Annie Vargas Maciel ~An Extraordinary Ordinary Life
February 10, 1900 ~ February 15, 1998
Anna Francisca Vargas was born at the dawn of a new century on February 10, 1900, in Warm Springs, California. Annie was one of ten children born to Azorean immigrants, Jose Francisco Vargas from Castelo Branco, Faial, and Anna Caetana Lourenco from Santa Cruz, Flores. At birth, Annie was very tiny and had a very weak cry. At her baptism, her godfather looked at his little godchild and said "Coitadinha (Poor little thing) She won't live long, as she is very, very weak." Her mother washed all of the family handkerchiefs in preparation for the tears that would be shed when her little Annie passed away.
Not long after Annie's birth, a gypsy woman stopped in at the Vargas household. She used to come once a year to buy chickens, eggs and butter. Mother Anna cried as she showed the woman her new little baby girl. The gypsy approached Annie's bed and took her tiny hand into her own. She looked at her palm and said, "This little girl is going to live through her eighties." The gypsy visitor underestimated Annie's lifespan, as she lived to be almost 98 years old.
Annie's beginnings set the tone for her life. Annie never gave up on whatever life gave her, always looked forward toward the positive, and always survived. Annie attended a few years of formal education but soon quit to help her father in the fields. She married a young immigrant from Pedro Miguel, Faial, Jose Ignacio Maciel, when she was just sixteen, and became his partner and support in all things. Annie and Joe E. Maciel had four children, Anita, Isabel, Tony and Manuel. Joe first worked on hay press operations and Annie worked as the hay-press cook, putting in grueling hours during the hay season. The couple spent the rest of their life farming, almost exclusively on a share crop basis, and on rented property, first in Fremont, and later in the Vernalis area with their two sons.
What sets her apart from those around her was her acceptance of her life circumstances, her self-less ways, her undying practical faith, and her spunky happy spirit throughout. She lived in, what might be considered by some, a series of hand me down shacks and would "go to work", as she would say, and wallpaper over holes and paint away abused walls. She made her children clothes out of flour sacks during the Depression, planted a garden to supply the bounty of her table, and declared that they were not affected by those poor times. With a fourth grade education, she took care of the books and payroll of her family farming operation. Annie never had a crowded closet and never seemed to mind. Her clothes were made at home or ordered from a catalogue. Always frugal, she repaired holes in clothing, and spent hours washing and ironing. She lived long enough to make First Communion dresses for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. What Annie knew best was work, and if there was work to be done, she would not rest. Annie was known for her Portuguese beans that she cooked every day for most of her life. Annie cooked for her family, for hay press teams, for her workingmen, for hobos who came to her door, for every visitor that stopped to say hello, and for every great-grandchild who could not leave her without a container of chocolate chip cookies. Annie was the last person standing at any holiday meal and would not rest until the kitchen was clean. Annie did not travel the world and rarely left home, but she came to her granddaughter's home, at the age of eighty-three, to take care of the household with young children, so that her granddaughter could travel to see the land of their ancestry, the Azores, with Annie's daughter, Isabel, and husband, Ernest Vargas. She had no thought to go herself but delighted in giving that gift to her loved ones. She paid for her daughter Anita to go with them. She took care of her husband after he had a stroke, and nursed him in his last days, until he passed away when she was seventy years old. After that, she lived with her daughter Isabel and remained "on call" for any family member that might need her. She took care of her daughter, Anita, when she had a heart attack and traveled to her granddaughter Susan's house with the birth of each new great-grandchild. She came to stay with her great-grandson John, when he broke his collarbone in a grammar school biking upset, just so she could wait on him, hand and foot. She did what no mother should ever have to do and sat by the side of her daughter, Isabel, to say the rosary and wipe her brow when she died of cancer when Annie was eighty-nine years old. With the duties of home and farm, she rarely went to church, but she prayed her rosary every day of her long life for her loved ones who had gone before her.

While she truly was a living saint, she had a spunky, mischievous side to her personality. For her son, who raided her cocoanut container, she filled it with soap flakes. She would stick out her furrowed tongue for her great-grandchildren and tell them "This is what happens when you tell a lie." When asked what her medications were for at the age of 90, she counted off things such as "This is for being nice. This is for good thoughts and this is for……." and mentioned the delights of a marital bed with a twinkle in her eye. Her last years were clouded by dementia, but until the end, while her mind and body failed her, she prayed her rosary and thought about what she would feed her boys that she believed would be soon coming in from the fields to her kitchen table. She gave the ultimate gift to her family, the gift of, no matter what, her everlasting and unconditional love.Copyright Susan Vargas Murphy. All rights reserved.