Author: punchwpadmin

words by  Sophia Markoulakis

When a tweenage Taylor A. Humphrey visited her local Redwood City library with her mother, she wasn’t enticed by the latest Baby-Sitters Club novel. Instead, she made a beeline for the non-fiction section (929 to be exact)—to scour the shelves for books on baby names. 

“I have a distinct memory of getting frustrated in the children’s book section and asking my mom, ‘Where are the baby-naming books,’” she laughs. “I always felt a little dorky, having this weird interest in baby names. I was the oldest grandchild on both sides of my family, so I was obsessed with babies. We did big Sunday suppers growing up, and there was always a gaggle of kids. I was so interested in the names my aunts and uncles were choosing.”

Years later, Taylor morphed her quirky hobby of collecting baby names into a baby-naming consultancy. She founded “What’s in a Baby’s Name” in 2015, but the circumstances behind the launch had less to do with business plans and spreadsheets and more to do with a sudden move back home.

The charismatic Emerald Hills native and NYU grad was living in New York pursuing creative endeavors when she received a call from her mother saying that her grandmother had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. “This was a shock to the family since my grandfather had died from the disease 20 years earlier. Ironically, my grandmother founded the Bay Area’s largest Parkinson’s support group as a result of his diagnosis,” Taylor reflects. While home, Taylor was also dealing with her own health struggles, which she discovered later to be an autoimmune disorder. The next few years were spent either caring for her grandmother and her emotional wellbeing or tending to her own wellness. But, like the consummate optimist she is, Taylor saw the silver lining in leaving her New York life behind as it provided space for her to pull out her old journals and books on baby names and conceive her bespoke business.

“I started blogging about my favorite baby names on Instagram as a creative outlet. I wrote about the significance and the numerology associations behind different names and the personality traits those names often carried, and people went crazy for it,” recalls Taylor. She immediately witnessed a lot of engagement and realized that she was destined to do this: “Choosing that one name that you and others are going to call your child for the rest of their life is such a sacred act.”

Her first client had been following her for a while before he reached out to her for assistance. A towheaded blond boy with the given name, Theodore, was born soon after. “I still keep in touch with my early clients; many of them send me photos and holiday cards,” notes Taylor. Today, her clients span the globe, and she consults with them from the moment they reach out until the baby is born. 

Baby Name Trends

“I’m seeing a resurgence of the use of family names like Elizabeth, Ruby, Grace and Eleanor. If you look at the top 50 names, many of them are from past generations, and they’re all coming back,” Taylor says. She also points to using surnames as first names as a huge trend. “Names like Sutton, Bennett, Collins, Banks, Jackson, etc. feel very strong and timeless.” Citing BabyCenter, Taylor shares that the most popular names for 2021 were Olivia and Liam. For 2022, one hot predicted trend won’t come as a surprise to millions of sweaty cyclists: people naming their babies after top Peloton instructors. 

Taylor’s rate varies on the intensity of the service. Some clients struggle with the challenge; and often, Taylor is tasked with being a sort of marriage counselor. (Taylor estimates that 80 percent of her client couples can’t agree on a name.) Others just need a little insight and nudge and a name can “appear” rather quickly. One client contacted her while being discharged from the hospital. “They wouldn’t let her leave until they filled out the birth certificate,” recounts Taylor, “and they couldn’t decide on a name, so I coached them through the decision-making process on the spot.”

When someone inquires about her service, Taylor obtains as much information as possible about the family through a lengthy questionnaire. Once she reviews it, she meets with them virtually to get a better understanding of what they are looking for. “It’s a highly intuitive process backed with a lot of research. I use the Social Security Administration’s data on baby names. I have my own categorical list of names going back a century,” she explains. “The questionnaire really identifies the major pillars of a family like religion, community, work, activism and extracurricular activities like sports.” By tapping into a client’s lifestyle, Taylor can home in on names that are resonant and appropriate. Insights into a family’s background, i.e. geography or benchmark memories, can lead to names that provide provenance and meaning.

A visit to Taylor’s website reveals additional services, which she considers holistic additions. Just as her grandmother’s diagnosis ushered in a new opportunity, her passing also created space for Taylor’s interest in childbirth and spiritual and energy healing.

She describes witnessing her grandmother’s transition from life to death as a transformative experience. At that moment, Taylor decided that she was ready to help with other transitions—bringing life into the world instead of ushering it out. “As it turns out, there’s a profession for that, and it’s called being a doula,” she laughs. In 2018, Taylor began her doula training, and in 2019, she became a certified Reiki practitioner. 

She views the new offerings as enhancements to her baby-naming business, since she considers the work very energetic and intuitive. “I use Reiki as a method to really tune in to the baby’s spirit and then find a name that matches that baby’s personality,” Taylor says. “I’m not there to give them all of the answers, but I’m there to guide them through the process of establishing a relationship with their unborn child.” 

What’s in Taylor’s Name?

While going through old photos, Taylor recently discovered a list of baby names that her parents had prepared in 1987. “Oh my gosh, this weird obsession came from somewhere after all. My parents were ahead of their time. They had a very clear aesthetic when it came to names,” she says. One of the names on the list was ‘Wallace,’ and Taylor feels fortunate that she ended up with the name she has even if she was named after an ‘80s soap opera star (Taylor Miller). “I actually think that ‘Wallace’ is a very chic and cutting-edge name, and no one is using it,” she observes. “They gave me a more feminine middle name—Alexandra—and I really do feel like I embody my name.”

words by Sloane Citron

My family, except for our son who lives in Israel, was finally all getting together to light the candles on the last night of Hanukkah, the holiday of the miracle. It’s called that because 2,200 years ago, after the Maccabean Jews regained control of Jerusalem and rededicated the Temple, there was only enough oil for one night for lighting the Temple lamp and yet it lasted eight nights.

The 14 of us planned to assemble early on Sunday afternoon after my daughter Arielle, her husband Danny and their two sons (one a newborn) flew in from their home in Los Angeles. It was a day that I had been looking forward to, since I knew that this year the two older grandchildren, having recently turned three, were mature enough to have some understanding of what we were doing, be able to sing the prayers and songs and enjoy opening their presents. 

While the clean-up is a bit onerous and falls to me, I love the absolute commotion of these get-togethers. My wife was smart and ordered a bouncy house for the backyard, since, with six grandchildren, it was definitely a party. One family after another arrived, the kids streaming inside to see their cousins, their aunts and uncles, their safta and saba. The house reverberated with the cacophony of voices, screams and singing.   

The bouncy house was a big hit, and the kids spent close to an hour cascading off the sides of the air-filled play towers, the netted walls and each other. An occasional collision caused some momentary tears before the affected were quickly back into action. Except for the newborn, they all loved rolling around, shooting balls into the rubber hoop and jumping into each other.

When the sun went down around five, we calmed the children down a bit and prepared for the big event—lighting the candles. There was one Hanukkiah for each family, four in all. Thanks to my kids and their spouses, their children already have a good grasp of the prayers and songs that are all part of the lighting ceremony. Seeing all nine candles (one is used for lighting) brightly burning, the overhead lights turned off for effect, was a spectacular sight and a special spiritual moment for us all.

One of the challenges for little Jewish kids is learning the difference between birthday candles, which, of course, they get to blow out, and the candles for Shabbat and our holidays, which decidedly they do not get to blow out. So there is a moment of indecision for the children when their initial inclination is to blow and their parents have to yank them away so that the candles can burn down naturally.

Once this was done, it was time for presents. We are not really a “wrapping” family and each family—oldest child Josh and wife Adara going first—took their turn handing out their gifts. This meant, though, that each child received six or more exciting new things to pore over, from books to stuffed animals to Paw Patrol backpacks and Thomas train sets. Of course, it was too much, but there was great joy in seeing their happy faces. Then it was time for dinner, which, because no one wanted to take away time from the get together, we ordered in from a local restaurant. Lots of salmon, salad and fries. Of course, we had latkes and applesauce, and dreidels and gold chocolate coins were flying everywhere.

Late that afternoon, however, before the candle lighting, we had decided to go on a walk around the block, a good way to have the kids burn off even more of their unlimited energy and a pleasant way to enjoy the autumn coolness. As we readied for the walk, however, my daughter Talia realized that she had accidentally forgotten to bring shoes for her youngest child Levi. I suggested she search her car to see if there were any hidden away, and after rummaging around she found one right foot shoe, but only that single one. My kids are easygoing about such things, which I think is a wonderful trait, and Talia and her husband Sam were fine with little Levi riding in a wagon with no shoes. 

“Just wait a minute,” I told them, and I ran upstairs to our attic and pulled out the first cardboard box resting there, full of old children’s clothes stored for some 25 years. I dumped the entire contents onto the floor, and there it was, one—and only one—little shoe, a left-footed boys desert boot that looked to be about the right size. I grabbed it and ran down to the front yard and placed it, Cinderella-like, onto Levi’s foot, where it fit perfectly. 

It was a magical moment, one that could not be planned or ever duplicated. We all laughed hysterically and agreed wholeheartedly that this was the true Hanukkah miracle of 2021! 

words by Lexi Friesel

If you live or spend any time in Belmont, you may have noticed that not all of the fire hydrants look the way you’ve come to expect. Whether you’re walking along a residential street or driving down busy El Camino or Ralston Avenue, colorfully decorated hydrants seem to pop up all over the place. Back in the early 1970s, in a tribute to the approaching U.S. bicentennial and Belmont’s 50th anniversary, residents rallied in a collective creative spirit to paint more than 300 city hydrants. Inspired by the larger “Paint a Plug for America” program, many of the hydrants captured patriotic characters—including Betsy Ross, John Hancock and Paul Revere—with additional themes ranging from robots to the San Francisco Giants. Jim McLaughlin, a former Belmont city clerk, suggested the idea and even wrote a poem, “The Happy Hydrants of Belmont,”to commemorate the initiative. The name “Happy Hydrants” stuck. Over the years, the number of hand-crafted plugs dwindled due to aging and weather damage—as well as new state standards enacted in the 1990s, which mandated uniform hydrant colors. Fortunately, many of Belmont’s “Happy Hydrants” got a reprieve from the law thanks to a bill sponsored by former state senator Quentin Kopp, and an estimated 50 to 60 are still around to catch your eye and elicit a smile.

It’s the December issue, which means another fresh take on our annual PUNCH list of creative and unexpected ways to serve our Peninsula community. Donating money is always a vital way to make a difference, but there’s also priceless value in your time. Read along for ideas that might resonate with your particular skills, talents and interests—and don’t forget that your help is needed all year-round. 

1. Horse Around
   

   There are a bunch of long faces at Wunderlich Park in Woodside that could use your attention and care to keep their tails happily swinging. The nonprofit Friends of Huddart & Wunderlich Parks (huddartwunderlichfriends.org/volunteer) are always looking for volunteers to help with their various equestrian programming. The museum, open on the weekends, could use an extra docent to explain the rich past of horse heritage in the park as well as a docent to guide their mini horse named Lightning who introduces children to the wonders of horse stewardship. The group could also use a hand with their education hikes and are on the lookout for naturalist docents who can lead groups through the park. All the training is provided by the nonprofit and volunteers can provide whatever time they have to give.
   

2. Help the Town
   

   Who knew that civic duty could be so fun? Whether you like to swing a hammer or a golf club, you can find all sorts of ways to contribute in your local neighborhood. For example, in Belmont, the parks and recreation department is looking for help to maintain public facilities such as parks, park benches and picnic tables. If you choose to adopt a full park, expect to yank weeds and pick up litter to keep a particular park in its best shape. There’s also the opportunity to refurbish benches and tables or even update community bulletin boards. Email parksrec@belmont.gov to learn more. If your home turf is San Mateo, there’s a need for volunteer golf marshals to assist players and cart staff and work with the pro shop to keep the city’s Poplar Creek Golf Course humming. The time commitment is one seven-hour shift per week and training occurs at the course. Bonus: complimentary golf privileges are offered for your service time. Reach out to Leo Loane, the volunteer marshal program coordinator, at loane10@yahoo.com to learn more.

   

3. Art Ambassador
   

   It’s nearly a guarantee that you won’t find another volunteer option that celebrates art inside of a mall. The Peninsula Museum of Art in San Bruno (located within the The Shops at Tanforan) is hoping to find motivated people who want to contribute their time and skills towards developing the space into a vital art resource for the community. Volunteers are needed to help staff the space (at least one shift per week) and contribute to their evolving vision. PMA welcomes those who are curious about diverse emerging and established Bay Area art and artists and want to help connect our community. No experience needed. Training is provided and you can reach them through peninsulamuseum@gmail.com.
   

4. Extra Care for Kids
   

   There With Care, an organization designed to assist families with children who are facing critical illnesses, is a program that excels in coalescing. When a family is struck with a tragedy for its youngest, There With Care supports them by removing obstacles and distractions that prevent the family from focusing on their loved one. Always seeking volunteers, the organization is in need of meal and grocery delivery help and childcare providers for patients or siblings. On the administrative side, they could use a hand in cataloguing donations, supporting special events and assisting in their Redwood City office. If you are interested in becoming a volunteer or to help support their community events, please contact: volunteer. bayarea@therewithcare.org. Even one-time opportunities are available with no training required.
   

   

5. Shiny New Shoes
   

   Since 2006, My New Red Shoes has helped to promote a sense of belonging and dignity for more than 90,000 students in the Bay Area and beyond by improving the quality of life and well-being of children and youth impacted by economic inequality. The organization provides new shoes and clothing to homeless and low-income children to help them look and feel confident before starting a new school year. Office and warehouse assistance is always appreciated, along with a call for creatives: Leverage your professional skills as a photographer, videographer or graphic designer to help get the word out about the organization. If you have time to sort donations, capture an event or promote a fundraiser, reach out to the Redwood City organization at info@mynewredshoes.org.
   

6. Donate to the Donors
   

   Vampires need not apply! For all others, Peninsula blood centers are on the hunt for help in their facilities. Everyone knows that donating blood feels (at a conscience level) good—and even earns you free juice and cookies—but the blood banks themselves need help, too! For example, Stanford’s nonprofit community blood bank provides blood and blood products to children and adults undergoing transplants and surgery. Volunteers are needed to monitor donor safety, serve replenishing refreshments, label blood bags and tubes, shuttle blood, help in the labs and assist in various clerical tasks. Your efforts help create the (O, A, B or AB) positive experience that keeps donors coming back. Check stanfordbloodcenter.org or other blood center websites to discover ways to help.
   
   

7. Promote Independence
   

   Beginning 85 years ago, Vista Center for the Blind and Visually Impaired in Palo Alto has been a resource to anyone across the Peninsula living with blindness or visual impairment. It has served thousands of clients with a variety of geographically centered services and classes, and their success is dependent on the aid of volunteers. Ways to help our visually- and auditory-impaired neighbors include translators, administrative assistance and working at the store inside the Vista Center that’s stocked with a variety of products to help folks lead more independent lives. Opportunities range from providing occasional on-call office and home assistance to the Client Partner Program, a six-month commitment to support clients a few times a month. Depending on what is needed, you might read aloud, help with mail, go on walks, run errands or just have a friendly visit. Staff will match you with a client based on your location and interests. Visit vistacenter.org for more information.
   

8. Treat a Trail
   

   Do you know why our trails remain pristine and welcoming all year long? It’s through the dedication of outdoor lovers who pitch in to help. The Midpeninsula Regional Open Space District relies on assistance in Los Altos and beyond for the miles of trails they preside over. Email volunteer@openspace.org or visit their website openspace.org to learn more. The minimum age is 14. Meanwhile, over in Palo Alto, the Trail Center is a nonprofit focused on maintenance and trail work across the Bay Area. They remind us that it’s the perfect blend of community service, outdoor awareness, conservation and physical exercise. No experience or special skills are required, and the minimum age is 17. Connect with them through email info@trailcenter.org or the website
   trailcenter.org.
   

9. English-language Support Star
   

   If you’re a fluent English speaker and still fumble with they’re/their/there or can admit that words like “pterodactyl” make zero sense, then place yourself in the shoes of a neighbor learning English. San Mateo County Libraries has a call out for English Conversation Club and ESL (English as a Second Language) Book Club facilitators. Meet online in small groups to chat about interesting topics, help English language learners improve their speaking and reading and transform neighbors into new friends. Whether you’re discussing books together or practicing English, the interaction happens in a convenient and welcoming way. Both teen and adult opportunities are available. Check out smcl.org/volunteer to learn more.
   
   

10. Sing to Seniors
    

    A quintessential way to serve your community, spending time with our seniors is the perfect give and take. Share your time by socializing and in return, you receive a perspective earned with time. Numerous Peninsula senior facilities need volunteers, such as The Trousdale in Burlingame, which is seeking musicians to enhance the lives of their residents. Musical groups or solo artists are welcome to share vocals, piano or guitar. Learn more at thetrousdale.org/volunteer. At the Avenidas in Palo Alto, you can find a manageable commitment with one-time-only projects and events. Avenidas.org has more information. And the nearby Channing House (channinghouse.org) asks for volunteers to visit patients, help during bingo and word games and assist with their parties.  

    

Transforming Filoli into a Holiday Wonderland 

words by Sheri Baer

Walk up Filoli’s grand staircase (only staff are allowed above the first floor), and you’ll pass a 17^th-century French tapestry depicting a battle scene from the conquest of Alexander the Great. Continuing down the second floor hallway brings views of former family and guest bedrooms (currently used as offices)—including an en suite bathroom with opulent Carrera marble and a deep soaking tub. Other sights include the lady-of-the-house’s octagonal dressing room, attached to an expansive bedroom, and a small kitchen and dumbwaiter, once used to prepare and deliver food to the second floor. Up one final narrow staircase with a low ceiling (Watch your head!), and you arrive in the attic, which on this cloudy October morning looks like Santa’s workshop—if it was transported into an early 20^th-century 54,000-square-foot Georgian Revival-style mansion. 

Bookshelves brim with rolls of ribbons and trimmings—shades of red, pink, green, blue and purple. There’s metallic gold and shiny silver. Shimmery, striped, patterned, lacy and woven. Countless bins and cartons. Glitter-filled plastic containers. Festive miniature houses. Garlands hang densely in floor-to-ceiling rows, draped over bars.

Tucked in the back, beyond the displays of mounted wreaths, agile hands transform empty boxes into elaborately-wrapped gifts. Filoli database specialist Lisa Chai looks up from the bow-making station, where she is expertly weaving ribbon around dowels. “We’ve been told gold and gold,” she says about the day’s color assignment, nodding to the other elf in the attic, human resources coordinator Jenifer Beswick, who crisply cuts through ornately-patterned paper with sharp scissor blades. How do they know if they’ve done their job well? “When you leave,” smiles Jenifer, “you’re covered with glitter.”

Anyone who decks the halls of their own home knows what it takes to capture the festive spirit of the season. Thus, it’s not surprising to learn of the colossal effort involved in producing the glorious scenery, scents and sounds that have come to define Holidays at Filoli. “Filoli was always a place of gathering and celebration,” says Filoli CEO Kara Newport, “and so that’s our inspiration when we think about how to share Filoli.” 

Holiday Traditions at Filoli 

Completed in 1917 and nestled into 20,000 acres of preserved land in Woodside, Filoli represented the culmination of a dream for William and Agnes Bourn, who worked with architect Willis Polk to design a “country place” to retire. “This was their grow-old together home,” shares Filoli CEO Kara Newport, “and they used it heavily for family and holiday parties.” In particular, much has been noted about the Christmas gathering of 1918, which also marked the end of World War I. “That was one of the first big party celebrations in the house, and their daughter and son-in-law came. It was a really special time for the family to get together.” Those early years at Filoli pre-dated commercially produced ornaments, Kara points out, and the decor reflected that. “It was very much about collecting greenery from the gardens and doing more natural displays.” 

After the Bourns passed away in 1936, the Roth family took ownership of Filoli. William ‘Bill’ Roth and Lurline Matson Roth and their three children embraced an active, vibrant lifestyle on the estate, especially around the holidays. “The Roth family really used the house for celebrating,” recounts Kara. “Everyone would come in for the big family parties, and in the ’50s and ’60s, it had this whole mid-century modern feel to it. It was cutting-edge—they’d use the ballroom and the reception room, and it was Tony Duquette-planned parties and funky centerpieces and tinsel and silver.”

After her husband’s death in 1963, Mrs. Roth lived by herself at Filoli before donating the estate to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, inspired by her belief that “Filoli is too beautiful to be private.” 

Getting the Party Started Again 

When Kara Newport became Filoli’s CEO in 2017, she embraced Mrs. Roth’s intent to make Filoli more accessible to the public. For decades, Filoli’s holiday festivities were limited to a seasonal shopping experience that ran for 10 days every December. “Other than that one week, we were basically closed from the end of October through mid-February,” she explains. “And so we were missing this opportunity to share Filoli at what is really a beautiful time of the year.” 

Originally from Ohio, Kara earned an undergraduate degree in botany (with a minor in American history) and a master’s in public horticulture administration. Equipped with a wealth of experience gleaned from other public gardens and houses, she arrived at Filoli with a vision for enhancing Filoli’s holiday offerings. “It was a big task—we had staff who had never done it before,” she recalls of the first extended season in 2017. “We hadn’t decorated the house with period art and furnishings, as the families might have done. We had never done lights in the garden. And we had never been open for this long.” 

Over the last five years, what began as Thursday through Sunday evenings multiplied into, “Let’s just be open every night.” And that initial “Let’s just do what we can,” approach to decorations and lighting evolved into a year-round exhaustive undertaking to deliver an immersive holiday experience. “It feels like an old-world European Christmas,” describes Kara. “It’s transportive—like you’ve traveled to a faraway place for this fantastic celebration.” 

Bringing the Holidays to Life

In a tireless loop, even as one holiday season wraps up, planning for the next season officially begins. “Every year we use some of what we already have and add in some new,” Kara says, which requires careful assessment and review. “We have to make decisions about what we’re doing the next year by January,” she explains, “because the ornament sales and retail sales that we use for our planning are in January.” 

April marks the kick-off of more granular planning—that means scheduling and timing, what’s happening behind the scenes and in front of the scenes, who is doing what and when. Filoli’s head curator and collection manager Julie Bly DeVere takes the lead with the house decor and every aspect of planning. “We try to change it up every year, so that it feels different,” Kara says, “and Julie does a really wonderful job of choosing things in the house, in the historic decor, as inspiration.” For example, the mixed metals, browns and greens of the estate’s 17^th-century tapestries influenced the color scheme for the reception room’s great tree. 

Meanwhile, Filoli’s horticulture staff actively engage in planning for the garden. “We try to do something fresh and different—change the color palettes, change the experience,” Kara notes. The lighting contract is wrapped up by summer, and all the holiday planning by August 1, so that ticket sales can get underway in late August. The head curator produces a massive planning document with a detailed inventory for each room—outlining trees, ornaments, wrapped gifts, historic decor and other custom touches. 

Outdoor and behind-the-scenes momentum picks up in September, and by October and into November, staff members are tapped to pitch in, whether they’re wrapping gifts, weaving greens or assisting with small outdoor containers and trees. Plastic bins containing 7,000 ornaments sorted by color are brought up from storage in the basement below the ballroom. And the decor-packed workspace in the attic becomes a whirling beehive of activity. “We do a lot of what we call blitzes, when we come in and do one thing and get it done,” Kara says. “All staff help with holidays—it’s integrated, it’s part of who we are.”

Filoli partners with San Francisco florist Nigella to install the decor in the house and with Christmas Lights Pro to illuminate the garden, a particularly creative challenge given the estate’s antiquated outdoor power supply. It all comes together by opening day, which for 2021 meant November 20. 

The Immersive Experience

“We try to draw people through from experience to experience,” says Kara of Holidays at Filoli, as she describes touring the house, venturing outdoors for a glass of hot cider or wine by cozy fire pits before exploring the formal gardens and dazzling light displays that include a river of lights, draped Camperdown elms and a Yew tree rainbow. Filoli’s reception room is considered the first show-stopper that visitors see. “It’s our biggest tree, and we pull on the colors and the beauty of that room. It’s where both families would have greeted their guests,” she says. This year, the ballroom features new curtains of shimmering lights to complement the space’s sparkling crystal. In the 1940s-era kitchen, the scene conjures up Filoli staff getting ready for a party, complete with cooking sounds and the scent of freshly baked cookies. The study, where the Roth family held their private Christmas celebrations, reflects the 1960s, including many of Mrs. Roth’s original decorations.

“We keep the study in that mid-century modern feel,” notes Kara. “Not only is it her ornaments that are on the trees, there’s also her Murano glass nativity scene with spectacular, beautiful colors.” The newly-restored gentlemen’s lounge is on display, and even the dining room has a tree, with the table grandly set with Filoli’s historic china and silver. “The table setting,” emphasizes Kara knowingly. “That’s what everyone wants to see.” 

Filoli built it, and people came. Prior to 2017, the historic estate typically saw 9,000 visitors during its abbreviated holiday season, but with its expanded festivities, as many as 60,000 are expected this year. Mindful of overcrowding, capacity is capped at 2,000 during daytime hours and 1,000 at night. And when the holiday festivities wrap up on January 2, what happens next? “We play music, and we all work together,” Kara relays. “Everyone takes a room and starts packing up.” And then, yes, the cycle starts all over again, which apparently isn’t as daunting as it sounds. “It’s just so much joy,” Kara reflects. “I love the year-round nature of it because I think it’s the ultimate experience—it’s our opportunity to create memories and nostalgia and happiness and joy and sharing and celebration.” 

Not many American dogs can say they’re national treasures, so I have good reason to brag—well, at least I think I do. I’m believed to be a Jindo/Sapasali mix, which likely aren’t familiar breeds to you, but in South Korea, both have been officially named national treasures, #53 and #368 respectively. Whatever my lineage, which resulted in my Wookie-like appearance, my family in Palo Alto considers me a household treasure, which is more than enough for me. I arrived in the Bay Area by way of Love & Second Chances, a rescue organization founded by Melody Chen, who believes neglected dogs from other countries need second chances too. Laura and Simon, along with their two daughters Marni and Clara, had already fostered about 50 dogs when they adopted Stella, a Jindo rescue from South Korea. And although they had decided on no more fostering, they couldn’t say no when Love & Second Chances called needing help with a South Korean emergency rescue. Melody dropped me off in Palo Alto, and Laura says she instantly knew, “I wouldn’t be able to let him go.” My family refers to me as the last piece of the puzzle, which also includes two cats by the way. I love everything about my life here—whether it’s rolling on my back for tummy scratches, morning walks to ZombieRunner for coffee (Make mine a water!) or dropping Marni and Clara at Duveneck Elementary, where the crossing guard always has dog treats in his pockets. If you’re searching for a priceless treasure of your own, check out lovesecondchances.org

words by Silas Valentino

It’s not uncommon for someone to ask Shawn Mott upon first sight if he works with horses. The ten-gallon hat is a dead giveaway, as is his horseshoe-shaped mustache. But a tender demeanor lies beneath the calloused handshake. Somewhat akin to the horses he trains that may appear menacing at first, but turn out to be sweethearts once you reach out for a gentle caress.

The equestrian assumption serves Shawn well as he is a California cowboy who oversees the horse programming at Wunderlich County Park in Woodside. Working alongside the nonprofit Friends of Huddart & Wunderlich Parks, they jointly bring a thriving culture for horse education and heritage to the Peninsula.

Shawn and his business, Chaparral Ranch, which he co-runs with Susan Pennell, handle the recreation side at Wunderlich Park while the Friends oversee the educational component. Shawn is a Western-style rider who began training his first horse by age ten in the Fremont hills.

“I absolutely loved horses and a kid at my school won a mustang in a raffle,” he recalls. “I had a paper route at the time and he offered it to me. I thought I died and went to heaven. I gave him $75 and it was a done deal.”

Shawn forged a wide-ranging career with horses, from opening a riding academy to serving on the mounted police force at the Shoreline Amphitheater. As long as he was riding, Shawn was content, but jobs began to dry up following 2008’s Great Recession. He remembers how he was down on his luck before a chance encounter with an untamed horse turned things around.

“It was one of the moments in life where I had to ask, ‘What am I going to do?’ I had five horses with $5 in my pocket—and I was running out of gas. I drove up to this ranch and asked if anyone needed a horse trainer. This lady came out in an arm cast and I asked, ‘Did a horse do that to you?’ She nodded yes and when I asked if she had a trainer, she said he was in the hospital because of the horse,” Shawn says, grinning as he recounts the story. “I had to ask myself, ‘How badly do I need this job?’”

He took the rambunctious horse back to his ranch and placed it in a pen with a gelding, a castrated horse that was calmer and better-behaved. Horses share emotional intelligence with each other and two weeks later, the horse was ready to ride. Shawn took him back to the ranch and the owner couldn’t believe it.

“I snapped my fingers and I was back in business,” Shawn beams.

By 2014, his reputation with Chaparral Ranch made its way over to Wunderlich Park just as the Friends were looking for a new concessionaire to run the horse programming. The concessionaire is responsible for trail riding, the public arena and leading the lessons—job descriptions that aligned perfectly with Shawn’s skills and experience.

Having ridden the trails in Wunderlich Park many times before, Shawn was eager to accept the position and share his passion with the Peninsula.

“This is a jewel for its uniqueness,” he says. “There’s a trail through a redwood forest that we call the ‘church ride.’”

Woodside, where statues of galloping steeds greet drivers as they turn into town, fosters its reputation as one of the country’s most horse-friendly communities through the various programs at Wunderlich Park.

Beginning with the restoration of the historic Folger Stable, the Friends champion the equestrian culture with active programming and education tailored to both children and adults. They’ve collected various relics and historical items to create the Carriage Room Museum, open on weekends, to exhibit how horses were essential throughout Woodside’s history.

Local students and scout troops flock to the stable for a hands-on horse education with horseback riding. Jill Daly, the president of the Friends nonprofit, and Lorna Basso, a board member, relish their roles as ambassadors for introducing and sharing equestrian culture with children and adults as they visit the park.

 Lorna serves as a docent for schools, welcoming students to meet horses and discover the stable’s rich history. She recently developed a new program called Meet a Mini, where children ages 4 to 12 are introduced to the culture through a mini horse named Lightning. Kids are given a lesson on grooming and can take a trail ride with this short but stout steed.

The Friends manage the education component of Wunderlich Park as well as the major maintenance projects for the facilities. The horse culture wasn’t always flourishing at Wunderlich and it took a group of dedicated equestrians to establish it as a hub. When Jill first visited the park after moving to the Peninsula some 20 years ago, she was struck by how the Folger Stable had fallen into disrepair.

“I came to do a hike and saw this big blue tarp over the building,” she remembers. “I said, ‘What is wrong with this?’ I learned how the county was planning to demolish the stable because they didn’t have capital funds. That’s when I got involved.”

Jill helped secure the stable’s legacy by placing it on the National Register of Historic Places and has continued ever since to assist the nonprofit as it fundraises for upkeep and grounds management.

The next project in their sights is a restoration of the small ice house located near the creek. Their goal is to restore the roof and cupola and to repair the interior and doors as dictated by historic standards in time for next summer. Once complete, they’ll include the ice house in their education tours to teach students how 20^th-century settlers kept cool using basic physics of the landscape.

Folger Stable has 30 stalls where 3rd and 4th graders wander up and down to admire the various horses as they eat and are groomed. Lorna has already begun to introduce her two grandchildren to horse riding and imparting the wisdom she’s learned from a life riding English-style.

“You never need a therapist,” she says. “It’s a closer relationship than with a dog. You never have a bad day on the back of a horse.” 

When Palo Alto photographer Brian Krippendorf woke to the sound of room-shaking thunder, he grabbed his camera and darted out into the pouring rain. “I was very excited as I’ve never had the opportunity to photograph lightning,” he recounts, “and I’m fortunate to live a short walk from Emily Renzel Ponds.” Although Brian got a soaking and quite a few mosquito bites, he also captured this Perfect Shot. “This particular image is my favorite from the morning due to the color in the sky, which I have never seen before,” he says.    

Image by Brian Krippendorf / @briankrippendorf

words by Linda Hubbard

Haydi Danielson’s start-of-the-day duty is distinct from other Peninsula business owners—she takes a stroll. Accompanied by her production manager, she checks on the irrigation, surveys what needs pruning and identifies what requires re-planting. It’s all part of overseeing Portola Valley’s 50-acre plant nursery, Boething Treeland, which grows and delivers trees and shrubs throughout the Western U.S.  

Both Haydi’s and Treeland’s roots are in Southern California. She is one of four daughters of Susan and John Boething, who started Boething Treeland Farms in 1952.  Haydi grew up in Woodland Hills and attended UCLA, where she swam backstroke and contributed to the team’s NCAA championship. 

“We were all raised the same way,” Haydi notes about her upbringing. “You go to high school, you go to college and then you join the family business. I’m number two in age, and I went straight from college into the business, as expected.”

As Haydi tells it, like any family business, the first and second generations occasionally butted heads. “So, I escaped to the East Coast and Yale,” she says. 

At Yale, Haydi earned master’s degrees in management and forest science, aided by the fact that the latter “was next door to the management school.” 

She took a job with a forestry products company in New York and had no intention of coming back to Boething Treeland. However, she returned to California to get married and opened a private school in Santa Cruz. Then, about 15 years ago, she heard the beckoning call of the family business. “I started working here at Treeland,” she recounts, while expressing gratitude for the meandering route she took. “I’m happy for all of those steps. It added a lot of texture to my life.”

Today, all four of the Boething daughters are involved with the business that now includes 10 farms—about 400 acres in Northern California and 500 in Southern California. As a co-owner, Haydi is responsible for NorCal operations, and two of her SoCal sisters serve as the CFO and VP of sales and marketing, respectively. A fourth sister moved to Florida but remains on the board of directors. Haydi’s son, John, is one of six cousins—and to date, the only member of the third generation working for the company. Based on her own experience, Haydi is taking a “wait and see” attitude about how it will play out with the others. 

Treeland has been in Portola Valley for about 40 years. Haydi explains that her father really wanted a presence in Northern California and tried locating further south in Santa Clara County before leasing the current property from Stanford. The driveway into Treeland is directly across Alpine Road from another family farm, Webb Ranch. “Webb grows produce while we grow ornamental crops,” Haydi explains. “We complement each other.”

On a visit to Treeland, I navigate a long, twisty driveway surrounded by plants before coming to an old building where Haydi’s office is located. “It’s been a schoolhouse, then a hospital and a home for nurses. It was abandoned—and hippies moved in,” Haydi tells me. “We rescued it from that stage.”

About 250 plants are grown in Portola Valley with additional plants being trucked over daily from Boething’s 360-acre farm in Lodi. “We grow a lot of coast live oak and trees in the madrone family here,” Haydi explains. “In addition, we grow shrubs, perennials, succulents and grasses. There’s been an increased demand for drought-tolerant species, and we’ve been growing those for decades.”

Treeland’s clients are primarily local landscape contractors as the nursery is wholesale only. “The landscape industry is tight,” she relays. “The contractors and architects hear about us through word of mouth.”

Haydi points out that there are a lot of moving parts to running a plant nursery. “We have a lot of old farm equipment, so we need mechanics who know how to fix them when they break. And we’re in an area popular with deer, so there’s a fence around the property to keep them out.” Deer aren’t the only local wildlife. “We have a resident fox and a few months ago got visited by wild pigs,” Haydi adds.

The pandemic actually had a positive effect on the business—landscaping was something homeowners could do that was positive. “We change our plant palette as the market demands. When there’s little rain, we grow more native plants, and, in the last five years, more succulents.”

The biggest challenges are water and labor supply, which Haydi cites as the two constraints to growth. “They’ve been our biggest challenges for a long time, but they are worse now,” Haydi observes. She acknowledges that it’s a slowly-evolving industry but change is happening: “We’ve definitely done some automating of plant delivery. And we’ve evolved in how we treat our people and care for their well-being.”

Treeland’s 37 employees do a little of everything—whether it’s irrigating, pruning, staking or pulling weeds. Haydi appreciates their loyalty, as most come to work and stay on the job for years. “I just love the people who work for us,” she shares. “I feel blessed to have them.”

As for her decision to rejoin the family team? The timing was right—in every way. “It’s really great to be in a business that is good for the earth,” she reflects. “Given that there is so much concern about global climate change, I view it as a pure stroke of luck that my parents started a business that has the potential to offset carbon emissions. And, of course, I love the plants. I get to come to work and see happy plants.”

Each family is a story. You are born into it, you live through it and then you look back and wonder at the breadth of it all—the parts and roles that each member played—those who brought you into the world and those who lived alongside of you, your brothers and sisters, sharing experiences that only you and they can know and feel and reprise together.

Brothers and sisters. The camaraderie and history of being raised together breeds a togetherness of shared secrets, innate understandings and emotional bonds that can never be broken or equalized. Genetically, there is no one closer to us. No one who knows the minutiae of emotions and events of the small world of time and place that you collectively passed through. No one who can intrinsically understand the same complexities of your lives. 

My sister Shelley was the first-born and she is the leader of us three. Her name means “mine” in Hebrew and to my brother and me that seems especially significant. Eighteen months after Shelley arrived, Daniel was born. When he was small, his name was Danny and now he is Dan. Not too long after Dan was born, my father, an orthopedic surgeon, volunteered to be an Air Force doctor during the Korean War and so I was born later, five years after my brother.

Shelley recently had some old films digitized as people our age do these days, trying to save memories that we will appreciate and that our children will ignore. I can hardly look at them without tearing up. My siblings were wonderful to me, and you can see the loving bond between us. Of course, there is our old dog and our parents and grandparents, now all gone. We played on our jungle gym in our backyard, visted the Grand Canyon and scouted around the hills and creeks of the small country cabin that we had. In the winter, huddling together against the cold, we rode in the back of our Chrysler station wagon.

Shelley introduced me to pop music. We sat in her room one evening and on her small box-like record player she carefully placed a 45 disc of Andy Williams singing Can’t Get Used to Losing You. The music intoxicated me, introducing me to a whole new world. Just like when Danny first taught me how to throw a baseball in our front yard, it became part of the fabric that helped define me as a boy.

On Sundays, after Hebrew school, our dear grandmother would take us all out to lunch, and there the three of us would squirm, laugh and get into a bit of mischief. Watching my older siblings order and then copying them, I developed a taste for foods and drinks that I carry forth to this day. 

What we also shared, of course, were our parents. Our mother, an accomplished violinist, brought us classical music, famous musicians and great culture, and our father, who had had a tumultuous childhood escaping from Germany, brought us his monstrous temper that we feared. Shelley, Dan and I always got along, maybe because of our shared preservation instincts provoked by our father. When he would come pounding up the stairs to the kids’ floor, we would cower in fear, and protect one another from whomever was the target of his rage. Our father was not a bad man; he just had a bad temper. 

Dan went off to prep school when I was 10; Shelley left the next year to go to college; and my mother left to join a major symphony the next year. It was a great loss for me, going from a family that felt like a family to being alone with my unpredictable, fearsome father. Shelley and Dan did their best to look out for me, and somehow I made it through until I finally left for prep school myself. 

The wonderful relationship that Shelley, Dan and I have never waned over the years. Despite being spread out—Shelley in Miami then Chicago, Dan in Denver, me here—we stay lovingly close. When each of our parents died, there was not a single squabble over anything, down to the most valuable possession. What would be the point?

Whenever I had a personal crisis in my own life, Shelley and Dan stepped up to make sure that I was okay. Regardless of the challenge, the hurt or the pain (fortunately, Dan is a doctor, which is enormously helpful to have in one’s family), we three have been there for each other. Life throws challenges at you, and it is good to know that there is someone there for you whom you can trust absolutely.

We have gotten in the habit of getting together every October in Chicago for Shelley’s birthday. We share stories, memories, we laugh and cry as though we once again are those kids shivering in the back of our old station wagon. Even after all these years, with each of us having our own spouses and children, there are just some things that only we can understand, those shared genes creating a forever link. Brothers and sisters, you know.

words by Jim Clifford

A blockhouse-shaped building in Redwood Shores that made history in World War II is finally getting the recognition it deserves. Appropriately located on Radio Road, the Art Deco structure housed the transmitter for KGEI, a shortwave radio station established by General Electric Company. During the early years of World War II, KGEI was the only voice from home for GIs fighting in the Pacific. The station’s call letters, emblazoned over the doorway, were covered up decades ago by a church that took over the building, but in early 2020, the letters were restored, and thanks to fundraising efforts by the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, a new history marker was recently installed at the site. In 1942, The New York Times wrote a story headlined “KGEI Tells Them.” Nothing, the newspaper reported, stirred the hearts of soldiers and sailors as much as hearing the introduction to the station’s programs: “This is the United States of America.” Among KGEI’s notable accomplishments, the station broadcast General Douglas MacArthur’s “I Shall Return” speech promising to return with American troops to the Philippines, which had been occupied by Japanese forces since 1942. After the war, General Electric sold the station to the Far East Broadcasting Company, which then sold the transmitter building to a church in 2001. The building is near a section of the Bay Trail frequently used by hikers and bike riders, but KGEI’s transmitter is no more. Far East Broadcasting gave the transmitter to a radio ministry in Liberia where it was destroyed by rebel forces in the late 1990s. Today, the building of about 7,000 square feet is owned by Silicon Valley Clean Water, the wastewater plant operated jointly by Redwood City, San Carlos and Belmont.

I’m Toby. That’s me on the right there. (I’ll tell you about my buddy Jake in just a bit.) I’m a Shetland Sheepdog, or Sheltie, but I’ve channeled many spirit animals in my life. For example, my younger self started out as a turtle. I’m originally from Redding. I had a rough time as a puppy, but I got a second chance through the Northern California Sheltie Rescue, which is where Karen found me. Karen adores Shelties, but when she first brought me home to Woodside, she thought she had made a mistake. You see, I was so nervous and scared that I turned myself into a turtle. I closed my eyes and hid under the table in what Karen referred to as my turtle shell. Karen did everything she could to coax me out. She took me to lots of classes and introduced me to other dogs, but I found it hard not to withdraw into my turtle shell. Karen sensed that I needed a companion, and that’s how we also came to rescue Jake, who was abandoned in Merced. Jake became my instant buddy, and for the first time, I felt like running and barking and playing. And that’s when I became an elephant. Jake was too quick for me to chase, so when he would come streaking by, I would catch his tail in my mouth—and not let go. We would trot around the house like this, and Karen thought that I looked like a baby elephant holding onto its mom’s tail. Karen’s mom and brother Karl would often watch us too, and for some reason, we always made them laugh. To better understand my third spirit animal, I need to confess to a secret vice. I absolutely love Kleenex and toilet paper. I love chewing on it. I love pulling pieces out of boxes. And if anyone makes the mistake of leaving the bathroom door open, I love to lavishly TP the house. “You must be a goat,” Karen frequently says to me. But I’m content now and happy to be just a dog. To learn more about the rescue organization that gave Jake and me a family, visit norcalsheltierescue.org

words by Sheryl Nonnenberg

They can be seen in every city and suburb in this country—signs announcing that a property is for sale or rent. For most of us, they serve a utilitarian purpose, after which they are removed and used again. For Redwood City’s John Shroyer, however, vintage real estate signs are a link to local history and a connection to others who have shared his profession.

Both John’s family and career are rooted on the Peninsula. He grew up in the Belmont-Redwood City-San Carlos area and attended Carlmont High School. In 1977, shortly after graduating, he became a real estate agent and moved his office to San Carlos in 1980. John and his wife Jane settled in Redwood City, where they raised three boys in their 1930s classic Spanish home in Edgewood Park. 

A lifelong history buff, John discovered bottle collecting as an 11-year-old, which led to other collecting pursuits. Above all, he loves finding objects that reflect local history. But why real estate signs?

“I am interested in them for the historical aspects but they are also aesthetically beautiful to me,” he says. John explains that he focuses on signs found in San Mateo County that date prior to 1950. His collection totals around 40 and he displays about half of them in his new office (he works for Golden Gate/Sotheby’s International Realty) in Redwood City. The other half is in storage in his garage.

The first signs that John acquired were from realtors who were in their heyday when he was just starting out. Local legends like Bill Royer, for example, who began in the 1940s. “This is what started it,” notes John, “connecting signs with people.” At that time, most realty companies were mom and pop businesses or a single individual, rather than the national and international firms we are familiar with today. “They are from a bygone era; these people are long gone,” he says, “but I thought the signs were historically significant.”

John acknowledges that he is probably the only one who collects signs in this area, although he has found others who collect ephemera (photographs, brochures, etc.) that focus on San Mateo County history. He has discovered signs in houses that he has sold, old offices and garages. John will occasionally spot one on eBay and he also has friends who are “pickers” who will notify him when they see something of interest.  

“Real estate signs have not changed much, basically,” he observes. “Although today, the company name is far more prominent than the individual realtor.”  

The vintage signs were often hand-painted on wood or tin. “The old ones were unique and individually done,” John shares, as he gestures to his favorite, a sign from C.G. Lambert Real Estate. Mr. Lambert’s office was in the Hotel Sequoia Building in Redwood City and his phone number was “888.” John found the sign in an empty barn and was immediately drawn to it because Lambert was selling homes in the Edgewood Park area. “He was doing what I am doing now,” he points out. The sign is a bit battered, but for John, that is part of the charm: “I love the fact that it is not new and it is clearly a weathered old sign. And, who doesn’t know the Hotel Sequoia Building?”

Some of the signs are so old they do not have telephone numbers. Others were cobbled together using old crates. One of the oldest, from 1870, for A.J. Samuel Real Estate, consists of calligraphic lettering on tin. Spade Realty, located in Menlo Park, used a bright yellow background and the graphic from a playing card for their logo. An old sign for Fox and Carskadon used contrasting red and green block lettering, set against a rustic, wood-grain background. “It makes history more tangible,” reflects John. 

John clearly enjoys his various collections and, as much as possible, displays them in an organized manner both at his home and office. “Otherwise,” he says with a laugh, “it is just clutter.” He would like to see his signs displayed one day, perhaps in a local history museum. And yes, he hopes his collection will continue to grow because, he explains, “Much of the fun is in the search and the finding.”

Patience (and consistency) rewarded photographer Gino De Grandis, who made several attempts to capture Cañada Road’s Pulgas Water Temple engulfed by fog. On a bright, autumn morning with low clouds and ground humidity, Gino finally recorded this unique frame. “The fog lasted less than a minute,” he says. “The timing was perfect!”

Image by Gino De Grandis / luiphotography.com

words by Silas Valentino

In a sprawled display on the kitchen table inside a Belmont home are fragile photographs and dusty journal entries alongside a copy of a faded document with a signed date of 1647. The documents and correspondences are part artifacts, part clues being used to stitch together a multigenerational narrative that would have otherwise been lost if it weren’t for the copious care of a curious couple.

Meticulously piecing together this treasure trove of keepsakes are Ed and Pat Schoenstein. Ed is the grandson of Felix Schoenstein, who established what was to become the most successful pipe organ factory on the West Coast: Schoenstein & Co.

“I’ve rediscovered a man I didn’t know,” Ed says. “I’ve finally gotten to know my great-grandfather.”

Using patience and self-taught archival techniques (not to mention countless German-to-English translations via Google), Ed and Pat have begun to draw a detailed lineage encompassing 13 generations of Schoensteins that spans centuries and continents.  

“I’m not an archivist but Ed would come down from the attic with these boxes he inherited and there was always some treasure inside,” Pat says. “This project is like a sticky ball that’s rolling around the house picking up new treasures.”

As the last of nine children, Ed grew up enveloped by stories of his family and the impact they had on bringing music to San Francisco. His father Louis and his uncles installed a massive and electrified pipe organ for the 1915 World’s Fair in San Francisco. His father and mother Josephine spent their honeymoon at the Fair. 

One example of family lore that’s been passed down stems from the night they were gearing up for a performance by the famed French composer Camille Saint-Saëns during the closing concert for the Fair in June 1915. The Schoensteins were horrified when a howling noise roared out of the organ because of a technical error, which caused the electronically-operated organ to play at random. The family hustled together to fix the mechanical issue, saving the evening and their reputation.

“It was a curse of modern technology,” jokes Ed, “and a humbling experience for the family.”

In Felix’s diaries, they discovered how he drafted, carved and built the pipe organs while composing the score into the musical cylinders for orchestrions he sold. Orchestrions were a precursor to a jukebox that could reach up to 14 feet tall, and the family sold several of them specifically to saloons in San Francisco. The automatic music players showcased Felix’s breadth of music, cranking out classical songs from Europe as well as folk tunes from America.

“Felix was the Leonardo da Vinci of the family,” Pat says. “He learned English by translating a German book he was familiar with on the history of pipe organs that he rented from the Mechanics’ Institute Library in San Francisco.” 

Upon emigrating from Germany to San Francisco in the last quarter of the 19^th century, the Schoensteins began by building and selling orchestrions and then transitioned into pipe organs throughout the Bay Area. Their pipe organs championed an American-Romantic tonal style that shot to high demand following the 1906 earthquake and fires as every church and cathedral required a replacement.

In 1977, the business was sold to a new owner named Jack Bethards, who expanded the national reach of Schoenstein & Co. The company’s illustrious pipes appear at Georgetown University and the Nashville Symphony Orchestra as well as dozens of churches including St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Palo Alto and St. Denis Church in Menlo Park.

Ed remembers working on San Francisco pipe organs with his father, including ones at the Civic Auditorium and the Legion of Honor. Those experiences in mechanical engineering, along with an education from Lick-Wilmerding High School, guided Ed to his first job designing bucket elevators at age 18. He went on to work for Bechtel and served in the Marine Air Reserve before turning to a career teaching drafting and eventually technical art at the College of San Mateo for 33 years.

Pat was raised in northwest Indiana and attended art school in Chicago for illustration. She drew fashion advertisements for newspapers in Chicago and later worked in student affairs at Notre Dame de Namur University. After moving to San Francisco, Pat was at a social camping weekend in Pinecrest when she met Ed. (He likes to say that she accidentally stepped on him while he was lying in his sleeping bag.) Today, two photos of the couple on the day he proposed to her at the Legion of Honor adorn their wall alongside photographs of their three adult children and a new generation of grandchildren.

Their home is filled with a lifetime of kept treasures including a ticket to the 1939 World’s Fair on Treasure Island that Ed attended when he was six years old. He remembers riding the ferry to the island and admiring the China Clipper, one of the largest airplanes of its time.

Ed’s fascination with the aircraft never faded and inspired him to create a model airplane of the China Clipper as a gift for the Treasure Island Museum about four years ago.

“I was hoping to stir up a little interest and try to get San Francisco to recall more of that Fair,” he says. “The 1915 Fair is much better remembered but the Treasure Island Fair was enchanting. I remember the soft, romantic colors at night. It was beautiful.” The models didn’t stop with the China Clipper and Ed has also produced faithful recreations of other parts of the Fair including the majestic Tower of the Sun and the Elephant Tower. 

Looking over the now neatly compiled archives of their family history, Ed and Pat exude a hard-won calm and tranquility. The printed materials, photographs, journals, ledgers and letters that they sorted through and processed allowed them to document a tangible family tree, one with firm roots and endless new leaves.

In their project statement, they summarize reflective sentiments by writing, “How profound it is that we cannot see into the future and know the effects of our life on the lives that follow.” 

Most of the kids at my prep school, Andover, were from wealthy nearby towns in Connecticut, New Jersey and New York. But there were also a number of us from disparate places including Amarillo, Texas, my hometown. As the Thanksgiving vacation approached, and we were off for a few days, I desperately wanted to come home, miserable as I was stuck there at Foxcroft Hall, friendless, depressed and anxious.

But my Dad said, “No, it’s too expensive,” and my Mom was always too busy to make time for me. Students were allowed to stay in the dorms over Thanksgiving, but I badly wanted to leave the campus. I had an uncle who lived outside Philadelphia, and so I asked my mother to contact him to see if it would be okay if I went there to celebrate the holiday.

Though I had met my uncle a couple of times, we were not a close family, and I didn’t know him well. He was an affable balding man whom we called Uncle Bill and his wife, who chain-smoked and had a raspy voice because of it, was Aunt Kat. They had three children, two daughters who were out of the house and a son, Danny, sort of a mysterious boy my older brother’s age who—according to my parents—had “issues.” 

Midway into November, it was arranged that I would spend Thanksgiving at their home in West Chester, a suburb about an hour outside of Philadelphia. On the Wednesday before the holiday, I took buses from Andover to Boston and then from Boston to downtown Philadelphia, where Uncle Bill met me. He was the head of Gray and Rogers, a substantial advertising agency at the time. He good-heartedly greeted me, and we drove in his rather unkempt Ford to their home, an old ramshackle place in the country. 

I was shown to the attic, where Danny normally stayed. Since he was “not home at the present,” it would just be the three of us. I was creeped out, as the saying went, to sleep 1) in this old, dusty attic and 2) where the Danny with “issues” normally stayed. The home, while comfortable, was cold and drafty and begged for maintenance. There was no television, and every surface was littered with books, magazines and catalogs, most of which had recently arrived to introduce holiday buying opportunities.

Uncle Bill and Aunt Kat were quiet and apparently spent most of their time reading, resting or going for an occasional stroll around their grounds. Though they made a successful living, they were seemingly content with little and were happy as they were. Uncle Bill would smile at me when we talked and asked about Andover and how it was going. Not wanting to stir an uncomfortable conversation, I lied and said that it was terrific, and that I was very happy.

I quickly found my position there, among the quiet of the house. There was a heating vent on the floor, tucked into a corner in the back of the room where my uncle read, sitting in his old, frumpy leather chair. On either side of the chair were piles of books and several weeks of newspapers. I settled into the spot by the vent that Wednesday evening and claimed it, like a cat would do with a sunny spot on the top of a couch. 

On Thursday, Thanksgiving, a big fire was lit in their living room, and we settled into the comfortable chairs there and spoke of what we were grateful for and about our families and friends. It didn’t occur to me as a 15-year-old to be grateful for my very life and so I lied, again, about my gratitude, since at that time I felt rather ungrateful about everything. Later, we had a fine meal and I remember that Aunt Kat made three kinds of pie, and I ate about half of a pecan pie that day.

My big discovery that evening, in a kind of precursor to my life in magazines, was the large piles of catalogs, everything from toys to fashion to electronic gadgets. Sitting on the floor of this rickety-rackety home, trying to keep myself warm, I uncovered the nuances of printed catalogs—the different paper stocks; the use of staples or perfect binding; the unique fonts that were employed; the design of the pages; the quality of the photography and printing. I was also intrigued by the copywriting—how some of the catalogs were sparse with their words and others sought to sell you on a product. Seeing and comparing all those catalogs sparked the entrepreneurial publishing part of my mind.

For the first time since I had left home several months before, reading those catalogs gave me some joy, like kissing someone for the first time and feeling a giddy buzz that burns through your body. Making that November journey to West Chester turned out to be a fortuitous decision. The next year, I started the first satire magazine at Andover, the vision of which was clearly inspired by those Thanksgiving days sitting on the cold floor at Uncle Bill’s, perusing that year’s offerings from Hammacher Schlemmer.

words by Robert David Siegel

At 5:04PM on October 17, 1989, the clock adjacent to the Stanford Quad stopped abruptly. The time marked the beginning of the 6.9-magnitude Loma Prieta Earthquake, which was actually the second famous quake in the clock’s illustrious history. Built in 1901 by clockmaker Seth Thomas, the antique-style pendulum clock mechanism was originally housed in the belfry of the massive tower that sat atop Stanford’s Memorial Church. Five years later, the church tower was destroyed in the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake and was never rebuilt. However, the clock works survived, and for the next 50 years, it resided in a temporary wooden structure behind the church, where it fell into disrepair. Since 1983, the antique clock has been housed in a dedicated tower with an adjacent colonnaded pergola. The new structure was built with a donation from Stanford trustee William Kimball, and at its dedication, Kimball remarked, “As president of the board of trustees, I’m delighted to receive this gift from me.” Six years after it was installed, a temblor once again brought the clock to a halt. In its current home, glass walls allow visitors to watch the mechanism as it marks out the passage of time. Using the same tune as Westminster Abbey, the clock chimes every 15 minutes. A series of tones sounds out the hour. In an effort to make the clock more resistant to errors due to changes in temperature, the mechanism was tweaked once again in 1997 by a group of Stanford engineering students. As Rob Bernier, one of the student engineers, reflected in 2001, “I love the clock…It’s a mechanical thing in a computerized world.” The mechanism still requires hand-cranking several times per week and these visits are hand-recorded in a logbook. Although it may be less accurate than the GPS phones in our pockets, it has far more charm. And chime.

What Makes a Community Grow Together

words by Silas Valentino

The average time on the waitlist for a plot at the Eleanor Pardee Community Garden had historically been a few months but in the last two years, that’s grown to a year and half. Why are there now 33 people vying for a plot in the garden?

“It’s the energy of being in here and around so many gardeners,” says Lisa Van Dusen, a recent addition. “How many Master Gardeners per square foot are in here?” she asks rhetorically. “There’s a lot of experience here and people are very generous with their knowledge.”

In Palo Alto, some of the most exclusive clubs have nothing to do with tech, wealth or society but everything to do with dirt. Sponsored by the city, there are five community gardens scattered throughout the neighborhoods—dedicated public oases of open space, fertile ground for vegetables, flowers and herbs. 

What first began with the Rinconada Garden has flouristed to include Arastradero, Edith Johnson, Ventura and Eleanor Pardee Gardens. Each one has its own rich culture and unique produce.

Stroll through the neatly packed plots at Rinconada and you’ll find pumpkins, wine grapes, native flowers and even a seedling experimenter named Liz who uses her plot as an incubator for her gardening business, The Seed Shrine. Or, if in need of advice, flag down Sharon Erickson, a Master Gardener who helps run the Water Wise Garden, which neighbors Eleanor Pardee. She often leads Saturday classes ranging from saving seeds to better composting.  

The produce from each plot may differ; however, the gardeners are united in their passion for growing things, their commitment to creating a healthier community and a shared disdain for the squirrels that make off with their veggies in the middle of the night.

Eleanor Pardee Garden

The Eleanor Pardee Garden (1201 Channing Avenue) started in 1979 and has 92 plots. Penny Proctor is the volunteer liaison for the garden and remembers when the area was a vacant lot created when the conjoined Eleanor Pardee Park was established.

Her mother, Helen Norman Proctor, was the park project’s landscape architect who later started a plot in 1983. Penny recalls how the garden’s first growers attempted to grow corn but were met with a pesky enemy. “One time, my mom drove in and saw six squirrels in the corn patch who fled with corn tucked under their arms!” she says.

Penny started her own plot in 1988 next to her mom’s and has been growing beans, tomatoes and peppers. She said that due to a 1998 flood from the nearby creek, the soil is ideal for gardening.

Helen Norman Proctor was one of the garden’s first liaisons (a volunteer who acts as the nominal leader) and after she passed in 2007, Penny took over and has been steering to a fruitful future. She helped rewrite the garden rules to address various problems such as barring the use of glue traps and adding new fencing.

Of the 77 or so gardeners currently at Eleanor, Penny says that about a third are over the age of 60 and that there are a fair number of families who garden together. One of the youngest green thumbs is a 12-year-old who grows strawberries and herbs. Underscoring the range of Palo Alto neighbors, a bench near the garden’s large bay laurel tree is dedicated to Elsa, who gardened here into her 100s. 

Eswar Subramanian

Plot D-33 

One of the first species to admire in Eswar’s garden is his Amaranthus. Strikingly beautiful with deep red color, they tower above his tomatoes. In the 13 years Eswar has been here, he’s built a wall of vines and installed a sonic device that plays a high-pitched noise to repel any veggie thieves.

A proud father of three, Eswar’s love for his garden is unquestionable. “I told my family that my priorities are: the garden, the compost that feeds my garden and then them,” he jokes. “I was married but it didn’t stop me from getting married to my garden.”

Lisa Van Dusen

Plot D-28 A  

Lisa and her husband John’s house lacks a sunny plot, so when a neighbor tipped them off to the Eleanor Pardee Garden, they added their name to the waitlist. Their patience paid off and they’re some of the newest members of the garden community. “It’s just such a great antidote to isolation and screens,” she says.

 They’re spending their first year creating a foundation for their plot and planting kale, basil (which Lisa uses in her walnut pesto), parsley as well as a surprise gift. “There’s a family from Iran who has a plot near ours and this little girl came over to present me with some seedlings,” she says. What grew: cherry tomatoes.

Kristina Smith

Plot D-30 and C-24

Adorned in a shirt that reads, “I love gardening from my head tomatoes,” Kristina began gardening here 32 years ago. Besides a commitment to tomatoes, she’s growing squash, cucumber, chard and various herbs such as sage and rosemary. Her cardoon thistle blooms in the spring.

Mike McFarlin

Plot D-35  

“I always wanted to be a farmer,” Mike says and his dream came true in May 1982. He’s since established himself as the tidiest gardener in the garden whose rows are perfectly aligned and spaced. He grows okra, which he says is a great substitute for a martini olive, and trades beets with Kristina for tomatoes. As one of Pardee’s long-standing gardeners, Mike has seen a whole community grow around him.

“The plot next mine is a woman named Wendy and I’ve seen her get married, have twins who are now taller than all of us and climb Mount Everest and Machu Picchu,” he says. “Last month, I even helped her move furniture.”

Rinconada Garden

The original Rinconada Garden (1213 Newell Street) was created in 1970 as a model to demonstrate organic gardening techniques. Originally part of Palo Alto’s Nature & Science Department, gardeners were recruited from junior high schools, city staff and the public.  

 As the oldest community garden, it’s not without its share of lore; the 1998 novel Murder Crops Up by Lora Roberts is a murder mystery that takes place in a garden inspired by Rinconada. The actual Rinconada is much less lethal and instead, a massive project featuring twice as many plots as the Eleanor Pardee Garden.

 Annie Carl is the volunteer liaison and Master Gardener who is the point person for anyone who signs up for a plot. She became the liaison in 2015 and has led several initiatives including a program to improve the butterfly population by spreading milkweed. She estimates that she’s propagated over 2,000 milkweed plants that have been planted across the Bay Area to directly benefit butterflies. As Annie toured the garden on a recent afternoon, she lit up when she saw two butterflies mating above a patch of milkweed.

Christine Baker

Plot H-16

Unlike her neighbors who are growing produce, Christine instead honors California natives. There is goldenrod, buckwheat and salvia, plus a bee box on the fence nearby. In the spring, she nurtures woolly sunflowers and then grows gooseberries in the winter.

 “This being California,” she says, “there’s always something in bloom.”

Doug Hagan

Plot 4-A

If you visit Doug at his plot in the right season, you won’t leave without a bag full of tomatoes. The father of two is also raising summer squash, zucchinis, red peppers and, per the request of his children, a few pumpkins.

Laurie Siv

Plot E-1

On a recent Friday afternoon, there were three generations of the Siv family working together on the plot. Laurie’s parents were watering and cropping the spinach and cilantro while her two daughters frolicked around the garden. Having started three months ago, Laurie wanted to teach her daughters about Pachamama, or Mother Nature, by having them help grow red peppers and black mint from her native country of Peru.

 As one of the newest members of the garden, Laurie is embracing unfamiliar produce (“Indian squash,” she deadpans. “I had never seen anything like that.”) while appreciating her friendly neighbors. “I was new here and everyone helped me,” she says.

50 Years of Photographing Stanford Football

words by Sheri Baer and David Madison

As a highly-motivated member of the Stanford Photo Club in the early 1970s, David Madison didn’t let a locked-up dorm keep him from his craft over the holiday breaks. Living locally in Palo Alto, he covertly found a way to access the darkroom in Wilbur Hall’s basement. “I noticed that the air conditioning shaft from the darkroom went straight up to the roof of Wilbur Hall and that there were rungs inside the air conditioning shaft,” he recalls. “So I used to climb up on the roof and then climb down the air shaft and I’d have the darkroom all to myself for hours at a time.”

No doubt Stanford’s legendary broadcaster Bob Murphy sensed David’s above-and-beyond commitment. Having discovered photography as a hobby in junior high, David started shooting sports for his Gunn High School yearbook. While studying architecture at Stanford, he turned his lens onto the football field, initially shooting from the stands—before petitioning Murphy (Stanford’s sports information director at the time) for official access to the field. “Murph said, ‘Sure, I’ll give you a pass,’” David recounts, although he admits his first images received ego-bruising feedback. “‘These are nice,’” Murphy remarked, “‘but I don’t need pictures of guys’ backs.’” 

Still, Murphy gave him another field pass—and David proceeded to earn his own place in the annals of Stanford University sports. Now a professional sports photographer with a storied career, David holds the milestone achievement of shooting 50 years of Cardinal football. That’s five decades spanning coach names like Walsh, Harbaugh and Shaw and jerseys reading Plunkett, Elway, McCaffrey, Gerhart and Luck. Starting with film (250 images per game) and progressing to digital (2,500 images on average), David has shot more than 250 games, including 35 Big Games and 3 Rose Bowls. Total number of Stanford football images: 250,000+ 

Having shot the single home game in 2020’s abbreviated season, David is eagerly embracing the call, “Stanford Football is Back!” PUNCH asked him to set down his camera long enough to offer up highlights and insights from 50 years on the field.

Stanford Stadium

The new Stanford Stadium has wonderful high angles because the stadium is so close to the field and it has both the mezzanine and upper terrace, so there are some beautiful high angles there. Those angles didn’t really exist in the old stadium. In the old stadium, the crowd was much farther away, but it would create beautiful backdrops when the stadium was full because you’d have that huge unbroken arc of the crowd.

Following the Action

I think football is one of the most challenging sports to photograph because the ball and the play move so fast and because of the geography of the field. If you’re following the action, normally you’re going to follow the ball. So you’re going to start probably focused on the quarterback and when he hands off, you’re going to shift to the running back or when he throws the ball, you’re going to attempt to shift to the receiver. As a photographer, there’s always a big element of chance to being in the right place. You’re just trying to keep it framed up while the bodies are bouncing around in the frame, and you have a very narrowed-down perspective. It’s almost like periscope vision. 

A Buffet of Visuals

My approach has evolved in that I’m looking for a broader view beyond the standard action photograph. I try to look for things that are visually interesting, so for me that encompasses pre-game and post-game and warm-up and what might be happening on the sidelines or in the team area. Partly I’m drawn to those images because all of them happen in areas that potentially have different light and visual interest compared with what’s on the field. With football, there’s a lot of stuff going on around the action: You have great crowds, the Band, Stanford cheerleaders and Dollies and the Tree, and so for me, it’s like a whole smorgasbord.

Generations of Stanford Players 

What I’ve been seeing more of now is sons—sons of players whom I photographed in the ’70s and ’80s. There has been a run of those in recent years: Ed and Christian McCaffrey, Chris and Drew Dalman, Bob and Kodi Whitfield. And then there are also Stanford coaches who did not play at Stanford but whose sons did, like Jack and John Elway and Willie and David Shaw. And then of course, David Shaw was a player and then an assistant coach and now head coach.

Keeping it Fresh after 50 Years 

When you’re shooting in the same place—the same stadium—over and over and over again, it becomes an ongoing challenge to find new angles and new motivation and new pictures. I think ahead about time of day, possible angles and what I’ve done before that didn’t work but maybe has potential and that I might want to try again. I like to get there early and walk all the way around either the upper tier of the stadium or the mezzanine or the field and just look at everything. I come up with a general idea for what I want to do with the game—and it depends a lot on the game too. Obviously, at the end of a Big Game, if you want an Axe shot, you’ve got to be ready for that, and in position. 

Energy of a Winning (or Losing) season

It would be false to say that I’m not affected by the team’s performance and certainly great players and great games and big match-ups inspire me. Stanford-Cal Big Games are always potentially loaded and the big match-up games—historically, USC, UCLA and now Oregon—have energy to them, so that’s inspiring. When Stanford was in its recent golden years and winning nine, ten games every year and a Bowl game, you get a little spoiled. When you’ve got a dog of a season going and players are hurt and there’s not a lot of excitement, that affects me too. A lot of what you’re looking for is that bit of human energy that comes out either through emotion—reacting to a player reacting to the game—or anticipation. So when the performance has dulled all those things down, there’s less of that to grab.

Evolution of Football  

Over the last 50 years, the game has evolved in how it’s played and the speed at which it’s played and the size of the people playing it. There are also a lot more people involved. When you look at old pictures—how many people are on the sidelines or how many are involved both within the team structure and the number of players and people who are on the field for different reasons—all of that has really, really grown. And from the photographers’ point of view, you have fewer places that you can work from because the field has been shrunk in terms of where photographers are allowed to be.

Getting that Unique Shot

There are routines that certain players have that can be interesting. When Christian McCaffrey burst onto the scene, it was clear immediately that he was something extraordinary. His sophomore year, I really focused on following him, and he had a very carefully scripted pre-game warm-up routine, and so once I caught on to that, I began to plan to be there. I knew that he came out an hour before game time, but by about the fourth game I got there and he was already out there, so then I would get there even earlier and just wait. 

Emotions of the Game

Generally with sports photography, everybody likes faces. So that’s a big element. I’m always looking for emotion. Happy. Sad. Fierce. Intensity. Any kind of emotion. With football players, because they wear so much equipment, you’re looking sometimes for body language and those opportunities when you can actually see their faces. I definitely have lots of photos that are really nice photos, but they lack facial expression. Football is especially hard because of the bars on the face mask. You can have a wonderful shot and the face mask is cutting right across the players’ eyes, so it’s not as wonderful of a shot. 

Stanford’s New Season

I think everyone is excited because we had a year with no live football. I shot last season’s one and only Stanford home football game with no one in the stands, which was a very strange experience. I’m always thinking about what it’s going to be like this year and what I would like to do with that opportunity—because it really is a privilege to have that opportunity. 

Bonjour! It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Enzo and I’m a French Bulldog or Frenchie for short—although my large bat ears, distinctive wrinkles and fine muscle tone may have already tipped you off. I was born in the U.S., but I consider myself a worldly pup given that I’ve been to four countries and 18 states. I live in Menlo Park with Sherrie, who also happens to be my bien-aimée sidekick and traveling companion. Sherrie used to make frequent work trips, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her missing me, so I happily volunteered to go along. We’ve shared many adventures ranging from trade shows in Vienna to CES in Las Vegas. Given my vast experiences, you may be surprised to learn that my favorite place is quite close to home. It’s the beach. The beach. The wonderful beach. You can see me fully in my element here. I love to play in the sand and run into the ocean but I’m at my happiest when I’ve found the perfect stick to carry around. In fact, my most beloved toy is the Chuckit! stick. You heard right. Forget chasing balls. It’s all about the stick. And although I will never share (and I will even sometimes steal) a stick, Sherrie takes pride in my otherwise generous nature. Whenever we have a visitor, I run right to my toy bin to select a toy to present to our guest. So, in that regard, you can consider me the consummate host.

words by Silas Valentino

Spend a morning foraging for mushrooms with San Mateo’s Todd Spanier and the line between hunting and gathering begins to narrow.

Admittedly, mushrooms are immobile and exist within an entirely separate kingdom from animals, but successfully pursuing them requires trailside techniques akin to tracking prey. You must read the subtle signs scattered in nature, and Todd is well versed in this literacy.

The lifelong forager and fungi aficionado expounds knowledge while guiding tours into the brush across the Bay Area and nearby counties. He passionately relays advice (and indications of toxins or poisons) from his years of foraging to spot and identify edible mushrooms. He learned the art of rummaging through the forest from his grandfather, whose lessons continue to echo decades later.

“Know the tree, know the mushroom,” Todd instructs during a recent forage, repeating an axiom his grandfather Ed Marcellini passed down to him. Todd shifts his gaze to a towering Monterey pine tree, a coniferous evergreen native to the California coast but now found globally due to its use in lumber. The Monterey pine is also a fertile host for growing the coveted porcini. 

Todd points out the “drip line,” how the pine needles droop above a patch of toyon shrub to create a mossy pocket of moisture on the forest floor. “Think of yourself as water,” Todd says. “‘Where would I flow?’” With keen eyes, he spots a mound ever-so-slightly rising within the greenery. Peeling back a layer of foliage reveals a button-sized mushroom packed with nutrients and umami flavoring, ready for the picking. He adds it to his pile and returns to the endless hunt.

Standing nearly seven-feet tall, Todd is easily spotted among the trees and brush, but as it has been since he was five years old, the outdoors is his kingdom. Since 1996, he’s reigned as the King of Mushrooms, a royal title that’s self-anointed but continuously reaffirmed each time he treks out to forage and returns with a bounty of mushrooms.

The mushrooms that Todd finds, along with the species he works with farms to grow, are sold wholesale to local markets such as Bianchini’s and Draeger’s as well as celebrated restaurants across the Bay Area including The French Laundry, Gary Danko and Manresa in Los Gatos. Along with his wife, Cristina, Todd will travel to fungus festivals throughout the West Coast to educate and celebrate the wild food.

 Todd also leads foraging classes through the service ForageSF where folks can sign up for a seasonal excursion to hunt, gather and prepare mushrooms. It’s during these outings when his encyclopedic knowledge of fungi pours out of him between amusing anecdotes of a life in restless pursuit.

Well before Todd was born, his grandfather Ed would traverse the Apennine Mountains near Cinque Terre in Borgo Taro, Italy, in search of porcini. After immigrating to the United States, Ed worked in the flower industry but never ceased foraging. By the time Todd was old enough to haul a sack, he’d join his grandfather in the mountains outside his home in Burlingame to learn the skill.

Their family often played a little game: whoever found the most mushrooms or the largest individual one would earn the title King or Queen of Mushrooms and would not have to clean or cook. Todd relished in delight whenever he earned the crown.

During Todd’s formative years, two events shaped Todd and led him on his path to mushroom royalty.

As a teenager, he pulled a ligament in his leg and had to abstain from playing basketball until he recovered. His creative family championed a DIY ethic (Todd brewed his own beer in high school), so in his downtime, he ventured back into the hills to pick mushrooms.  

Soon, the family kitchen was overflowing with mushrooms. The pantry, freezer and fridge were all stocked with foraged picks in various stages of the drying process. Todd’s mother grew weary of the overstock and drove him to a new restaurant in town called Ecco. Todd approached the owner, Chef Tooraj Sharif, with a bag full of freshly-plucked mushrooms and the restaurateur was quickly impressed.

“He led me to the cash register and took out a $100 bill,” Todd remembers. “It was my first sale! When I got back to the car, my mom drove me straight to the bank to have them break it up into $5s. Then she said, ‘Now this is your lunch money.’”

Later, when he lived in Florence, Italy, for six months, Todd spent the weekends visiting his family in the nearby mountains. The reconnection to his roots was enriched with each forage for mushrooms. In town, he noticed boutique stores that specialized in mushrooms and the heightened reverence for the fungi in Italian culture.

The calling for a career in mushrooms came to a head not long after Todd’s return to the Peninsula. The mushrooms he foraged for and sold to restaurants supported him while he took classes at Skyline and Cañada Colleges. Todd remembers sitting in a business ethics course when his pager kept buzzing. Finding a nearby telephone, he returned calls to eager chefs and before Todd knew it, he was a full-time mushroom forager.

During a recent hunt, Todd wore a custom t-shirt for his King of Mushrooms business as he hunched over a mossy and moist plot. On the back of his shirt is the holy trinity of mushrooms: chanterelle, porcini and morel. He explains how porcini grow near Monterey pine trees and since these trees are grown worldwide for their lumber, porcini have become a global treasure.

“Mushrooms are a reconnection to my roots and heritage. You can go to Italy or South Africa to pick chanterelles. They’re throughout Europe and even Korea. They grow everywhere, except Antarctica. People who love nature, love foraging. We pretty much know all of the plants and animals but fungi are underground,” he says, noting that there are new species of mushrooms discovered every year.

“When you get out into nature, it puts you in the moment. After all, we’re all hunters and gatherers.” 

Mornings at Sharon Park in the Sharon Heights neighborhood of Menlo Park are always serene, but Scott Loftesness thought the light was particularly beautiful when he captured this Perfect Shot. “As photographers know, the best picture is often behind you,” he notes, “and that was the case with this shot. I turned around on my morning walk and caught this tranquil scene.” 

Image by Scott Loftesness / sjl.us @sjl

words by Silas Valentino

There are only a couple of hours of sunlight left as the crowd gathers into the shape of a U around Kenny Elvin and his truck loaded with raptors. Situated near a grove of eucalyptus trees at Coyote Point in San Mateo, the audience is diverse, spanning all generations. But their captivation is universal as they feast their eyes on the master falconer.

Kenny ramps up anticipation with a cheeky call-and-response chant: “Give me a B!” he howls and receives an impassioned response. “Now give me an —IRD!”

He flings open the side door of his truck to reveal Boomer, a kookaburra with dark wings and a white abdomen. The sharp-beaked bird leaps onto a small perch near Kenny and remains tethered to him by a slim rope.

Kenny is a falconer but his flock is not exclusive to that sole bird of prey. He currently possesses seven falcons, five hawks, a pair of owls and the kookaburra, which is the ideal assistant for this educational event. It reacts to an audience. The louder the cheers, the more boisterous the kookaburra will call, leading to its nickname as a “laughing kookaburra” for its rambunctious chuckle.

Kenny parades Boomer around to gazing eyes to measure the state of the crowd and, according to the kookaburra’s cheerful cackle, this bird show is in full swing.

Educational events such as this one at Coyote Point held by the San Mateo County Parks Foundation are only a sliver of Kenny’s work as a master falconer, but it’s a treasured time for human contact and to celebrate these fascinating creatures.

 The majority of his work is in wildlife abatement, using raptors as pest control. Vineyards and farms hire him and his birds as a sustainable scare tactic against unwanted pests.

“Abatement work has changed falconry,” observes Kenny. “We’re getting paid to perform. What we want is the bird to chase but not catch. You’re trying to scare stuff off. But there is a tradeoff; in one aspect, you’re getting paid to fly. But you’re flying every day, so your birds tend to get more exercise and exposure.”

Kenny will source a new bird every couple of years. It works best to start with a younger bird to build that trust and cooperation. “Using positive training measures creates patterns and routines,” he says. “The magic happens when you find new elements to work with.”

Abatement and education help develop and improve some aspects of falconry but hunting keeps the birds keen and strong.   

“I want them to catch their own stuff but I also want them to trust me. When you’re training anything—horses, dogs—if you lose that trust factor, you’ve lost the game,” Kenny explains. “I’ve had some birds that didn’t work out and I’ve had quite a few that have done amazingly well. Each time you get a new bird, you’re dealing with a clean slate.”

Kenny has worked in falconry for 19 years. Following years of working for other people, he established his own business, Full Circle Falconry, about six years ago. It’s been a natural calling for Kenny, who has gravitated towards animals since he was a boy growing up in Los Altos.

“Animals help keep me interested and focused.They have what I call a ‘grounding effect.’ They keep us honest. Animals don’t tend to lie,” he says, then reconsiders. “Crows have been known to shift their behaviors … but most animals are not into deception.”

Kenny’s father was an architect and his mom worked in real estate while taking care of him and his four sisters. He grew up with horses and his first best friend, a standard poodle named Spook. The surrounding property opened Kenny up to frogs, lizards and snakes. In grade school, he remembers friends starting to explore raptors but Kenny stuck with amphibians and reptiles. “I thought falconry was something I’d do in retirement,” he now muses.

Before obtaining his falconry license in the early 2000s, Kenny lived untethered and free; he was a musician who carved his own didgeridoos out of bamboo and eucalyptus, served in the National Guard rising up to the level of captain and spent countless mornings surfing between Santa Cruz and San Francisco.

In January 1986, he met his now wife Kitty through a mutual friend (they quickly bonded over animals) and a few years later, the couple welcomed their daughter Anne. The zoological legacy continues with Anne, who currently works at the Palo Alto Junior Museum & Zoo.

Kenny now lives in San Jose, coincidentally on a street named after a member of the Corvidae bird family, and has a busy schedule keeping his flock in shape. He’s constantly weighing each bird to track their weights.

“As we fly a bird and train it, it’s going to gain muscle mass. You have to bring the flight weight up to keep it in condition. Hawks don’t burn as much energy as falcons do. Falcons burn energy with their intellect—their neurology is moving. That burns up sugar. I feed a falcon two-and-half ounces a day to maintain weight, whereas I feed a hawk three-fourths of an ounce.”

He names some of his birds using monikers such as Wyatt and Gunner, but Kenny had a mentor early on who taught him that the bird is a tool and you don’t want to get too hooked considering the nature of, well, nature. (However, the same mentor taught Kenny that a dog is your best friend, a title that currently belongs to a Vizsla Hungarian pointer dog named Jasper.)

“I tend to name my birds after tools: gauge, axe, saber, sprocket. The name is insignificant because it can fly off or get eaten,” he says, speaking from first-hand experience. “It’s always surprising when something happens: I call it ‘the silence.’ You’re looking for that animal but it’s gone. It just happens sometimes. It’s a moment of reflection. If you have a dead bird, then you know what happened. But if you don’t, then you’re always looking.”

Ever cognizant of the natural world’s harsh reality, Kenny remains committed to growing his flock. “If I followed my whim,” he admits, “I’d have more birds than I’d know what to do with—they’re just so interesting!”

I was visiting my brother-in-law in Re’ut, Israel, this summer and was impressed with the pristine quality of his yards. The flower beds burst with color; the outdoor kitchen, tables and chairs were spotless; and there was not a dead flower bud in sight. It inspired me to bring my own yard up to snuff. 

When I got home, I took a survey of my gardens and lawns and saw a lot of work to be done. It wasn’t as though my personal nature space wasn’t attractive, but upon close review, I noticed messy vines, dead plants and overgrown trees. It was clear that there were many opportunities to make some upgrades. 

This exercise was to serve two purposes: one, to improve my gardens; and two, to get me out of the house and into the air. After too much inside time, my mind fills with too many thoughts that I’d rather not have rattling around inside my brain.

I looked for and found a gardener who I thought would keep a better eye on things and who also had more expertise in a number of landscaping areas. The first thing he found was that I had six irrigation issues—
broken underground pipes, missing spray heads and leaking drip irrigation valves. This explained my several dead plants.

I bought a good number of new plants, both to replace those that had died and others to enhance the various beds. My new gardener redid all the pots, some with annuals and others with perennials. He trimmed back overgrown areas and spent three days pruning trees, which was clearly overdue.

When I would get home from work each evening, the sun with a couple of hours of light still to give, I busied myself pulling dead leaves and branches out of the fig vines that cover almost all the fences, cleaning out ground cover and pulling weeds. There is, apparently, no end to doing these chores. I would do a section and the next day go back and observe how much I had missed. But it was a gratifying effort to see the accomplishments we were making on all fronts.

On a Sunday morning, I started a new mission and for the next many hours managed to eliminate the spider webs and clean everything around the exterior of the house—all the light fixtures, the windowsills, the barbecue, the storage shed, even the garbage cans. Because I am a cleaning fanatic, once I had started, I couldn’t stop until everything was immaculate.

With much done, one bedding area around our backyard porch caught my attention. Because the small trees around it had grown up over time, the once sunny spot was now almost always shrouded in shade. As well, the soil was almost impossible to dig because the tree roots had usurped the space beneath the top layer of soil. The plants there, though filling the space, were a tangled mess. 

The weekend before our gardener was to come help with this area, I discovered a tiny bird’s nest hidden in the plants and within it three small eggs, each about the size of a marble. On Monday, thinking the gardener would come later in the week, I called to tell him to hold off, but he was at my home, seconds away from starting to take out all the old plants. I was grateful that I managed to stop him in time. I told him that we’d have to wait until the eggs hatched and the chicks had flown away.

Every few days I’d check on the nest until one day there were three tiny birds inside. The mother bird would fly back and forth finding food for her little ones. After about two weeks had passed, I looked to find an empty nest. These birds had flown.

Because of the shade, I settled on round English boxwood, tassel ferns, yerba buena and white annuals for the area. As it turned out, the delay worked in my favor as when I went to my prized nursery, Wegman’s in Redwood City, they had an ample supply of all the plants in good sizes and quality, something of a rarity these days.

My final effort was to plant some lemon trees that were on my wife’s wish list. Though I somewhat bungled the effort and removed some plants that were best left in place, we will now be able to produce enough lemonade for our whole neighborhood. 

As I notice the days quickly shortening and autumn upon us, I happily walk outside my home to enjoy the work that has been done. The garden project served its purposes, improving the quality of the nature around me and taking my mind away from its endless chatter. But, of course, the work never ends, and there is always a dead fig vine to be clipped and a trash can to be cleaned

It is easy for the eyes of those passing by to be drawn to the expansive mystery of Redwood City’s Union Cemetery. Located on Woodside Road, the six-acre California State Landmark is a lush, stirring setting with long walkways, ornate statues and American flags. In 1859, prior to the American Civil War, the land was purchased by the Union Cemetery Association with the help of a donation from former San Francisco District Attorney Horace Hawes. “It was only called the Union Cemetery because that was the leaning of the citizens at the time,” says Kathy Klebe, president of the Historic Union Cemetery Association. The cemetery saw its first burial in May of the same year. Visitors today can see the tombstones and crypts of notable 19^th-century San Mateo county residents including composer John Clifford Heed and pioneer John H. Sears. There is also a designated area of the cemetery for those who fought in the Civil War as Union soldiers with a large statue commemorating their service. Donated by Mrs. Leland Stanford, the monument’s inscription reads, “To the Memory of California’s Patriotic Dead Who Served During the War for the Union. Mustered Out.” The Union Cemetery Association was disbanded in 1918, and the cemetery fell into disrepair, but community volunteers stepped in to help maintain the serene space. Today, the landmark is managed by the Historic Union Cemetery Association, and anyone is welcome to tour and appreciate its beauty. A visit on Memorial Day is especially meaningful. “We have had a very large and decorative memorial service since the 1850s,” notes Kathy. “Normally, we have flags, songs, speeches and a loud anvil shoot.” In 1967, Union Cemetery was designated a California State Landmark, and it is also on the National Register of Historic Places. Visit historicunioncemetery.com to explore a wealth of historical details and documentation. 

Discovering the Peninsula’s Wine Country

Strolling through rows of Pinot Noir vines, Portola Vineyards owner Len Lehmann stops to carefully wind tendrils back on their wires. “People on the Peninsula don’t realize they live in wine country and think they have to go to Sonoma and Napa,” he says. “This is the epicenter of historical fine winemaking in North America.” 

Len pauses to point out grape flowers and budding fruit on branches on his two-acre property tucked in its own valley within Portola Valley. “I feel we are here for a moment in these vines’ lives and it is a joy to be among them,” he explains. Along with his wife, Vivian, Len is committed to sharing that bliss—the unique terroir of the Peninsula foothills—with the local community. 

A longtime Peninsula resident, Len retired from a technology career to try his hand at agriculture and settled on growing and selling wine grapes in part to honor the winemaking heritage of the area. He didn’t originally set out to become a winemaker; however, a gift from Vivian changed their lives. “One year, my wife bought me a small press and destemmer for my birthday,” he laughs. “She probably regrets that now.” 

As Len tried his hand at winemaking, he enjoyed the connection with the land and discovered that his science mind as a former engineer translated well to the art. “In my previous career, I saw short life cycles with products and companies,” he notes. “I wanted to be attached to something with a little more staying power and work outdoors where I could be a part of the natural order of things.” 

Getting back to the land for Len also opened up a new world of connection among local winemakers in the Santa Cruz Mountains region. “It has been a very warm community of commercial winemakers in this region,” he says. “We gather around a table to celebrate the harvest together sometimes with nearly 30 bottles of fine wines and magnums. We taste each other’s unreleased wine in closed sessions and the winemakers will stand up and tell exactly how they made the wines. There are no trade secrets in this business.”

Len finds the community spirit and teamwork among local wine growers unlike anything he found in the tech industry. “It is a kind of mutual aid insurance program,” he says. “During the winemaking season when vintners are working 16-hour days and things are really tense, fine winemakers of this region found time to mentor me during my first few years. That is real generosity.” When Len asked fellow regional winemakers what happens when one of them is unable to work, they had a swift reply: “If you are injured or sick, the other winemakers will get together and make sure that vintage goes okay for the winery.”

The group of nearly 50 wineries in the Santa Cruz Mountains works together to elevate the entire region and keep its historic wine-making tradition alive and competitive. Their efforts have paid off and the region’s wines are gaining recognition. Prince Harry and Megan Markel selected Saratoga winery Mt. Eden for their wedding, and a few years back, the best French wine experts chose Santa Cruz Mountain Ridge Winery red and white varieties over French wines at the prestigious Judgement of Paris. 

Portola Vineyards is a certified organic vineyard and sustainable on many levels including the practice of dry farming, which consists of not watering the vines at all during the growing season. “We just let the plants do what they need to do to find water,” he explains. “It’s astonishing to me to see how dry the ground is in June and July and the vines are vibrant green and not stressed at all.” Portola Vineyards avoids tillage to preserve organic matter and with grape vines lasting over 100 years, they make for a regenerative, ecological crop. “The roots will go down 25 feet looking for water,” he illustrates. “Our only nutritional input is one tablespoon of potassium per year.”

In addition to dry farming, Portola Vineyards employs a unique, natural technique called native fermentation, which is a distinguishing winemaking practice of the Santa Cruz Mountains. “We don’t add any yeast to the grape juice and instead rely on whatever yeast cells are floating around in the air or on the skins of grapes,” he describes. “It is like making sourdough bread and is a longer, cooler fermentation process and arguably it creates a more complex wine.”

As fall harvest approaches, Portola Vineyards’ neighbors and wine club members participate in picking and stomping the grapes each year. “A lot of the kids join in and crush grapes underfoot,” Len smiles. “We have set up this vineyard to share our enthusiasm with local folks.” Much like a “U-pick” farm, wine club members receive an undivided interest of fruit, which translates into the wine bottled from seven vines. The vineyard also offers instruction in viticulture, a unique advantage for those who want to learn more about the trade. “We constantly have a stream of locals and others in the community who work the vines,” Len observes. “Three of our club members have gotten so excited they have enrolled in the University of California at Davis winemaker’s certification program.”

Len initially planted his two acres in 2003 with Pinot Noir vines, and after many years, the fruits of his labor have garnered the attention of wine critics. Just last year, Wine Enthusiast magazine awarded Portola Vineyards a Gold Medal and 90 points for their 2015 Estate Pinot Noir. Earlier in 2018, tasting.com handed Portola Vineyards 2013 Santa Cruz Mountains Pinot Noir a Gold Medal and 94 points. Wine experts have also awarded Portola Vineyards Cabernet and Chardonnay with high marks. In addition, the winery also produces Rosé and a Port wine infused with walnuts. 

California wine growers always navigate natural elements and weather, but recent high temperatures and smoke have proved challenging for the industry. “It was a tough year,” Len affirms. Portola Vineyards produced about one-third of their normal production last year and local vintners continue to brace for rolling blackouts and more trying circumstances. “We were harvesting at 100-degree temps on harvest day, then PG&E cut power,” he recalls. “We were fortunate to harvest early and we produced a lot of Rosé wine, which looks promising right now.”

Despite recent challenges, Portola Vineyards continues with its tradition of community-focused events. Before the harvest every summer, the winery hosts a series of evening jazz concerts with ticket prices at a fraction of the cost of other summer music venues. The line-up includes  Grammy Award-winning musicians and several San Francisco Jazz Festival headliners. Ticket sales begin every April and sell out quickly for the popular events where guests picnic under the stars and taste newly released wines from the vineyard.

While Len offers up grape-growing and winemaking instruction, his wife Vivian expands the community offerings in ways that reflect her own talents—including cooking classes. “My wife grew up in Istanbul and makes fantastic stuffed grape leaves,” Len proudly boasts. “Guests learn how to pick leaves right off the vine and blanch, stuff and roll them.” Additional Portola Vineyards quarterly events for members include yoga in the vineyard led by Vivian and Pizza and Pinot Day when members enjoy flights of Pinot Noir and hot pizza right from an outdoor pizza oven.

With fall harvest just ahead, Len looks forward to the crush and doing his part in keeping the ancient art of winemaking alive on the Peninsula. “Leland Stanford was a big wine grower,” Len relays. “The old red barn on the Stanford campus was the original 19^th-century wine building and there was a vineyard on campus.” He pauses before providing a deeper perspective on the importance of his craft. “Winemaking has been around for over 5,500 years. The reason Portola Vineyards endures is to enjoy our heritage of fine wine growing in this area and learn how we have co-evolved with these vines.”