Redlands, California: The Citrus Empire Town Time Forgot
- Natalija Ugrina
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
I can’t believe I lived in Los Angeles for so many years and never made it to Redlands.
This place was hiding in plain sight — quietly sitting inland while I drove past, flew over, and planned trips everywhere else. And yet, the moment I arrived, I knew this was exactly the kind of town I’m drawn to. Calm. Historic. A little mysterious. And filled with Victorian architecture that feels almost untouched.
Southern California usually rushes at you — freeways, sprawl, noise, constant movement. Redlands does the opposite. It feels like it made its money, built something beautiful, and then quietly stepped aside to let time do its thing. I slowed down here without even meaning to. Streets felt calmer. Buildings felt intentional. And the deeper I went, the more Redlands started to feel like a town hiding secrets in plain sight.
This isn’t just another charming California town. Redlands was once one of the wealthiest places in the state, built almost entirely on oranges — and somehow, it never erased that past. Instead, it preserved it. Sometimes a little too well… which might explain the ghost stories.
For anyone who loves Victorian architecture, forgotten history, and towns that don’t scream for attention, Redlands is a hidden gem.
How Redlands Became a Citrus Empire
Redlands didn’t become wealthy by accident — it was almost engineered that way. In the late 1800s, Southern California was still largely agricultural, but Redlands had two major advantages: a warm Mediterranean climate and early investment in irrigation. Settlers channeled water to transform dry land into productive citrus groves, creating ideal conditions for orange growing long before much of inland California was developed. When the railroad arrived in the 1880s, everything changed. Oranges grown in Redlands could suddenly be shipped quickly and reliably to markets across the country, at exactly the moment when national demand for fresh fruit was rising.
By the 1890s, citrus in Redlands was no longer small-scale farming — it was a serious business. Wealthy investors purchased land, citrus associations formed, and orange production became highly organized, with a strong focus on quality control, branding, and packaging. Redlands oranges developed a national reputation, especially as winter fruit for colder parts of the United States. The timing was perfect, and the profits were substantial. At its peak, Redlands became one of the wealthiest towns per capita in California, and that wealth didn’t stay hidden. It funded grand homes, public libraries, educational institutions, and carefully planned neighborhoods designed to project permanence and confidence.
It actually reminded me of another place shaped almost entirely by a single industry and sudden wealth — Quincy, Florida, once known as the town of Coca-Cola millionaires, where fortunes were made quickly and left behind architecture far grander than you’d ever expect. I wrote about that story here: https://www.natalijaugrina.com/post/quincy-florida-the-town-of-coca-cola-millionaires
And just like Quincy, Redlands kept its physical legacy long after the money moved on. Even after the citrus empire faded, the buildings, institutions, and layout of the town remained. Walking through Redlands today, you’re still surrounded by the results of that carefully built citrus economy — a place shaped by oranges, railroads, and the belief that what they were creating would matter long after the groves were gone.
Architecture Built With Orange Money — and Confidence
One of the first things you notice in Redlands is how old it feels — in the best way.
Entire neighborhoods are filled with Victorian, Craftsman, Classical Revival, and early Mission-style homes, many built between the late 1800s and early 1900s. These weren’t quick builds. They were statements. Wide porches, decorative woodwork, detailed gables — homes meant to last generations.
A standout example is Kimberly Crest House & Gardens, an Italian Renaissance-style mansion built in 1897. It’s dramatic, elegant, and a clear reflection of how much money citrus brought into Redlands. But it’s not alone — it’s simply the most visible reminder of a much larger architectural legacy.
What makes Redlands special is restraint. These homes weren’t replaced with high-rises or parking structures. They were absorbed into everyday life. People still live in them. Walk past them. Maintain them. And that continuity gives the town an almost eerie sense of stability.
For lovers of Victorian architecture, this town feels like a quiet dream.
The Smiley Brothers and a Library That Feels Like a Time Capsule
This isn’t just a beautiful old library — it’s one of the most important buildings in Redlands.
The A.K. Smiley Public Library opened in 1898, right at the height of the town’s citrus wealth. It was a gift from brothers Albert and Alfred Smiley, successful hotel owners and philanthropists who believed public buildings should reflect ambition, education, and civic pride. They didn’t just donate books — they funded the building itself and chose a Romanesque Revival design intentionally. That’s why the library feels so solid the moment you see it, with thick stone walls, rounded arches, high ceilings, and original woodwork that signal permanence rather than trend.
What makes this library especially special is that it still functions as a working public library today, not a museum frozen in time. You can walk in, sit down, and experience the space almost exactly as people did more than a century ago. That continuity is rare in Southern California. It’s also why this building plays such a big role in Redlands’ ghost stories — staff and visitors have reported unexplained footsteps, voices, and cold spots after hours. Haunted or not, the Smiley Library tells you everything you need to know about Redlands: when the town had money, it chose to invest in something meaningful — and it never let it go.
Why Is There a Lincoln Shrine in Redlands? (And the Story Behind It)
This is where Redlands surprised me the most.
The Lincoln Shrine exists here not because Abraham Lincoln ever came to Redlands — he didn’t. He died in 1865, and the town didn’t even exist yet. During Lincoln’s lifetime, this area was still undeveloped land. Which immediately raises the obvious question: why here?
The answer leads back to one man: Robert Watchorn, a British immigrant who rose from poverty to become a respected labor leader and public official in the United States. Watchorn deeply admired Lincoln, not just as a president, but as a symbol of moral endurance — a man shaped by hardship, responsibility, and loss. Later in life, after Watchorn lost his son, that admiration turned deeply personal. He began collecting Lincoln-related materials obsessively, not as memorabilia, but as historical evidence: original letters, documents, manuscripts, and rare publications.
As the collection grew, Watchorn wanted it preserved publicly, not hidden away or sold. When the shrine opened in 1932, it was designed not as a traditional museum, but as a memorial space — and you feel that immediately when you walk inside.
What you’ll actually see inside is surprisingly intimate. The exhibits focus on Lincoln as a human being, not a monument. You’ll find original documents and letters written in Lincoln’s own hand, early manuscripts, and rare printed materials that trace his thoughts, values, and personal struggles. The displays explore his early life, his views on democracy and equality, and the emotional weight he carried long before the Civil War ever began.
The space itself is intentionally quiet and restrained. There’s no spectacle, no overwhelming multimedia, no rush. The layout encourages you to slow down, read, and reflect. It feels less like walking through a museum and more like sitting inside someone’s private archive — which, in a way, it is.
Once you know the story behind the shrine, the atmosphere makes sense. This isn’t a place-marker or a tourist attraction built to draw crowds. Redlands became the caretaker of someone else’s grief, devotion, and belief in Lincoln’s moral legacy. And that decision gives the shrine a weight that lingers long after you leave.
You don’t walk out thinking, I’ve seen everything. You walk out thinking, that was unexpectedly personal — which might be the most Lincoln thing about it.
Top Things to See in Redlands, California
Redlands isn’t about rushing from attraction to attraction. It’s about wandering — and letting the town reveal itself.
Some places, though, truly define it:
A.K. Smiley Public Library — even standing outside sets the tone
Kimberly Crest House & Gardens — citrus-era wealth frozen in time
Abraham Lincoln Shrine — one of the most unexpected and emotionally powerful sites in town
Downtown Redlands — one of the rare Southern California downtowns that survived intact
The University of Redlands campus — calm, cohesive, and deeply rooted in the town’s identity
Prospect Park — views, history, and intentional quiet
The Historical Glass Museum — an unexpected but fascinating look at everyday life during the citrus era
The Unexpected Stop: Redlands’ Historical Glass Museum
This was one of those places I didn’t expect much from — and ended up really enjoying.
The Historical Glass Museum is dedicated entirely to everyday glass from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the exact period when Redlands was thriving as a citrus town. Inside, you’ll see shelves filled with antique bottles, jars, medicine containers, household glassware, and early commercial packaging — the kinds of objects most people never think twice about, but which quietly shaped daily life.
And then it clicked why this place works so well here.
Glass was essential to the citrus era. It preserved food, carried medicine, held tonics and cleaning products, and made branding and mass distribution possible. While the mansions and libraries show where the money went, this museum shows how the system actually worked on an everyday level. It’s history told through objects people used, touched, and depended on.
What made me smile was realizing this museum was once featured by Huell Howser on California’s Gold — which makes perfect sense. It’s exactly the kind of hyper-specific, quietly fascinating place he loved. The museum feels more like stepping into a carefully curated archive than a polished attraction. There’s no spectacle, no rushing, just case after case of objects that tell stories if you take the time to look.
It’s small, focused, and surprisingly absorbing. And in a town built on forgotten wealth, it adds an important layer — reminding you that history isn’t only preserved in grand buildings, but also in the ordinary things people once held in their hands.
Victorian Homes Worth Slowing Down For
If you love Victorian architecture, Redlands quietly overdelivers.
Barton Villa, built in 1867, is the oldest surviving building in Redlands — dating back to a time before the town officially existed. It stood here long before the citrus boom reshaped everything.
Edwards Mansion and Morey Mansion, both built in 1890, reflect peak citrus-era confidence. These homes weren’t meant to be temporary. They were declarations of permanence.
Walking past them doesn’t feel like visiting a museum. It feels like stepping into a town that never doubted its future.
The Most Haunted Places in Redlands
With this much preserved history, ghost stories were inevitable.
The historic library is often considered the most haunted spot in town. Staff and visitors have reported unexplained footsteps, cold spots, whispering sounds, and the unsettling feeling of being watched — especially after hours.
Kimberly Crest has its own long list of stories. Lights turning on by themselves. Doors opening. Footsteps echoing through empty rooms.
That quiet eeriness reminded me of other places where history feels just a little too intact — like Castroville, California, with its unexpected Marilyn Monroe connection and strange, layered past, which I wrote about here:
Where Did the Wealth Go?
This is the question I kept coming back to as I walked around Redlands.
Because the money was obviously here. You don’t build mansions, libraries, universities, and entire neighborhoods like this by accident. And yet, Redlands isn’t flashy today. It’s comfortable. Quiet. Almost modest.
So what happened?
The citrus wealth didn’t disappear overnight — it slowly unraveled, piece by piece.
First came land pressure. As Southern California expanded in the early to mid-20th century, land became more valuable for housing than for farming. Large citrus groves that once generated serious income were gradually sold off and subdivided. Oranges couldn’t compete with real estate prices.
Then came water issues. Citrus farming depends heavily on reliable water, and as Southern California grew, water became more complex, more regulated, and more expensive. What had once been an ideal agricultural setup became harder to sustain at scale.
Railroads also lost their dominance. Redlands’ rise was tied closely to rail transportation, which allowed oranges to reach distant markets quickly. As transportation systems shifted and agriculture centralized elsewhere, Redlands lost one of its biggest advantages.
And finally, there was economic diversification — or rather, the lack of urgency for it. Redlands didn’t pivot aggressively into industry, ports, or manufacturing the way other California cities did. Instead, it transitioned quietly into a residential and educational town. The university remained. Civic institutions stayed strong. But the days of extreme wealth were over.
What makes Redlands unusual is that it didn’t panic when this happened.
Many boomtowns tried to reinvent themselves loudly — tearing down old buildings, chasing the next big industry, replacing history with something trendier. Redlands didn’t. It adjusted slowly. It let groves turn into neighborhoods. It allowed wealth to disperse rather than concentrate.
And because of that, the physical evidence of its richest era survived.
The money didn’t vanish — it settled.
It settled into endowments, into land ownership, into institutions, and into architecture that was never meant to be temporary. That’s why Redlands still feels so intact. Not frozen, but grounded.
Walking through town, you’re not looking at ruins of a failed boom. You’re looking at the remains of a place that knew when to stop expanding — and didn’t destroy itself trying to stay on top.
And honestly? That restraint might be the most interesting part of Redlands’ story.
Final Thoughts: The Beauty of a Town That Didn’t Try Too Hard
Redlands feels like a town that never needed to prove itself.
It built wealth, invested in culture, preserved beauty, and then quietly stepped back. Today, that restraint feels rare. Almost rebellious. I still can’t believe I lived so close for so long and missed it.
In a state obsessed with reinvention, Redlands chose continuity.
And maybe that’s why it feels slightly mysterious. Slightly haunted. And unexpectedly unforgettable.
Some places don’t disappear. They just wait for the right kind of traveler to notice them.
