plant growth and soon began experimenting with grafting and cross-pollination. His first commercial success was a new breed of potato, bigger and whiter than the common red-skinned potatoes of his day. Soon his "Burbank russet" was the potato of choice for farmers everywhere.

Luther Burbank used his potato money to move to California in 1875. He settled in Santa Rosa, a gardener's paradise he called "the chosen spot of all this earth." From his experimental gardens came eight hundred new varieties of vegetables and flowers, including over a hundred types of plums and prunes, more than fifty lilies, and ten new berries. He took special pride in his new breeds of apples, rhubarb, and quince. Somewhere along the way, he also managed to perfect the Calla lily and the Shasta daisy.

Not all of Burbank's experiments were successful. His new strain of white blackberries never caught on, and his pitless prunes failed to generate much enthusiasm. His most magnificent failure   was his attempt to develop a spineless cactus as a feed for livestock. He never could eliminate the spines entirely. Cattle turned up their noses (is that possible?) at the cacti, even when their spines were nothing but "tiny little prickles." Burbank had a smidgen of success though, marketing the cactus as chicken feed. A fellow promoter developed a machine that cut the cactus slabs into worm-like bites that would fool most chickens, creatures whose palates apparently were less discriminating than those of the typical barnyard bovine.

Each new discovery increased Luther Burbank's fame. A steady stream of visitors--including Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, and Helen Keller--made a pilgrimage to meet this magical, mystical Californian. With sparkling blue eyes and a lively sense of humor, he was universally well-liked. But he was also painfully shy, uncomfortable with crowds or public speaking. He preferred to spend his time in his beloved gardens and greenhouses, where passersby would strain to get a glimpse of this gardener touched with genius, the wizard of Santa Rosa.