It is the middle of summer and daylight lingers til 8:00 for my evening walk. I put on my warm jacket, scarf and Irish beret to head for the little vegetable market, but the distant beach lured me down to the walk on Great Highway. The weather was dismal and cold, but I walked quickly soaking up all that my senses could hold. The sky was thick with gray misty fog, which clung to the ocean, giving the water the same gray somber color. The waves crested and fell as I had seen them before, but tonight the beauty of the surf looked sad and ominous. The Seagulls flew around as usual and a few people were out jogging and racing by me on their bicycles, but there was such stillness and quiet dreariness. I felt so alone.
Having lived here all my life, I should be used to this foggy weather. When I was a child, the schools closed for summer vacation for almost three months, and my family hardly ever went out of the city or the neighborhood, and we rarely went away on a vacation. I was exposed to the cold summers never really being aware that the rest of the country was basking in sunshine. I remember going to Fleishhacker Pool by the ocean to take swimming lessons. There has been a lot of nostalgia concerning this pool, but I disliked it immensely. We had to go into the cold bathhouses to don our swimming suits, and I remember coming out wrapped in a towel, wearing a tight swim cap, and shivering waiting to take lessons. As soon as I got into the frigid, ocean water and tasted the salt on my lips, I wanted to get out. The experience was torture. I didn't learn to swim until I went to Camp Fire Girl camp.
During those summer months, I know we played outdoors frequently, riding bikes, running up and down the blocks, playing games in the street, and I don't remember being cold--probably because we were active. We also went to the Parkside Theater for matinees and stayed indoors in our "rumpus" room making up adventures, coloring in coloring books, playing monopoly and reading "Little Lulu."
It was later when I was 12 years old that I was able to go to camp for a couple of weeks and discover a whole new environment, which I loved. We also went to a 'family friend's home "down the Peninsula" to play with their children and swim in their new pool. Another friend had a cabin in the Santa Cruz mountains, and I loved being outdoors in the forest, going for walks and spending hot afternoons swimming in the nearby community pool.
When my children were growing up, I suddenly felt some anxiety about not having a real summer.
I hadn't missed it when I was a small child, but by the time my kids were old enough to explore, I wanted sunshine. I would gather them into the car and off we'd go, looking for warmth. Usually I would head south,, finding a nice playground in San Mateo. Once I felt adventurous and took the train to San Jose to go to a park there, but what I didn't know was that there was no bus to the park. A nice mother with children drove us down there, but I had to go back with her to the top of the grade, because I would have been stranded.
Every year we did take vacations--driving to Canada, Colorado, Grand Tetons, and going to Camp Mather, and then camping in Yosemite. I loved the outdoors and dreamt of living in the mountains, so when we had the chance, we bought a cabin in the Sierra's where we spent many a summer swimming and hiking.
Now that my family is grown and have their own children and lives, I find myself back in "My fair City" looking out my back window at the dense, drippy fog. I long again to find the sunshine. On Fourth of July, my husband and I went looking for some warmth and rediscovered a delightful place, only 20 miles from our home. It was the Pulgas Water Temple, built as a shrine to the monumental feat of bringing the water from the Tuolumne River in the Sierras all the way across the Central Valley to us people on the coast. The grounds were well manicured and the surrounding areas on Crystal Springs Lake offered some hiking trails. The Crystal Springs Reservoir and Lake is located east of the coastal mountains and protected from the fog.
Now when my spirits are low due to the wet, dense fog, I can remind myself that I live in a magnificently beautiful city, surrounded on three sides by water and coastal mountains in the distance. If I really want sun, it is only a few miles away--down the highway, across the bridge or over Twin Peaks to downtown and the Bay. I can also remember that the fog does have benefits-- when the rest of the country is sweltering and forest fires are raging, it is cool where I live. When we drive over the Bay Bridge after crossing the hot valley, the fog pouring over the hills is such a welcome sight. It always feels good to come home.
