Author: punchwpadmin

The corner of Sand Hill Road and Portola Road in Woodside is a bustling intersection where groups of cyclists come and go like clockwork. Photographer Dennis Hancock caught a snapshot of the action in this Perfect Shot. “They are part of the story of living here,” he says.

Image by Dennis Hancock

Words by Sheri Baer

As Georgie Gleim gestures to a vintage Victorian brooch in a display case, the melodic jangling of her bracelet strikes the ear like a wrist-sized wind chime. One charm in particular catches the eye—a gold circle with five engravings: 11/17/41, 12/7/41, 12/30/41, 2/15/42 and 10/2/45. 

For Georgie, the numbers on that small disc translate into treasured milestones. “The first date is the day my mother went to work in the store, followed by my mother and father’s first date, which was Pearl Harbor Day, and then the date they got engaged, which was shortly after,” she narrates. “February 15 was when they got married and then the final date is when my oldest brother was born.” 

Georgie is referring to her parents—Arthur and Marjorie Gleim—both Paly grads, whose courtship sparked when her mother was working as Christmas help at Gleim the Jeweler in Palo Alto. Founded 90 years ago by her grandfather, Frederick Gleim, the store represented a family’s hope for a brighter future when it opened in 1931. A trained jeweler and watchmaker from the Midwest, Frederick borrowed money to buy a bankrupt inventory in the middle of the Great Depression. Georgie still has the original ledger showing the first day’s earnings of the fledgling business: $.00 

Thankfully, Alfred began to record entries—small jewelry pieces, a watch selling for $5, a lot of repairs. “The fact that he was a craftsman made the difference,” Georgie says. “He was able to do that work himself and he taught my dad how to do a lot of that work as well.” Four months after opening, a ledger notation in all capital letters signaled that Frederick’s gamble was starting to pay off: DIAMOND. The little shop not only survived, it ultimately thrived, and nine decades later, Georgie represents the third generation in the family assisting Gleim the Jeweler customers. 

The Castilleja alumna admits that following in her father’s and grandfather’s footsteps wasn’t always her plan. “The jewelry business was just what my dad did,” she says, recollecting that she personally viewed it as short-term work in her early 20s. Until her perspective changed. “My oldest brother was planning to take over the business,” she shares, “and he was killed in Vietnam, so I felt like I needed to give it a try.” 

Like her father before her, Georgie pursued a graduate gemologist degree through the Gemological Institute of America. In her coursework, she learned gem origins, qualities, history, identification and diamond grading. She layered on seminars and conferences and the day-to-day lessons she gleaned working side-by-side with Arthur, a nationally-recognized leader in the jewelry industry. As Georgie gained appreciation for the business, she realized she was a rarity in her own right. “Women wear the jewelry,” she observes, “but it certainly wasn’t what the industry looked like at all, which never quite made sense.” 

Georgie became an industry trailblazer in her own right—as the second female to be president of the American Gem Society and a board chair of Jewelers of America. “I had the advantage of being introduced as Art Gleim’s daughter,” she acknowledges proudly. Georgie became Gleim the Jeweler’s third president in 1985, with her father continuing to have a presence in the store until his passing in 2007. 

It was Arthur who had the vision to open a Stanford Shopping Center location when the brand new mall opened in 1956. Today, Gleim is one of only two original tenants left—the other being See’s Candy. Just as the landmark shopping center has evolved over the years, Georgie has witnessed many dramatic shifts in precious gem trends. “It was opals for a while. Then emeralds. And when Princess Diana had a sapphire engagement ring, everyone wanted sapphires,” notes Georgie. “And fancy colored diamonds have become more popular in the last couple of decades—that’s a huge change, especially the rare colors like pinks and blues.”

In addition to carrying fine gemstone jewelry, including the store’s own collection, Gleim specializes in estate and antique jewelry. “My grandfather used to buy jewelry from private clients, and my dad was always interested in vintage pieces as well,” she recounts. “Jewelry that has survived all those decades tends to be jewelry that is well-made with beautiful workmanship you can appreciate.”

Georgie estimates that about 95% of Gleim’s estate jewelry is bought or consigned from private individuals in the area. Period styles include Art Nouveau (1890-1915), Edwardian (1901-1915), Art Deco (1920-1935) and Retro (1935-1949)—with each day yielding new surprises. “You never know when something fabulous is coming in the door,” Georgie says. “You see some wonderful heirlooms or just pre-owned jewelry that we can sell at a great value.” Given the unique qualities of vintage pieces, Georgie also sees different attributes appealing to customers: “People are drawn by a piece’s story or history or some just like the style.” 

In Georgie’s case, it’s all of the above. On this particular day, she’s sporting Victorian earrings (“They are castles, a classic Victorian design.”), a gold and quartz equestrian-style necklace (“This probably dates back to the Gold Rush—my mom used to wear it to horse shows.”) and a late Victorian butterfly pin (“I’m trying to get people to appreciate brooches again because not enough people wear them these days.”)

And then there’s the added factor of sentimental value. The third-generation jeweler views her livelihood as the perfect tangible expression of a family’s history. “There’s nothing else that connects the generations that you can wear all the time—that every time you look at it, you think of the spouse, parent or grandparent who gave it to you,” she reflects. 

Which harkens back to Georgie’s dangling bracelet, each charm bearing its own rich story. “This is my dad’s cufflinks with his initials. This was my dad’s wedding ring,” she describes, as she lovingly handles each piece in turn. “This was a jade charm of my mother’s. This is a little coin my mom put in her shoe when they got married…”

Call me Troilus. I’m a Blenheim (brown and white) Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. My illustrious ancestors were found at Blenheim Palace in England and in Titian paintings, but I come from Shasta County, California. Rick and Lynn encountered irresistible me on their way back from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. They had just attended a performance of The Taming of the Shrew, so I was named for Petruchio’s Act 4 Scene 1 line, “Where’s my spaniel Troilus?” Clearly, I was in Anderson, waiting for my family to bring me home to Palo Alto. Given that my head “feathers” rise like a ’60s Troll doll, it’s not surprising that my nickname is Troll. Cavaliers should have a melting expression. Mine would melt steel. I moderate my dyspeptic look with a nonstop helicopter-wagging tail but looks aren’t everything. I excel at agility, rally and am an AKC Canine Good Citizen. My primary profession (and passion) is sleep. My part-time job is air traffic control. We’re on the flight path to SFO, so I scamper across the yard barking at and directing planes. I also have a side gig as a music critic. In the car, I insist on my own tunes and I make my displeasure known if I don’t get what I like. Forget classical or rock—’50s rockabilly is my choice. Lynn’s attempt to convince me I’d enjoy ABBA was her Waterloo. But my sensitive hearing also made me a hero. When I started barking furiously one time, Rick discovered that the basement was flooding. I beat the electronic alarm by half an hour. Although appearance isn’t my lead attribute, I’ve been mistaken for Elizabeth Taylor on University Avenue. It turned out that the lady was talking about the Cavalier star of Sex and the City. Not bad for a little Troll dog like me.

Words by Silas Valentino

In the weeks leading up to her husband bicycling across the country to fundraise for cancer research, Jenny Dearborn was uncharacteristically still.

The plan all along was that she would hang at home in Palo Alto as her spouse, John Tarlton, competed in the Race Across America—an ultra-distance road cycling race stretching some 3,000 miles from Oceanside, California, to Annapolis, Maryland—but Jenny couldn’t resist helping out in her own way.

“John was so focused on raising money and I was thinking, ‘How can I help?’ I thought that if we captured it on video, it could be a way to help raise money to have footage from the race,” she recalls.

“I found this little production company in Redwood City with a couple of 28-year-olds who own cameras and know how to use them. I called them and said, ‘Will you come in a van across the country to get two camera shots of everything John does?’ And we’ll figure out the rest later…”

What transpired next was 2,000 hours of footage documenting the grueling adventure spanning deserts, endless cornfields and the Chesapeake Bay. John, backed by a crew trailing him with food, support and the occasional nap opportunity, completed the race on June 23, 2019, after nearly 12 continuous days of pedaling.

The trek, tribulations and triumph are all captured in the documentary Until the Wheels Come Off, which Jenny produced and is currently finalizing before it heads out on the festival circuit with the goal of landing on a streaming service.

The film is an intimate look at John and his crew as they work in tandem to conquer the feat, often referred to as “the Everest of Cycling.” As opposed to the Tour de France, which has multiple stages and daily rests, Race Across America is nonstop. Participants weigh the impact of each of their breaks and rests as they hustle to the next checkpoint to avoid disqualification.

John designed his race as a fundraiser for the Stanford Cancer Institute. Both his mother and sister received care from Stanford and his efforts inspired over $350,000 in donations. The funding was seeded into cancer discoveries and research, supporting programs such as genetic tumor testing, liquid biopsy technology and the immunooncology program.

Describing herself as an accidental filmmaker, Jenny is hoping that the documentary helps sustain contributions while she refocuses on her own ambitions. When she answers the door at home on a recent balmy afternoon, her overalls are splattered in paint, residue from her passion project of painting giant traces of superheroes on canvas. (As well as the occasional Bam! or Pow! onomatopoeias.) Nestled against her chest like a kangaroo’s joey is a newborn kitten that she’s gently fostering before adoption.

Superheroes and caring for others extend deep into Jenny’s genes from her experience as a young person who struggled in school due to undiagnosed dyslexia and ADHD.

“I had a hard time learning how to read as a kid but I did read comic books,” she says. “All types of comic books but I really identified with Wonder Woman. I was born in 1969 and in the ’70s, we had Linda Carter and Lindsay Wagner on TV as superheroes. I’m six feet tall and the idea of being strong with a physical presence was super important.”

Jenny’s dyslexia was identified when she was in junior college and to aid with her disability, she began receiving government-issued 8-track recordings of books that helped with her visual and auditory processing. Listening to the words while she read allowed her to process on her own time. She quickly excelled, rising from a D student to straight As and earning an academic scholarship to Cal Berkeley.

It was there that she met John, and after three weeks of dating, he asked her to marry him. They both graduated from college in December 1991 and were married five weeks later.

Jenny’s first career was teaching English, drama and public speaking at Woodside High School where her motivation was clear: “I am going to make sure that the pain and struggle I went through doesn’t happen to someone else,” she says. “It was from a place of fear—I wanted to protect all the people who were vulnerable.” 

She later gravitated to the corporate world, initially at Hewlett Packard, where she shifted into a human resources role, translating her passion for protection towards employees.

“I love that HR focuses on culture and engagement—how to recognize people and reward them,” she explains. “You spend the best years of your life and the best hours of the day at your job. Why not use that time to find joy and fulfillment? That felt like a real calling.”

 Jenny and John have raised their three children—Jack, Chloe and Cooke (each of whom were part of John’s road crew during the race)—along with a cast of cats and dogs in a Victorian house located not far from downtown Palo Alto. Jenny’s father grew up on the adjacent street and they chose the house in part because of its proximity to the famed Hewlett Packard Garage. 

The home is often full and busy—as Jenny prefers it to be.

“I feel alive just before redlining,” she says. “I seek out situations that are a little bit chaotic. The more cleaning up the better. That’s why I like working at startups; you feel like your hair’s on fire all of the time.”

Jenny is the chief people officer for a startup company called Klaviyo, where she’s currently facing the Silicon Valley version of an endurance race—helping her team cross the finish line to an IPO. 

“This is my Everest,” she notes with a determined smile.  

To Donate:

teamtarlton.com/donate

To Watch:

untilthewheelscomeoffmovie

After almost a year and a half, my son Coby was able to come visit us from his home in Tel Aviv. It was a long period to be apart and our entire family felt it. The lapse in time was especially evident in our newest generation—a new niece and nephew Coby could finally hold in-person and three toddlers who had magically transformed from the infants he had kissed goodbye some 18 months ago.

The collective Citron clan, Coby’s sisters, brother, brothers-in-law, sister-in-law and parents, were so ecstatic about him being home—and aware of how fast a two-week visit passes—that it was almost a brawl to claim
Coby’s attention. All he wanted was some R&R, but all we wanted was some Coby time. He is, after all, the youngest—and, well, the favorite (I think we’d all agree on that)—so wanting to hang with him comes naturally.

One of the most remarkable aspects of this visit was how effortlessly the two-year-olds (born two weeks apart) and the one-year-old bonded with Coby as if their entire experiences with him had not been via FaceTime. Coby’s brother and sisters are conscientious about FaceTiming on a near daily basis and having their children build relationships with their uncle. 

Physical touch is paramount to the human experience, but it was clear to me that you can still come to love and treasure someone without that taking place. The children were all so happy to have their uncle here and, of course, Coby—a warm and loving person—was down on the ground playing and laughing and romping with them. 

Being able to have real-time visual interactions is a wonderful reality of our current existence. My kids and grandkids don’t know any better, so they use this technology with ease and confidence. I frequently forget about the opportunity to use the wonders of our day, whether on my phone or even to deposit a check, but I’m very grateful for it in the case of Coby and his nieces and nephews.

Whenever I could, I grabbed Coby and Josh (his older-by-seven-years brother) and we hit the golf course. The three of us love to play together, creating our own brand of what we call “team golf,” which we play in a scramble format. It’s a lot more fun for us since we are working together instead of against each other. The highlight of the rounds (which we will remember a good while) was when I accidently sprayed sunscreen into my left eye and could hardly open my eye for nine holes. My sons will give me grief about this for the rest of my life!

My daughters Ari and Tali wanted to take Coby shopping with them, since he had not bought any new clothes since the last time he was here. They are expert shoppers and Coby listens to them. They also persuaded him to do “the Stanford Dish” more times than poor Coby cared to, but he was a gracious sport about it.

We planned almost every meal with Coby and visited every restaurant that we are fond of, some of them several times. It was impossible for everyone to always be there, of course, but we managed it on several occasions, from our Shabbat dinners on Friday nights to at least three going-away dinners. And then there was some sort of lunch every day for whomever could make it.

One night was particularly special, as the in-law children good-heartedly stayed home with their sleeping young ones and it was just the six original Citrons together for dinner, and we realized it was probably 10 years ago in Barcelona when that had last happened. We went to Coby’s favorite restaurant, Tamarine in Palo Alto, where we sat inside and had a wonderful night with toasts, laughs and happiness. Whenever Coby is home, we splurge, and this was no exception. Ari ordered just about everything on the menu for us (she is the official “orderer” in our family) and it was truly a cheerful feast. 

Two nights later, on the way to taking Coby to the airport for his 8PM return flight, we stopped at Josh and Adara’s home in San Mateo, where we all gathered for a meal of pizza and children and goodbyes. That period right before he leaves is a tough one emotionally. You can feel the minutes ticking down and I find it difficult to be in the moment. Half the time, tears start streaming down my face, and on this evening I was not alone. But the kids all climbed on Coby, happy to be with him and to feel his love and affection up close, loving their improved physical relationship with their favorite uncle and knowing that he is just a FaceTime video chat away.

Viewed from the hills of Byxbee Park in Palo Alto, the historic ITT building sits in the middle of the Emily Renzel Wetlands, incongruously surrounded by barbed wire and a field of pickleweed. Aside from an explanatory plaque in Byxbee, there is little to indicate the abandoned white Mission Revival-style structure’s significance. Originally built by the Federal Telegraph Company on land acquired in 1921, the building and accompanying antennas were used for Pacific Coast communication. In 1930, the facility was acquired by the International Telephone and Telegraph (ITT) company. Most famously, according to an article in the San Jose Mercury News, “On December 7, 1941, an operator for the KFS Marine Radio heard this signal: ‘Submarine sighted.’ The time was 10:50 a.m. Pacific Standard Time. Five minutes later, at 7:55 a.m. Hawaiian time, the attack on Pearl Harbor commenced. The radio message had been the first inkling that the Japanese were attacking.” In 1977, Palo Alto acquired the 152 acres surrounding the site to be dedicated to parkland as fresh and salt water marshes. Through a federal easement, the ITT building and surrounding towers continued to function in shipping communication. In 2016, Palo Alto acquired the remaining land and partially restored the building to its present state. Although there are proposals to convert the building to a museum, the future of the property remains uncertain.

Capturing the action at Mavericks, Frank Quirarte is always ready to save a life

Words by Silas Valentino
Featured Image by Brian Overfelt

Every few years, the Mavericks Volunteer Rescue Team puts on a fundraiser to help service their jet skis, upgrade first aid equipment and educate the public about safety at Mavericks and big wave surfing. This past December, the organization doubled its goal, swiftly raising thousands of dollars; the response was positively enthusiastic:

“Consider this a down payment on a future ride out of the danger zone,” one benefactor scribed on the GoFundMe page.

You don’t surf Mavericks to wipe out but if you go down, and a pulverizing 65-foot wave crashes overhead, the hand that hoists you out of the water would likely belong to the team’s leader, Frank Quirarte.

The hometown rescuer has safeguarded surfers for nearly 30 years from his front-row seat on a WaveRunner jet ski. Frank keeps watch over the extreme athletes as they battle nature’s extreme forces. If a surfer hits the water, he calculates the seconds before the next break to maneuver in for a rescue ride out.

Frank sees it all from his aquatic perch—the agony and the ecstasy of big wave riding. And since he’s the youngest of four brothers, the Pacifica native knows the value in sharing. That’s why, without any professional training, he began heading out on his rescues with a camera in hand to document the turbulent sport.

Over the years, Frank learned from his photographic snafus, modified an approach to the art and started developing some pretty gripping images that surf magazines began to publish. After his shots started appearing on covers, Frank realized that he’d stumbled into professional photography.

Serving a dual purpose on the water—as rescuer and documenter—allows Frank to travel to big waves across the world and support international surfers. For this kind-hearted thrill-seeker, photography is just one of the ways he engages with the world; he’s journeyed to Mount Everest, documented several Burning Mans and volunteered to rescue survivors from the flooded streets of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Frank’s surf photography appears in magazines and on walls across the country—freezing the intimate images that unfold in the midst of chaos. He captures the moment when someone lets go and yields to the elements. When man bows down to nature.

Frank’s extensive years as a guardian mean that you’re never as safe at Mavericks as when he focuses his lens on you.

There’s a garage in the Linda Mar neighborhood in Pacifica where Frank learned the nuts and bolts of engineering. Today, the space has been transformed by his teenage son Aidan into a music and weight room, keeping the legacy of Quirarte passion projects alive.

Frank is raising his son in the same house where he grew up under the guidance of his parents and three older brothers. That garage once hosted an active workbench where BMX bikes came and went with repairs after Frank and his brother raced them in the City. Now Frank’s gear, such as his Pelican photography cases, are stacked off to the side to allow his son sufficient room to explore his hobbies.

Frank’s father was a machinist and an adventurer who taught his sons how to ride dirt bikes and planned houseboat vacations on Lake Oroville. When Frank’s older brother Dave bought a jet ski for the lake, it broadened Frank’s lifelong fascination for motor sports and engineering.

“A bicycle back then was an Erector Set,” he says. “I would throw it on the workbench and learned on the fly. Today, people are astonished when they see me change the radiator on my truck.”

Frank graduated from Pacifica’s Terra Nova High School in 1981, but schooling didn’t come naturally to him. “If I look back at it now, I definitely had ADHD,” he says. “I struggled because I wanted to focus but I couldn’t.” He set a goal to one day become a college grad and looked for his own way of achieving it.

After scoring well on the mechanical portion of an aptitude test (“It had to be genetic from my dad,” he jokes. “I was always wrenching on things…”), Frank went into the Air Force with a dream of becoming an airplane mechanic. He fondly recalls going to air shows at Moffett Field and how his father always praised the mechanics of flight.

Frank maximized his military service by taking advantage of the abundant education opportunities. Whenever he had a free weekend, he’d convince buddies to join him for EMT training while chipping away towards a degree in Airframe Mechanics and Aircraft Maintenance. When he completed his degree in 1984, a letter arrived in the mail informing Frank that he had reached his goal. “In basic terms, it said that I was a college grad,” he recalls. “I still have the letter.”

Frank was just about to start his dream job as a line mechanic for Delta Airlines at SFO in 1990 when then-President Bush Sr. initiated Operation Desert Storm. As an Air Force reservist, Frank returned to service to transport troops from a base in Monterey and was stationed in Saudi Arabia. He worked on the largest airlifters such as Lockheed C-141 Starlifter and C-5 Galaxy aircrafts. When the conflict ended, Delta had reserved his job for him and Frank’s career took off.  

One early morning in the ’90s when he lived at a house on the beach, Frank heard a car horn outside and peered out of his window to see a guy with a long surfboard drive away. When it happened again at 6AM the following morning, Frank pieced it together: “Those are dragon slayers,” he remembers thinking.

Around that time the lore of Mavericks was beginning to permeate throughout surfing communities near and far. Frank surfed, but he wasn’t a big wave rider himself. Rumors of goliath swells just outside the point in Half Moon Bay seduced his adventurous spirit. He went to a Radio Shack, purchased a weather cube for real-time reports and began tracking the breaks. From the cliffside, Frank watched as surfers rode waves larger than any building in town. He wanted to get involved—but in his own way.

“I wasn’t ocean-worthy. I went to Jeff Clark’s (the founder of Mavericks) shop and was basically a groupie,” Frank recounts. “But Jeff wasn’t having me at all. I became friends with his girlfriend and talked him into letting me go out in an old Zodiac boat. I proved my worth; I could drive a boat. Once I got the lay of the land, I would board caddy for those guys.”

Mavericks grew in popularity. Surfers arrived from Hawaii and beyond to legitimize the break. Frank saw photographers appearing on jet skis to capture the rides and he was struck by the artistic thrill and challenge. He began asking for advice from local photographers and inherited a full Nikon outfit from a friend. His education came in scraps of advice from established photographers and learning what he did and didn’t like after patiently developing extensive rolls of film.

When the Zodiac boat started to fail, Frank didn’t hesitate to take his older brother up on an offer to buy an old jet ski. Soon his photo gallery expanded. Looking back today, Frank laughs at his novice roots: “When I had my first shot published, I sent the magazine hundreds of pictures over a week’s time… I needed to learn how to become my own editor.”

In December 1994, tragedy struck Mavericks just as it was becoming a cultural landmark when professional surfer Mark Foo drowned while surfing. His passing signaled a newfound push for safety.

“I was always asking, ‘Why isn’t there a rescue team?’” Frank says. “Some Hawaiians came over and gave us some real lessons and we began to train each other. In the beginning, I wasn’t a good rescuer. I raced in and raced out and was overzealous. You’re scared. I developed over time and now it’s more technical. You don’t need to race in, you can pick your line. There’s a level of fear that helps you as well. You cannot be nonchalant about it—you have to be on your toes every time.”

The Mavericks Rescue Team developed into a fully organized unit that supports every Mavericks season. Frank runs the team using a risk management theory that poses critical questions, among them: “Will you become part of the problem?” and “Who will save the rescuer?”

Frank refined this rescue strategy through his own enterprising efforts. In 2005, after New Orleans was devastated by Hurricane Katrina, Frank joined a friend to launch an impromptu rescue mission on their jet skis through the flooded streets. They were the only private rescue team authorized by FEMA.

“There was an army boat pulled up on a house that couldn’t get in so we skied up to a crawl space,” Frank remembers of New Orleans. “There was an older gentleman there and we got him onto the airboat.” That one rescue turned into multiple as Frank skied from house to house. “Then it was like, ‘Woah, did we just do that?’” he says humbly. 

Outside the water, Frank keeps his camera with him on his travels, such as a trip to Mount Everest a few years ago that he made to honor a friend who had passed. It’s also been with him for several Labor Day Weekends out on the playa in Nevada. “Burning Man can be anything you want it to be,” he says. “As a photographer, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. There’s so much going on out there.”

Frank has his own personal risk management plan and that’s to lead a more mellow life when he’s not running the rescue team. He’s always played the guitar and Aidan will sometimes join him on vocals for rock covers. Lately, Frank has begun to gather his thoughts and stories for a photobook to showcase his decades on the water.

In June, Frank will work with a rescue team for Dangerous Waters Adventures on a jet ski tour in Alaska. He’ll provide safety for folks as they travel across a thousand miles of wilderness and glaciers. He’s eager to finally explore the Last Frontier and his camera will remain within reach for every moment of the trip.

“Photography became just as exciting as rescuing,” says Frank, who fully comprehends the value of his unique blend of skills and experiences.

“The rescue abilities make me a better surf photographer because I have to stay in the pocket until the last moment to get the right shot,” he explains. 

“I’m way more hands-on than a technical photographer. The digital cameras have so many functions and I’m still learning as I go, but on the water, it’s pretty basic: Keep it in focus and get the exposure correct,” he pauses and grins. “Oh, and don’t get hit by a wave.”

1. Visit a Vineyard

Hold off on the two-hour drive to Napa because you can have a bacchanal in our own backyard at the Thomas Fogarty Winery, located off of Skyline Boulevard in the hills of Woodside. Since 1981, the winery has specialized in producing quality Chardonnay and Pinot Noir from the rocky soils of the Santa Cruz Mountains. The winery practices organic and sustainable farming while employing traditional winemaking techniques to remain true to the craft. Check out the Thomas Fogarty website for a blend of offerings ranging from wine tasting flights to vineyard/cellar tours. 

2. Smell the Flowers 

What’s that floral fragrance in the air? It’s spring on the Peninsula, which means a bounty of scents. Home gardeners rejoice as their annuals begin budding and public gardens are blooming with blossoms too. Filoli Historic House & Garden in Woodside and the Japanese Garden in San Mateo open their gates for the full visual/nasal celebration. Gamble Gardens in Palo Alto goes an extra step by offering a creative outdoor class to design a nest centerpiece specifically for Mother’s Day. Visit gamblegarden.org to register for the course on May 8.

3. Farm Frolic 

The website for Harley Farms in Pescadero has a unique tally that fluctuates throughout the year and it currently reads: “Baby goat count: 134.” It’s a preview to the abundance of softness you can expect during a tour or picnic that you book in advance at the lively goat farm. In addition to seeing newborn baby goats, a spring peek at farm life includes the milking herd, guardian llamas, Anatolian shepherds and Rosie the donkey. Tour spots go fast, so consider booking a private tour or just pop by between 11AM and 4PM any day to say hello to the goats and donkeys over the fence.

4. Canvases in Color

To know Mitchell Johnson’s art is to immerse yourself in a reality shaped by color. The Peninsula painter covers his canvases in primary, secondary and tertiary hues, sometimes depicting a New England coastal still life or perhaps a display of abstract blocks to evoke a patchwork of soul. Celebrating three decades of Johnson’s colorful exploration, the Pamela Walsh Gallery in Palo Alto presents Color Continuum: Selected Works 1988-2021. On view from May 15 to June 26, the collection charts Mitchell’s evolution from Parsons to Palo Alto while celebrating his lifetime discussion with color. 

5. Fresh Off the Dock

If farm-to-table is the hot option for produce, then nothing beats dock-to-table for seafood. Fortunately, the Peninsula is home to two bustling options for purchasing fresh fish. Pull up to Pillar Point in Half Moon Bay to buy fish directly off the boat, but before you go, check out the Fishline App website, which updates the types of fish you can purchase. On the other side of the Peninsula at the Port of Redwood City is Pioneer Seafood, which provides rockfish, sole, sablefish and more straight from its ship tied up to the F Dock. As the folks at Pioneer like to say, good salty spray and one halibut of a day!

6. Starlight Paddle

Starting an excursion with the setting sun is a solid indicator for unusual fun. The Half Moon Bay Kayak Company offers a three-hour Night Paddle that begins at sunset at Pillar Point Harbor. Take out a double kayak and glide past harbor seals and sea birds in the fading light. If the moon is hidden behind the clouds, chances are enhanced to view bioluminescence, a natural wonder when aquatic species produce and emit glowing underwater light. Visit the outdoor company’s website to schedule a reservation and they will take care of the rest. 

7. Berries Galore 

They grow ’em so you can pick ’em. Providers of fresh veggies, fruits and flowers, Blue House Farm returns with its seasonal strawberry U-Pick in May. The farmstand is located at 950 La Honda Road in San Gregorio and the U-Picks happen on weekends starting at noon. The strawberries are grown on over 70 acres between their farms in Pescadero and San Gregorio, and their red, ripe juiciness tends to attract admirers from all corners of the Bay. The farmstand is an ideal lure to get you over the hill and spend the day exploring the coast with a container of berries within reach. 

8. Get Curious  

Curiosity doesn’t have a height limit. The anatomy of the world’s smallest creatures captured with a digital camera and confocal microscope are on display in CuriOdyssey’s latest outdoor exhibit, Creature
FEETures. The San Mateo science museum showcases photography from Dr. Igor Siwanowicz, a biochemist and neurobiologist who specializes in zooming deep into the lives of the tiniest insects. The super-accessible foot-operated exhibit also includes life-sized castings of animal tracks. Creature FEETures is open Wednesday to Sunday from 10AM to 5PM.

9. Climb Peninsula Peaks 

Among the wondrous bounty of hikes and sights on the Penunsula, a hike up Montara Mountain stands out for the unique chance to straddle the peak between the Pacific and the Bay. Park your car near the San Pedro Valley Park Visitor Center located at 600 Oddstad Boulevard in Pacifica and begin your ascent to the mountaintop. Meandering through the coastal oaks and native brush leads to the North Peak Access Road that you can take to the summit where the ocean breeze cools you down.

10. Do Prison Time 

If top tourist attraction Alcatraz is your “I’ve lived here my whole life but never visited” guilty confession, there’s no better time to plan a day trip. After a lengthy closure, the infamous penitentiary is opening its jail cells again. Purchase your tickets through the Alcatraz Cruises website, the official concessionaire to the National Park Service, and then head to Pier 33 Alcatraz Landing. A short ferry ride brings you to the former home of some of America’s most notorious criminals like Al “Scarface” Capone and the “Birdman of Alcatraz” Robert Stroud. The award-winning “Doing Time: The Alcatraz Cellhouse Tour” audio takes you back in time as you poke into the Cellhouse, the Recreation Yard and the Sally Port.

11. Commune with Sea Critters

Hear ye, hermit crabs, chitons, sea stars and urchins: Get ready for visitors! On May 3, Fitzgerald Marine Reserve officially reopens, bringing back a front-row seat to the Peninsula’s underwater sealife. The Moss Beach tide pooling nirvana is the place to observe marine life up close. Don’t forget to check the tide charts before you go. The lower the tide, the more exposed the reef, which means a better chance to fully explore the spectacular secret world of the intertidal zone. 

12. Soar Above the Bay

The most exciting moment of any flight into or out of SFO is the fleeting glimpse of our Bay Area home from the sky. Stretching this experience out to an hour or more is the flying tour company Epic Aer, which takes off from either San Carlos or Palo Alto airport. The company offers up-close-and-personal perspectives of the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Half Moon Bay, Stanford and the City from the seat of a single-engine Cirrus SR22. There’s a variety of tours, so good luck choosing between San Francisco at night or a Half Moon Bay sunrise.

13. Make that a Martini  

As eateries ease back into the swing, now is the time to reserve a table. Take the Village Pub in Woodside, for instance. This Michelin Star classic offers a three-course dinner celebrating contemporary Californian cuisine with a tribute to the culinary traditions of France and the Mediterranean. The menu is always changing due to their partnership with a nearby 17-acre farm that supplies their harvest exclusively for use at the restaurant.

14. Get a Grip 

The first lesson of the sport is that we don’t golf—we play golf. The second lesson is that a hole-in-one buys a round at the clubhouse. But for any more insights you’ll have to consult a professional. The Stanford Golf Course hosts a roster of certified pros who teach every level from beginners to scratch players. They’re veterans on the green, such as Herman McKee who has teed up there since 1983. At the Crystal Springs Golf Club, you can enroll at the Greg Coplin Golf School, named after Golf Digest’s top teacher in California. Group lessons are available but a one-on-one is your best chance for working on your swing mechanics and short game. 

15. e-Bike Exploring

The newest road warriors to appear are the legion of whip-fast and smooth e-bike riders tapping into battery power for longer pedaling across the Peninsula. To get a taste of the latest advancement in two wheels, check out Pedego Electric Bikes in Menlo Park where e-bike rentals are available to take on journeys that reach beyond city limits. Ride up Sand Hill Road into the hills of Woodside to see your community from a fresh perspective. No need to fret the climbs—the e-bike provides that little boost of encouragement along the way.

16. Pin Down Fun

It’s a game of precision. Are you a heavy roller who can knock ’em down with clout or a smooth calculator maneuvering the slim alley using a graceful touch? However you spin it, bowling unites us in casual competition and easygoing leisure. San Mateo’s Bel Mateo Bowl offers the classic bowling experience with neon lighting, arcade games and 24 lanes to choose from. The newer Pinstripes at the Hillsdale Mall updates the play with two levels of bowling, bocce and a bistro serving pizzas and flatbreads from a wood-burning oven.

17. Beer Fridays

Every Friday at 4PM is the official bell ringer into the weekend at Devil’s Canyon Brewing Company in San Carlos. That’s when the neighborhood block party begins with music in the taproom, food trucks in the back outside and ever-flowing fills of craft beer. The weekly event has become a tradition amongst locals and if you become a member of the brewery, you can rent a locker to store your favorite reusable mug. And the celebration doesn’t have an age limit with their signature DCBC Root Beer Floats made with ice cream from nearby neighbor, Tin Pot Creamery.

18. Movie Magic

Whether you’re a blockbuster buff or an Oscar-winner devotee, movie theaters are reopening their doors to usher in a new season of cinema. Redwood City’s Cinemark and Century 12 San Mateo are showing the latest flicks along with Cinépolis at the Hillsdale Mall, which also offers classic films such as Thelma and Louise and The Iron Giant for only $5 a seat. Each of these theaters has its own protocol for socially-distanced movie-watching or you can also arrange for a private watch party. Cruella and A Quiet Place Part II are a couple of the bigger titles coming out in May to welcome viewers back to the big silver screen. 

When you look at me, what strikes you first? Perhaps it’s my keen eyes, my sporty, dignified beard or most likely, my striking coat. You’re not imagining it. There’s actually a tint of blue in the gray, which makes sense given that I’m a Kerry Blue Terrier. I live with Jourdy and Stuart in Burlingame, and while I’m considered on the mature side for a dog (13 years), I am always humbled by the fact that they’ve been married almost 60 years! Jourdy grew up with Kerry Blue Terriers and always wanted one. Kailey was the name of their first—she was an AKC champion and my great-grandmother. I also earned AKC titles with Jourdy, but when she started slowing down a bit, I was happy to step up my role as family pet and loyal, protective watchdog. It’s a good thing I’m so alert. A while back, Stuart had gotten up early and was working in his home office. After he gave me a few good neck scratches, I went back to the bedroom to wait for Jourdy to wake up. Immediately, I could sense something was wrong. I went back to Stuart’s office and started barking and stomping my feet and then turned around, hoping he would follow, which he did. I heard Jourdy say, “I think I am having a heart attack,” and after that, everything happened quickly. When Stuart returned from wherever they went, he fed me right away and talked to me while I was busy eating. He said that Jourdy had a mild heart attack and getting her to the hospital when they did made a huge difference. “You’re a lifesaver,” he told me. I’m good at expressing my feelings, and I know Stuart could see the joy and relief in my eyes. 

Words by Eva Barrows

What happens when high-performing Asian American teenagers of Chinese descent jet off to Taipei, Taiwan, to attend a Mandarin language and cultural immersion program, only to discover that there’s limited adult supervision? “The kids basically just go wild,” says Abigail Hing Wen, author of The New York Times young adult (YA) bestselling novel Loveboat, Taipei. “They’ve been cooped up for all these years, and suddenly the stopper is off and they dance, drink and go clubbing, rebelling in all kinds of ways.”

Just like Abigail herself, Ever Wong, Loveboat, Taipei’s main character, begrudgingly attends the Chien Tan immersion program, nicknamed “Loveboat” after its mischievous possibilities. In the book, Ever feels pressure to live up to her immigrant parents’ dreams. They want her to become a doctor, but she longs to be a dancer. “A lot of people resonate with that idea of your parents wanting you to do something different than what you want to do,” Abigail explains. “The idea definitely came out of my experience being from an immigrant family that was very focused on survival and business, and so things like writing were not necessarily valued.”

Growing up around Cleveland, Ohio, Abigail remembers feeling marginalized as an Asian American. Similar to Ever Wong, Abigail recounts, “I didn’t like people looking at me or making comments about my appearance, or noticing that I was Asian American.” Having a chance to be around other young people with similar backgrounds was a healing experience for Abigail. “By going on Loveboat and to Harvard and meeting a lot of Asian Americans who were really proud of their identity helped me come to a more holistic understanding of who I am and not to lose that part of myself,” she says.

The book follows four Loveboat students presented with their first opportunity to test limits and challenge authority—whether it’s by drinking shots of snake-blood sake or staying out all night clubbing. “Asian culture does not value rebellion,” says Abigail, “but being on Loveboat, we could rebel in a relatively safe environment and find out the consequences of rebellion.” 

Abigail believes that Loveboat alums learned essential leadership skills because they were allowed the space to try, fail and succeed. “Here in Silicon Valley, we understand the importance of disruptive leadership,” she says, “and I think those were skills that Loveboat inadvertently equipped us with.”

After the self-affirming experience of attending Loveboat, Abigail attended Harvard University, then Columbia Law School and became a lawyer. She clerked for Judge Judith Rogers on the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals and found that the position helped her develop as a writer. “I wrote opinions for the court with her,” she recounts. “She would rewrite my draft, and I learned how to revise and became a better writer because she’s such a good writer.”

Later, writing led to Abigail’s professional specialty in the field of artificial intelligence (AI). While working as an attorney for a venture capital company, she wanted to learn about AI for a fantasy novel she dreamt up with an AI-infused world. That fueled her interest in taking on the VC firm’s AI portfolio. “I started doing business development and thought leadership around AI,” she says, “and I became the policy person thinking about policy issues.” 

Abigail’s AI expertise landed her a spot in Silicon Valley’s tech scene upon her move to the Peninsula 12 years ago. She worked her way up to become Intel’s Senior Director of Emerging AI Tech, serves with the Partnership on AI and hosted the Intel on AI podcast.

Abigail credits her supportive husband with helping her realize her writing career. “When I was trying to decide whether to go into legal academia and become a law professor, my husband said, ‘You’re so excited about writing this novel, why don’t you just do that?’” Abigail recalls. With his encouragement, Abigail began to fully explore her creativity and passion for writing.

Abigail landed an agent with her second novel but realized she wasn’t able to take her writing to the next level as she worked through revisions. She decided to enroll in a low-residency MFA writing program at Vermont College of Fine Arts, which allowed her to continue at Intel during the day and perfect the craft of writing after work and on weekends. Her fifth novel, Loveboat, Taipei, went through 31 drafts before she settled on the characters she’d focus on and whose point of view she would use to tell the story. 

Published by HarperCollins in January 2020, Loveboat, Taipei became an instant New York Times bestseller. Being chosen by Barnes & Noble as a young adult book club selection helped propel Loveboat, Taipei’s popularity. Book club members across the country bought, read and discussed the book together. “It’s wonderful to impact so many people, to have so many people find themselves in my stories,” enthuses Abigail. “That I’m helping people feel seen is so important to me—that people read my book and feel seen.”

Further validating Loveboat, Taipei’s success, the book is already in the works to become a movie. ACE Entertainment, which brought the To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before franchise to Netflix, acquired film rights to the story and put Abigail in the role of executive producer. And book two of the Loveboat series, Loveboat Reunion, is slated for release in January 2022. In it, Abigail gets to actively play in both of her worlds as she explores artificial intelligence and women in tech through her fiction writing.

Abigail wrapped up her commitments at Intel and is now a full-time content creator, whether she’s writing articles on AI, novels, movie scripts or a TV pilot. Having worked to create change through the law, she is eagerly discovering the power of her voice as a writer. “I went into law because I care about social justice,” Abigail reflects. “Through writing, I’m also able to address issues that I care about.” 

Near the intersection of Highway 92 and Skyline Boulevard in San Mateo, Evan Reader captured this Perfect Shot of the Lotus Garden in Skyline Memorial Park. Perched at the top of a gently sloping hill sits the statue of Kuan Yin, the bodhisattva and goddess of mercy and compassion. Water wraps the base of the sculpture and cascades down the hill, feeding into six separate streams that meander through the garden. 

Image by Evan Reader – flickr.com/photos/greatestpaka

Words by Suzanne Ennis

Jennifer Rycenga is crouched at the edge of a dry stream bed, ears perked and eyes scanning the rocks and scrub. Armed with a smartphone, she’s on the hunt for interesting critters and plants. 

“Hear that? That’s a brown-headed cowbird,” she says, sotto voce. “And that’s a golden-crowned sparrow.” She’s about to photograph a centipede when a crowd starts to gather: It’s officially go-time. 

Jennifer is taking part in a BioBlitz, a community event that aims to record all species within a designated area during a set period of time. Over the next two hours, she and a diverse gaggle of hobbyists and experts will scour Penitencia Creek County Park in San Jose, logging their observations into a nature-identification app called iNaturalist. Jennifer (iNat user name: gyrrlfalcon) aspires to add more than 10,000 observations to the app each year, putting the San Mateo resident among the top “power users” worldwide. Currently, she ranks number 19 for observations and 69^th for species. “I want to be in the top 20,” she says with a grin. “I have my goals.”

So how does a professor of Religious Studies at San José State University who also holds a master’s degree in music composition become an iNat power user and a prominent advocate for “citizen science” (or, to use the more inclusive term, “community science”)—that is, public participation in scientific research?

Born in Wisconsin and raised in Connecticut, Jennifer traces her passion for nature study back to her PhD program at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, when a trip to Point Reyes piqued her interest in birding. Establishing her academic career took precedence for the following few years, but when she got her job at San José State in the mid-1990s, she began “listing” in earnest—documenting as many bird species as possible—and found herself hooked. 

By 2001, she’d helped to found the Queer Birders of North America, and the following year, Jennifer had a first date—14 hours of birding—with her now-wife, Peggy. In 2006, downloading a newly launched app called eBird took Jennifer’s birding skills to the next level, and her growing passion led her to the board of the Audubon Society’s San Mateo County chapter, the Sequoia Audubon Society. Soon, she was developing its online San Mateo Birding Guide, adding rare birds seen in the county and expanding its coverage to lesser-known parks. 

The watershed moment in Jennifer’s evolution as a citizen scientist, though, was an encounter with a rattlesnake while she was on a hike. Hoping to add the rattler’s photo to an online list of reptiles, she was redirected to a then-new platform, iNaturalist. She joined on August 13, 2012, putting a way to discover and share not just birds, but also other forms of nature, at her fingertips.

“Almost immediately, my attitude was, ‘This is the best thing ever,’” she recounts as she gently rolls over a log, revealing a California slender salamander. Her adoption of what she describes as a “virtual specimen drawer” was so life-changing, in fact, that she celebrates the anniversary each year by hosting her own BioBlitz. 

Today, Jennifer is president of the Sequoia Audubon Society, and she’s expanded its online birding guide to 100 sites and counting (check it out at birding.sequoia-audubon.org). Thanks to her commitment, the chapter also teams up with iNaturalist, the California Academy of Sciences and San Mateo County Parks to co-facilitate BioBlitzes throughout San Mateo County. 

Occasionally, one of the BioBlitzes that Jennifer organizes turns up something utterly unexpected that has a significant scientific impact, such as a 2019 discovery of a pillbug that hadn’t been seen north of San Luis Obispo in 90 years. More importantly, though, Jennifer approaches her citizen scientist activities as a way to build an inclusive community and preserve a resource she loves through a grassroots, participatory process.

“You don’t save something you’re indifferent to,” she says, “and getting people to love the natural world, to be curious about the natural world and to consider it from both a scientific and, for lack of a better word, a spiritual perspective, is part of what all of us can do right now.”

As the BioBlitz comes to a close, Jennifer tallies up her finds: 39 observations of 26 species, representing eight of the 13 different categories in iNaturalist. (In total, today’s event, which was organized by BioBlitz.club, Keep Coyote Creek Beautiful and The Bay Area Ridge Trail, found 124 different species.) For Jennifer, eight categories isn’t bad, but the holy grail is finding all 13 in one day. “Once that’s done,” she acknowledges, “I’ll set a new goal that’s just as crazy.”

With that, Jennifer has to scoot: She’s heard a hot tip about a nearby Cassin’s finch, a rare bird in the Bay Area and a contender for the 299^th spot on her Santa Clara County birding list. She can’t wait to snap a photo and share yet another wild find. 

A few months ago, I wrote about how I was considering getting a fish tank and/or a small motorcycle, to revisit two of my favorite things from my youth. I figured that these might bring me a touch of happiness during these bleak times. I haven’t given up on the motorcycle, but I did end up with a fish tank.

I lied to myself and others and said that I bought it solely for my grandchildren. If it were not for them, I probably wouldn’t have been able to convince myself to move forward with the fish, but since I’ve got a growing number of little Citrons running around, it was easy to tell myself that I was doing it for them.

Most of the fun of any new project is the planning, learning and buying the things needed for your new idea. This was not lost on me. I watched countless YouTube videos of tanks and fish; I visited three fish stores; and I studied dozens of websites, all in order to learn how to proceed. Finally, I decided on a Fluval Spec V 5-gallon Aquarium, a newer type of set-up where all the aspects (filter, air pump and lighting) are included in one unit.

Five gallons is small, but the tank (the measurements of which I studied and tested a dozen times) would fit neatly in a small space at the bottom of our family room bookcase. The efficient size would allow for a few fish and would lessen the amount of maintenance that would be required. I’m well aware at this point in my life how I come to resent having to take care of my big ideas.

I saw that I could buy the tank a bit cheaper on Amazon, but I’m now in an anti-Amazon mode, believing that the behemoth is destroying many things that  I love, from bookstores to toy stores to locally-owned shops. So, I now make every effort to buy in my neighborhood. That can even mean Petco, which, of course, at one point put out of business many small pet stores but is now the only such place in town. There is one aquarium store in San Mateo, and it is first on my list.

When I went to Petco to buy my tank, to my surprise, they were having a sale, so their price was actually less than at Amazon. I bought the Fluval system and a bag of natural gravel. After this, I went to the San Mateo store (they did not have the fish tank in stock) and bought some rocks, a heater and other items.

Once home, I undertook the happy part of any project, taking out the parts and setting things up. I put the tank together, added the substrate and rocks and filled the tank with water. I also added some plants I had found. And then I had to wait. It takes a while for a tank to get “established” with the bacteria and other microbes that make it hospitable to tropical fish.

After a couple of weeks, my tank was nothing but algae—a total mess, so I researched what to do and after a couple more weeks I was able to get that cleared up. Then, I could not get the water to the correct specs to introduce fish. Another two weeks passed before I decided to just go for it, and I introduced a test fish. Once it lived for a couple of weeks (and after dealing with another algae bloom), I finally had the tank working properly.

Then came the incredibly difficult decisions of what fish to buy. I started my research all over again. Worried that I would make bad decisions, I made no planned choices. Instead, I broke down one soggy Sunday afternoon at Petco and bought some green Tetras and some colorful Endlers. Looking for something colorful and larger, I learned that I could add one male Beta fish and it should work out.

Well, it did work out until I decided to add some beautiful long-tailed guppies into the tank. Within days, they were gone, never to be found. I knew that I had erred and felt a lot of remorse. But I am still learning. Along the way, a snail crawled out of the tank because I accidently left the cover off when filling up the water. Someday we will find this poor little guy. 

The tank looks good now, and the best part of all this meshugas is that the grandchildren really do love it. I lift up the grandkids in turn when they are over at the house, and we sit there on a little stool in front of the tank and together watch the colorful fish swim and dive.  

Now I wonder if I will break down and buy the Honda Monkey that I am eyeing, the yellow one that will remind me of the small motorbike I had as a child. Will I be able to justify it by driving my grandkids around the block? I’m sure that my children will NOT let me do this. So, if I get the bike, I’m on my own.

Just south of Half Moon Bay, as you pass the intersection of Highway 1 and Tunitas Creek Road, you’ll catch a sight that captured the eye of famed Depression-era photographer Dorothea Lange. In 1938, as part of her government-funded public works project documenting farmers, Lange immortalized what’s now known as the Sweet Farm Barn. At the time, the barn sat in the middle of an artichoke farm, just 1,500 feet from the ocean, and Lange’s historical documentation resides in the Library of Congress. Built in the 1860s, the barn was originally used as a dairy barn that was part of a much larger farm. Later, the land around the barn was split up and divided. In 2015, Nate Salpeter and Anna Sweet purchased the property and created Sweet Farm, a nonprofit sanctuary that rescues farm animals, grows crops and supports startups working to improve the food and agricultural industries. Through the years, Sweet Farm Barn has served multiple purposes—from being a working barn with horses to simply storing hay. Sweet Farm currently uses it to grow mushrooms and store equipment for its nonprofit programs. Or at least it did—
until January 2021, when whipping Santa Ana winds punched out the roof on the west side of the barn, dealing a formidable blow to the already weathered and deteriorating structure. Restoring the barn will be a significant undertaking—requiring a new foundation, the realignment of walls and rafters, along with a new roof. With an eye on the future, Sweet Farm is seeking construction and financial partners to support their efforts to preserve this Peninsula landmark. “This barn saw the California Gold Rush,” says Anna Sweet, “and we want to keep it standing for another 100+ years.”

Hear “Niles” and you might think “Railway.” Indeed, riding the Niles Canyon Railway is a great reason to take a trip across the San Mateo or Dumbarton Bridge. But it’s not the only reason, as we recently discovered on a day’s excursion. 

Niles, a Fremont neighborhood located between Mission Boulevard and Alvarado Niles Boulevard, is also home to one of the earliest movie studios, a portion of the Alameda Creek Trail, a main street lined with antique shops, one of the best pizza parlors in the Bay Area and fabulous ice cream and coffee.

That said, the Railway is a good place to start, especially in April when the canyon is green and wildflowers are abundant.

Riding Historic Tracks

Riding the Niles Canyon Railway is a chance to experience history as the tracks run along a portion of the first transcontinental railroad constructed by the Central Pacific Railroad. In 1869, four months after the golden spike ceremony at Promontory Summit, Utah, the San Francisco Bay Area was connected to the rest of the country with the completion of this section of tracks.

A freight terminal was built by the Central Pacific at the west end of the canyon and the town of Niles, named for Addison C. Niles, a prominent judge and former railroad attorney, sprung up around it. The Central Pacific became part of the Southern Pacific, which operated trains through the canyon for 12 decades until 1984.

In May 1988,  the all-volunteer, nonprofit Pacific Locomotive Association brought railroad passenger operations back to Niles Canyon. The organization continues its work to extend and maintain the track along the line, restore its collection of railroad equipment and operate historic demonstration trains. The enthusiasm of these volunteers adds to the experience of riding the train.

We rode the railway accompanied by a “this-is-kind-of-fun” six-year-old girl and her very enthusiastic three-year-old brother, who beamed from ear to ear. We recommend opting for the steam engine-led train, all the better to hear the clickety-clack of the tracks. And there’s something about the smell of the steam along with the huffing and puffing that adds to the enjoyment—especially in the open-air cars. 

Good to know

Niles Canyon Railway • ncry.org

+ Limited-capacity trains powered by the Robert Dollar #3 steam loco-
motive or the Southern Pacific #1423 diesel locomotive depart from
Sunol Depot at 10:30AM and 1PM on Saturdays and Sundays
in April and May.

+ Tickets must be purchased in advance.

Ambling the Banks of Alameda Creek

What has prompted trips to the Niles area in the past is nearby hikes, some that require a good deal of climbing. This time we opted to stay at sea level, more specifically creek level, walking the Alameda Creek Trail.

Parking at the Niles Staging Area, we purposely walked in the “wrong” direction. The pavement ended and soon we felt like Niles Canyon was cradling us in its warmth and beauty.

We retraced our steps walking westward along the paved path towards the town of Niles accompanied by our leashed dog. On the south side of the Creek, the trail extends 11 miles all the way to Coyote Hills Regional Park along San Francisco Bay. This is a great 22-mile out-and-back ride for cyclists. 

At various historical markers along the way, we learned that the Ohlone-speaking Tuibun tribe thrived for many generations along the Creek. And that the area was visited and explored by members of five Spanish expeditions between 1769 and 1795. 

Alameda Creek was the boundary of the 30,000-acre Mission San Jose de Guadalupe and the 17,000-acre Rancho Arroyo de la Alameda, which was granted to Jose de Jesus Vallejo. Construction of a flour mill near the mouth of Niles Canyon by Vallejo, plus the importance of the canyon as a passage through the hills, led to the growth of Niles in the 1850s.

Walking along the Creek is a very pleasant amble, uncrowded on a weekday. It’s just 1.4 miles to Kaiser Ponds, which hosts the Model Mariners boat club, and two miles to Shinn Pond, the first gravel pit in California, which provided gravel to build the UC Berkeley stadium—75 carloads in just the first order!

Good to know

Alameda Creek Trail • ebparks.org

+ Trail is paved on the south side; the north side is unpaved.

+ Bicycles yield to horses and hikers; hikers yield to horses.

+ Swimming in Alameda Creek is not allowed.

Great Pizza and More

We don’t remember how we first stumbled upon Bronco Billy’s Pizza Palace, which serves up some of the best pizza in the entire Bay Area. But a stop there is now mandatory on any visit to the area. My husband is a fan of the Bull Durham (salami, pepperoni, linguica, sausage and beef). My preference is the Stage Coach (chicken, fresh garlic, ranch dressing, mushrooms and red bell peppers). The various pizza combinations are available by the slice and in four sizes; given the size of the small, the extra-large must feed an army.

On this visit, before ordering “to go,” we took time to walk around the town of Niles. And to our amazement, we discovered that Bronco Billy was a real person. Gilbert “Bronco Billy” Anderson was the first Western movie star cowboy. In 1958, he was awarded an honorary Oscar, which is now on display at the town’s Niles Essanay Silent Film Museum.

It was Bronco Billy who lured Charlie Chaplin to Niles, where he made five films for the Essanay Film Manufacturing Co., including The Tramp. The scene where Chaplin waddles away from the camera was shot in Niles Canyon. Filmmaking continued in the area until talkies became popular, and the studio’s proximity to train tracks became problematic.

The Silent Film Museum is home to 400 silent feature films and over 600 silent short films, along with a collection of 10,000 film prints. Museum programs are currently available for viewing at nilesfilmmuseum.org, and the website says they’ll “re-open sometime down the road when the stars are right.” At that time, film enthusiasts will once again be able to watch silent movies in the museum’s Edison Theater built in 1913.

Knowing that we were ordering pizza to take back to the Peninsula, we didn’t buy ice cream at Nature’s Organic but can recommend the parlor known for its exotic flavors. Black Sesame, anyone? Or how about Cardamom Pistachio Kulfi? 

The walk around town led to a new discovery, Devout Coffee. Its interior is sparkly modern, and its coffees come from unique places. We brought home Flora de Selva from Peru. Other choices include beans from Ethiopia, Honduras and Rwanda, along with mainstay Columbia.

What better way to end a visit to the Niles area than a stop at the Niles Depot Museum located at the Niles Town Plaza? Open on Sundays, its focus is on the Southern Pacific and Western Pacific Railroads but it also has memorabilia from Union Pacific and Amtrak, which actually passed through town just as we approached the museum.

One of the joys of nature photography is exploring the dazzling palette of living colors. This is particularly true in spring. Following the rains, the golden tones of winter give way to a burst of color as flowers and butterflies re-emerge. This free show is on display in the gardens, parks and open spaces of the Peninsula.

(Photo above)

Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) have always been a personal favorite as much for their epic migration as for their striking colors.  In the case of monarchs, this color is an example of aposematism or warning coloration. Like a delicate tiger, these colors say, “Beware!”  In short, monarchs are poisonous to would-be predators.

In the case of this vibrant mariposa lily (Calochortus luteus) at Edgewood Park, the color is sending a very different message.  It says to the acmon blue (Icaricia acmon), “Come taste my nectar.” The butterfly gets a meal and the flower is using the butterfly as a pollinator.  

The pallid swallowtail (Papilio eurymedon) is common throughout western North America.  Its genus name means “butterfly” in Latin and is reminiscent of the French word for butterfly.  Befitting the name, the members of this charismatic genus can be found across the globe, including this cooperative individual at Jasper Ridge.

Beyond the camera, the internet provides valuable tools for the nature photographer. Particularly useful is the citizen science program, iNaturalist, which combines artificial intelligence with an online community to help identify organisms large and small.  Though camouflaged among the grass at the Stanford Dish, this large marble butterfly (Euchloe ausonides) is easily identified online.

The appropriately named variable checkerspot (Euphydyas chalcedona) is feeding on yerba santa at Jasper Ridge. The variable checkerspot has managed to thrive in the Bay Area. Meanwhile, the populations of its close relative, the bay checkerspot (Euphydryas editha bayensis) have been in serious decline due to factors related to climate change.  

Painted lady (Vanessa cardui) is a widespread species (on five continents) whose behavior and physiology have been studied in great detail for over 100 years. Painted ladies live about two weeks and undertake a long migration. Adult butterflies feed on a large number of plants and adults can be found year-round. The undersides of the wings show a series of ocelli or eye spots. 

Forget Bette Davis. My name is Jane, and my eyes have been praised as mesmerizing, almost human even. In fact, my family has a hard time looking away from my soulful gaze. I think that’s one of the reasons they took me home from Pet Express in Burlingame, where I was brought for adoption after being rescued in Stockton. I’m a Terrier and Dachshund mix, and it’s a good bet that my Dachshund DNA can take credit for my long torso that stretches out like a Slinky toy. I live in San Mateo with Marcus, Yvonne, Emily and Lizzy, and my one goal in life is to make them happy. They love to watch me dance, and I love that I get rewarded with a treat just for showing off. Given that I’m not that tall, I’ve discovered that if I stand up on my hind legs like a prairie dog, I can see a lot more. It’s a handy trick that I use a lot. I’m also a good watchdog and I earn my keep chasing the squirrels out of our backyard. My favorite activities include running on the beach, long walks through my neighborhood, investigating gopher holes and burrowing under Marcus and Yvonne’s comforter in bed. “Janey Jane (that’s their nickname for me) just wants to please,” my family is always saying. I’m glad that they notice. I am so grateful for my wonderful life and I make a point to show it every day.

Emotions are running high on a remote island in Fiji where CBS hit reality show Survivor contestant Adam Klein is visibly getting thinner. A tropical downpour hits the island hard and there is nowhere to hide from the deluge of water. 

It’s game-on for Adam. 

“If anything, when it starts to rain or people get hungry, it is an advantage for me,” explains Adam. ”They are miserable, but I am thankful because although it’s raining on Survivor, I am happy doing what I have always dreamed of.”

A Burlingame native, Adam’s combination of passion and determination propelled him at just 25 years old to clinch the title of Sole Survivor of “Millennials vs. Gen X” in 2016. In addition to winning $1 million dollars, he proved to viewers worldwide that he could outwit, outplay and outlast. “You have to be strong mentally, emotionally and physically. There’s no food, no sleep, no blanket or pillow,” he says of the 39-day ordeal. “You have to be likable but then you have to backstab people and then they sit on a jury and decide your fate.” In Adam’s case, a unanimous vote of 10 made him the winner. 

Reflecting on his success and windfall at a young age, Adam contemplates things many people don’t consider until midlife. “When your dream comes true at 25, you don’t say, ‘Okay I’m done,’” he notes. “You have to dream even bigger.” And Adam has done just that, pursuing new projects around the globe including his own reality show.

Growing up on the Peninsula, Adam dreamt of someday winning his favorite show, Survivor. Watching the reality show became a family passion and a weekly event in Adam’s home with his parents and brother sharing equal enthusiasm. The superfan even prophetically chose his first email address at the age of 10 to be SoleSurvivorAdam@aol.com. “I remember watching the show and I was transfixed,” recounts Adam. “By the time I was 11, I was playing online Survivor games with adults.” 

Adam auditioned with his mother Susie and almost made it on the show as a team. At the time, Susie passed every health check, but two years later, the family received sobering news: Susie was diagnosed with lung cancer. She encouraged Adam to keep pursuing his dream, so Adam auditioned again. Seven months after her diagnosis, Susie watched with pride as Adam set off for Survivor in Fiji. “The whole time I was on Survivor, she was sending me energy,” shares Adam. “On the days that I found an immunity idol, I could feel her guiding me. It was incredibly spiritual being out there and I feel that she lived it with me.”  

Survivor contestants require a unique fortitude that Adam honed throughout his young life. A self-described ‘annoying’ kid, Adam had an over-abundance of energy. “My mom always told me I needed an off-button,” he laughs. One summer, Adam attended a youth camp that would be a turning point for him. “It was the worst two weeks of my life. I was overweight and I was terrified of heights and I couldn’t get up the ropes course ladder,” Adam recalls. “When I came back from camp, I decided I wanted to lose weight. I also started paying attention to how people reacted to me and decided to change how I was perceived.” 

These formative experiences bolstered Adam’s ability to set a goal and achieve it. “By the time I got to Burlingame High School, I knew who I was,” reflects Adam, who graduated as student body president and head of the school’s largest fundraiser, Relay for Life. Adam went on to attend Stanford University and graduated at the top of his class. Charting a different route than many of his classmates, he pursued a career in the nonprofit sector. He recalls, “I was asking myself, ‘How do I do good?’ There must be more ways than the traditional paths laid out in front of me.” 

Following his passion to make a difference, Adam started his first job on the Peninsula at LifeMoves, formerly InnVision Shelter Network, a nonprofit providing transitional housing for the homeless. Adam helped the nonprofit become more cost-efficient, saving tens of thousands of dollars and streamlining their donation program.

Fast-forward to the present and Adam is now harnessing his talents as a motivational and keynote speaker at corporate and nonprofit events. In his first professional engagement, he spoke to an audience of 2,000 Bristol Myers employees in Las Vegas in 2017. ”I taught myself to read people’s reactions to me and adjust how I speak in front of large groups,” he explains. “I can feel the collective breath of the audience.” More recent keynote addresses—including one in Dubai—moved to virtual in 2020, but Adam’s message of achieving your goals remains a constant. “If you want to push the limit and make your ultimate dream come true,” he asserts, “you have to commit yourself 100 percent to the belief that you can.”

In May 2019, Adam returned to Fiji to compete in Survivor: Winners at War, the show’s 40^th season, which aired in 2020. After going shoulder-to-shoulder with Survivor legends like Boston Rob Mariano, Ethan Zohn and Parvati Shallow, he says his new ultimate fantasy is to host Survivor someday. “You have to have those pipe dreams,” he affirms. In the shorter term, Adam hopes to secure a position behind the camera as a producer. He recently tried his hand at producing on the reality TV show Coin Flip Trip. The travel show entailed flipping a coin to determine whether Adam and his co-host had $25 or $500 a day to spend in a country ranging from Peru to Switzerland. “It was unscripted and I was in control of the storyline,” he explains. “Whether we flipped high or low, there was a story.” 

While Adam experienced significant success at an early age, he also endured his share of heartbreak. When he returned to Burlingame after taping his first season finale of Survivor in Fiji, he immediately went to his mother’s side. “I had fulfilled this shared family dream that we had worked toward together and then the very next day my greatest nightmare happened,” he recounts. “Just an hour after I got home, nearly seconds after I told her I won Survivor, she died.” In the years that have followed, Adam has never ceased to feel Susie with him. “She was my best friend,” he says. “My mom and I still have an unbreakable connection.” 

Adam relied on his brother’s and father’s support to move forward and they continue to be close. And he brightens as he talks about how he marked the milestone of his mother’s birthday—attending a light show at the Los Angeles Zoo with his now girlfriend Kailey Maurer. “We were standing next to this dark pond and I asked Kailey to be my girlfriend,” he narrates. “The moment she said ‘yes,’ the music came on suddenly, the fountain came on and a light show began with no one else around. I felt like my mom gave me a sign that I was on the right track.” 

For Adam, it was never only about winning. His passions for community service and cancer advocacy are evident in his donation of $100,000 of his Survivor prize money to lung cancer research, inspiring Bristol Myers and thousands of viewers to contribute as well. And Adam continues to support lung cancer research with his #LivelikeSusie campaign. Now 30, he remains determined to inspire people to live passionately, fully and authentically, just like his mom. “When you want something badly enough,” he points out, “it makes all the difficulties worth it.”

The famous Asha Stanford Holi celebration is traditionally held in early April to welcome the brilliance of spring. The Indian festival of colors is accented by the joyful mixing and splattering of colored powder and water. In tribute to this memorable event, PUNCH photographer Irene Searles pulled out this Perfect Shot from a few years back. “Everyone was full of smiles and gleefully playing,” she recalls. “There were sprays of powdered paint everywhere, and I was so glad I had put a plastic rain guard over my camera because I was completely covered with colors.”

In her San Mateo dental practice, Dr. Chrystle Cu heard every possible explanation. Time and time again, before patients flashed their teeth for exams, they opened their mouths to make excuses: “I know I should be flossing more, but…” 

Fill in the blank: “I ran out of floss,” “I went on a trip and forgot to bring it,” “I’m too tired at night.”

Whatever the reason, the result was the same. Even as she counseled that toothbrushes alone can’t reach 35% of the teeth’s surfaces, Chrystle found herself filling cavities that could have been prevented—with regular flossing. No matter the tutorials, no matter the guidance, the behavior didn’t seem to change. “For a culture that cares deeply about having a big, bright, white smile,” Chrystle says, “it’s amazing how few people actually floss daily.” 

To get to the root of the problem, she began to ask questions. She discovered a genuine disdain for the dull task of flossing. And even her patients who did floss weren’t getting great results. “Slippery flosses can dislodge some food particles but they don’t remove the stinky, sticky plaque,” observes Chrystle. “They don’t really work.”

That’s when Chrystle had her lightbulb moment. Rather than blaming her patients, maybe the real culprit was uninspired, underperforming floss. She became obsessed with figuring out how she could design a dental floss that was both effective and more enjoyable to use.

Enter Chrystle’s younger sister, Catherine “Cat” Cu. Cat had worked in investment banking after college, before joining a startup and eventually setting out on her own. Cat had always dreamed of starting her own business, and when her sister started tossing around disruptive floss ideas, she agreed to pivot into dental mode. “I’ve always been most excited about building a fun and positive brand, and we’re doing that with Cocofloss,” notes Cat. “I’m so glad that Chrystle convinced me to help her make oral care a lifestyle—not a chore.”

After tireless marketing and manufacturing research, the sisters self-financed their idea and launched Cocofloss in 2015. Since then, they’ve grown from 2 to 15 employees. “Our floss is really scrubby, like taking a shower with a loofah; it can work in tight spaces,” says Chrystle. “It’s very satisfying to remove all that plaque.”

The secret to their growth? “In the oral care space there really wasn’t a brand that people could relate to,” relays Cat. “Our mission is to help people keep their teeth for life by making oral care fun.”

And the two have had fun in the process. The sisters’ research took them to Northern Italy—not just to taste wine and eat pasta—but to find the family-owned factory where Cocofloss is manufactured. With strands made of 500+ loosely-woven polyester fibers, their product is infused with coconut oil, which puts the ‘coco’ in the floss. They chose the ingredient for its antimicrobial properties as well as its growing popularity with consumers.

To further incentivize regular use, Chrystle reflected on the high points of visiting the dentist. “In my dental practice, one of the most delightful moments for patients is when they choose what flavor of polishing toothpaste we use to finish their professional teeth cleaning,” she says. “I have so many flavor choices that I had to create a menu for my patients to use as a reference.” 

With that inspiration, the pair connected with a fragrance supplier, also Italian, to create ‘flavors’ (aka fragrance) that you won’t find in mainstream brands. Like Fresh Coconut, Cara Cara Orange and Pure Strawberries. “Our flosses are scented with aromas that make flossing a fun, refreshing treat,” says Cat. Their hottest seller? Delicious Mint. Cat and Chrystle justify the $9-10 retail price with a savvy calculation. “Your time is better used with Cocofloss,” reasons Chrystle. “One roll is enough for one adult to use daily for two months.”

Now sold on Amazon, Sephora and through the (ahem), word-of-mouth of a growing network of dental professionals, Cocofloss is also attracting attention from the media and celebrity world. Touted by the likes of Ellen Degeneres and Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop, the eco-friendly product has been featured in publications like Vogue, Fast Company, Real Simple and Forbes. 

If a woman-owned startup with a social conscience taking aim at a traditional market sector sounds like a very Silicon Valley concept, that’s because it is. The co-founders grew up in Foster City and Hillsborough, attended the Nueva School and graduated from Crystal Springs Uplands School in Hillsborough. “Growing up on the Peninsula, entrepreneurship is like second nature for us,” says Cat. “It’s in the water here.” 

Big sister Chrystle went on to Wellesley College in Massachusetts, and Cat stayed here, graduating from Stanford University. Chrystle now lives in Burlingame with her husband and new baby, and Cat recently moved from San Francisco to Huntington Beach for a change of pace. 

The sisters already had a close relationship before they started the company and working together has only enhanced it. “We’re having a blast,” says Cat. “You can be open with each other in a way that you couldn’t with someone else. The founder relationship is one of the hardest pieces of the puzzle and we’ve learned how to communicate with one another professionally. It’s an evolution.”

Evolving with the Cu sisters means more big plans ahead. Even as Chrystle maintains her practice with Young Dental Group, the business partners are launching the company’s first toothbrush, Cocobrush, in May. “Like Cocofloss, it’s super soft and ultra-cleansing, with over 6,000 scrubby filaments,” says Chrystle. 

“We’re committed to making Cocofloss a household name,” adds Cat. “Right now we’re riding a wave, and our goal is to make sure we are prepared and equipped to get there.”

Dr. Cu’s Pro Flossing Tips

+ The best time to floss is at night before bedtime.
Flossing additional times throughout the day is great too!

+ To start, unspool about 18 inches of your favorite floss. Take a deep breath—this is your time to relax and kindly care for your smile. Twirl the floss one to two times around your middle finger on one hand. Twirl the floss one to two times around your middle finger on the other hand.

+ Hold the floss with your pointer fingers and thumbs close together, no more than one inch apart.

+ Gently slide the floss between your teeth. Give each side of each tooth a “C”-shaped hug with the floss. Shimmy the floss up and down the sides of the teeth, scrubbing away plaque. 

+ Move to a clean new section of floss for each tooth space. (Reusing the same section of floss could spread plaque from one space to another and make the floss more likely to shred.)

+ Floss behind the back molars! Tucked all the way in the back of your mouth, that last space is easy to forget and is hard to reach with a toothbrush.

When we bought our first home on the Peninsula in a new, planned development in Redwood City, we were surprised and delighted when the Rabbi of the synagogue we had just joined became our neighbor, three houses down. After our first child, Josh, was born, Rabbi David Teitelbaum and his wife Robin helped with the bris and the celebration. It only took a few months before we were best of friends.    

Their oldest son—also named Josh—had moved to Israel and we filled a certain void in their lives. Since we had no parents here, they filled a role for us too. They soon became Uncle Rabbi and Aunt Robin to our four children—names that would forever stick—with their door always open for the kids to get popsicles or just hang out. We regularly had Shabbat and holiday dinners together and our bonds grew stronger over time.

Uncle Rabbi (also known to me as David) brilliantly led our synagogue, always with empathy, kindness and wisdom. Robin had been an actress and her personality was filled with humor, cleverness and theatrics. I loved our Friday nights, when David and I would find some issue to analyze, and we would debate it until one of us was walking out the door to go home. He always displayed conviction and brilliance on the topics we discussed.

After about 10 years, we moved a few miles away to Menlo Park; with our family of six, we needed more room. While this was somewhat traumatic for us all, it did not affect our relationship and we continued to share our lives. We had become family without the angst. They were the grandparents I would have chosen for my children, my own parents included, and I felt deeply lucky to have them as such loving surrogates in our lives.

When it came time for the children’s b’nai mitzvah, though David had retired from the synagogue, he devotedly taught all four children their trop, Torah portions and their Haftorahs—all important aspects of the service. Because of Uncle Rabbi’s generous tutoring, our children led services that filled us with pride. 

About a decade ago, David and Robin decided that it was time to move again, this time to Moldaw retirement residences in Palo Alto. The stairs to their second story and the burden of home care made this a wise decision, though a sad one again, since we would terribly miss going to their home where Robin hosted her wonderful Shabbat dinners. But families soldier on, and that’s what we did.

As one might expect, there was a shift to our home for the holidays and Shabbat dinners, and we would pick them up and take them to their favorite Chinese restaurant. We would come for visits at the Moldaw and have dinners there as well. 

In 2016, with David approaching 90 years old, my son Josh and his fiancé Adara were the first to get married and, of course, it would only do for Uncle Rabbi to officiate the wedding, which he did with grace and humor, having seen Josh from birth to this special day.

Then, quickly, three months later, Uncle Rabbi once again pulled together his strength to lead the ceremony of daughter Talia and her Sam. Although it was one of those blazing hot July days, despite the challenging conditions, Uncle Rabbi, almost passing out at one point, led the lovely and heartfelt ceremony.

A year later—though he had slowed down quite a bit at age 91—nothing would impede Uncle Rabbi, unstoppable as he was, his fierce determination on show for all to see, from marrying my daughter Arielle and her Danny. Indeed, he and Robin ventured all the way to upper Sonoma County on another steaming hot day, to marry the couple among the glowing grape vines. 

Quickly, the newlyweds went into baby production and it was a warmhearted, beautiful sight to see Uncle Rabbi welcome each new arrival into the world. L’dor v’dor. From generation to generation. As each grandchild was born, we quickly shuttled them up to their apartment so that he and Robin could hold and delight in them and say a blessing.

Recently, our wonderful, kind and loving Uncle Rabbi passed away. To all of us who treasured this man, we are grateful that he was with us for almost 95 years. Though we yearned for more time with him, I think he would have said “dayenu”—it was enough. He was ready and God was waiting. Upon death, we Jews say, “May his memory be a blessing.” But in the case of this incredible man, all I can think to say is, “His memory is a blessing.”

words by Sheri Baer

The route to Sam McDonald Park is a winding one, twisting and turning from Portola Road in Woodside with a sharp left onto La Honda Road (Highway 84) to Pescadero Creek Road. The sheer act of navigating the tight curves causes one to slow down and absorb the passing scenery. Sunlight streaks down through endless groves of majestic trees, and on this particular morning, steam from recent rains rises from the pavement, creating a mystical, otherworldly effect.

Gently braking to execute a 15 MPH switchback turn triggers musings about making this passage in the early to mid-1900s. That’s when Sam McDonald motored this same stretch of road (under significantly rougher conditions) in a Model B Ford roadster, journeying to his sanctuary in the redwoods nearly every weekend for 40 years. 

For many, ‘Sam McDonald’ only resonates as the namesake of a San Mateo County park or ‘Sam McDonald Mall’  and ‘Sam McDonald Track House’ on the Stanford campus. But there’s a reason Sam’s name endures in perpetuity on the Peninsula. 

In the years he lived on this earth, between 1884 and 1957, this 6’4” man with a commanding presence earned the status of local legend. The grandchild of Louisiana slaves, Sam forged the way as the first Black person to own property in the redwoods and hold a major administrative position at an American university. 

Known for his warm heart, generosity and benevolent spirit, Sam helped shape the future of a world-renowned academic institution and secure the future of his beloved forest—which continues to inspire awe and wonder to this day. 

“See my surroundings. Living waters flow, vegetation grows, creatures walk, fly and creep about. Gaze upon these ‘lords of the redwoods’ in their heavenly ascent. You become possessed to feel as majestic as they when your vision rests upon their lofty pinnacles.”  

 — Sam McDonald – Sam McDonald’s Farm

Sam’s Start in Life 

In his autobiography, Sam McDonald’s Farm (a nod to Stanford University’s nickname), Emanuel “Sam” McDonald recounts his humble beginnings in this world—his surname McDonald was taken from the Scottish family that owned the Monroe, Louisiana, plantation where he was born. In 1890, when Sam was six, his family ventured west to Southern California where his father farmed sugar beets and continued to preach. It was here that Sam suffered the tragic loss of his mother. Sam was 13 when the McDonalds made the three-week trek north to the sugar beet fields of Santa Clara County. The first Black family in Gilroy, the McDonalds found employment on the Gubser farm, and Sam quit school in the 7^th grade to bring in more money, milking as many as 20 cows a day. 

At the age of 16, Sam dramatically altered the course of his life. The McDonalds joined a caravan of families en route to the Pacific Northwest, and Sam found himself back on the trail with his father and brother, Jesse. But as he approached the Oregon state border, Sam had tremendous misgivings about leaving his treasured home. “I became grievously homesick; my mind was definitely made up to return to heavenly California,” writes Sam in his autobiography. “In October 1900, I was off to begin my journey, retracing the route so recently traveled by Father, Brother Jesse and myself. The very thought that I was about to touch the soil and breathe the air of the Paradise that I had resolved never again to desert created within me a spirit of great joy.” Sam’s father and brother continued on to Washington State, and Sam never saw them again.

“I was born in Monroe, Louisiana, on January 1, 1884, the fifth of seven children. My father, Reverend Peter Bird McDonald, was a Methodist minister before coming to California. His father was granted freedom by his young master, who inherited him with a number of other slaves. His father also purchased his wife for $500. My mother was two years younger than father, too young to remember conditions of servitude. She too was born under serfdom; her parents were slaves in Louisiana until the conclusion of the Civil War.”   

—Sam McDonald

Arriving on the Farm

On his own at the age of 16, Sam picked up odd jobs and work where he could—as a horse trainer for a while, and then as a river boat chore boy and galley hand. In 1901, he took a horse-drawn bus to San Jose, thinking he’d return to Gilroy, when he heard talk of Senator Stanford’s horse farm. Confident that he could find work there, he walked 18 miles north to Mayfield (later incorporated into Palo Alto), where he would soon become a teamster and a deputy marshal, rising quickly to become a prominent local figure. 

Founded in 1885, a year after Sam’s birth, Stanford University was also a fledgling youth at the time, and Sam and the school came of age together. In what would lead to a 51-year career, Sam’s first job at Stanford was working with a mule and plough to excavate land for the Museum. He hauled gravel to build campus roads and kept an eye out as night watchman on Senator Stanford’s stock farm. Sam helped construct Palm Drive in 1904 and watched Mrs. Stanford’s funeral procession in 1905. After the San Francisco Earthquake struck in 1906, he supervised student crews cleaning up and salvaging bricks. In 1907, Sam was officially hired as Stanford’s caretaker of athletic property and then promoted to the title he would hold until his retirement in 1954: Superintendent of Athletic Buildings and Grounds.

Creating a Stanford Legacy

For Stanford students, Sam became synonymous with the campus—and he made Stanford his home in every regard. At first, he created living quarters in the training house under the school’s original 12,000-seat stadium. Then, in 1909, he converted the Track House attic into his permanent Stanford address, and three generations of students knew they could always find him at the corner of Galvez and Campus Drive.

Sam shepherded a herd of sheep to keep the campus grounds neatly mowed and planted a campus garden that drew the attention of Mrs. Herbert Hoover. In his role as superintendent, he became a national authority on athletic fields and tracks, earning accolades for the replacement of Stanford’s Angell Field track and his signature method of mowing crisscross patterns onto football fields. In 1919, Stanford’s Convalescent Home for Children (the antecedent of Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital) was established in the old Stanford mansion on campus. Stanford became “the only campus with its own charity,” and Sam stepped up to adopt “Con Home” as his personal and philanthropic cause. A lifelong bachelor, he became a frequent visitor and “godfather” to the wards and referred to the children of the hospital as “my family.”

Already known for his barbecues and mass feedings of Stanford students and athletes, Sam was tapped in 1922 to head up the barbecue party and cleanup crew for “Con Home Day,” Stanford’s annual student fundraiser for the Convalescent Home. In 1950, Stanford officially changed Con Home Day to Sam McDonald Day to honor his tireless contributions over the years. This was just one of many tributes he received during his long tenure at the University. When Stanford dedicated Sam McDonald Road in 1939, President Ray Lyman Wilbur remarked, “If I had to run against Sam for president of the University, I’d be mighty afraid of the outcome.” 

“Mr. McDonald has been a fixed personage on the Stanford campus, particularly around the athletic fields and the Convalescent Home, for nearly a life span. Thousands have been cheered and helped by him. His pleasing personality, added to his devotion to his work, has given him an enviable place in the roster of Stanford personages. His friends are legion, for his service has been great.”  

  — Tully C. Knoles, Chancellor
College of the Pacific, Preface of
Sam McDonald’s Farm

Living Amongst the Redwoods

As Sam’s career took off, he saved his money and invested carefully. He bought property at California Avenue and El Camino Real and ventured into the backcountry with his horse and wagon. A deeply religious man, he discovered respite among the giant redwoods, which he called the “lords of the forest.” 

In 1919, Sam made his first purchase of land in La Honda. His grandmother was half Choctaw, and when he built a cabin overlooking Alpine Creek, he named it Chee-Chee-Wa-Wa, Native American for “Little Squirrel.” Sam posted his favorite sayings on the cabin’s walls, including “He who has 1,000 friends has not one to spare” and “May your blessings be as numerous as the sands in the sea.” He built a small beach and dammed up the creek, creating a pool he named Lake Moqui, after a Hopi princess. Although he maintained his apartment over the Track House, he began to divide his time between the Stanford campus and his cabin. As the years passed, Sam’s horse and wagon evolved into a 1931 roadster, and he became a familiar sight coming through the town of La Honda. 

“I have spoken now and again of my lodge Chee-Chee-Wa-Wa in the redwood forests of La Honda. This has been my home away from the campus for the past thirty-four years, and, the season permitting, I have journeyed there after a day’s work that I might rest and work and meditate and pray in the seclusion of nature’s sanctuary.”

—Sam McDonald  

Sam’s Final Years and Legacy

Described by friends as “happy, benevolent and generous,” Sam turned his home in the woods into a weekend and holiday retreat, hosting countless barbecues for Stanford faculty and sports teams. As he describes in his autobiography, which he completed in 1953, “Many are the friends who have honored this rustic dwelling with their presence, and likewise many are the days I have enjoyed my solitude embued with the peace and serenity of these surroundings.” 

By the time Sam retired from Stanford in 1954, he owned 450 acres and established the La Honda-Alpine-Ytaioa Reserve, which prohibited logging and hunting and provided “asylum to all wild creatures.” He also owned and operated the local water company and rented out a half dozen cabins on his land.

A Stanford University Hall of Fame inductee, Sam died at the age of 73 just before the 1957 “Big Game.” Having attended the Stanford & CAL Berkeley rivalry game for 50 straight years, his presence still enveloped the stadium. When the Stanford Band performed at halftime, it formed the letters S-A-M on the field. 

Upon his death, Sam bequeathed his property to the Stanford Convalescent Home for Children, requesting that the land be used as a park for the benefit of young people. With that intent in mind, San Mateo County acquired the land in 1958 and dedicated it as a park for public use in 1970.

Visiting Sam McDonald Park

Following Sam’s same curvy route up Highway 84, the entrance to Sam McDonald Park appears approximately three miles west of La Honda on Pescadero Road. Now an 850-acre facility, Sam’s namesake park expanded over the years, adding 37 acres of old-growth redwoods saved from logging by a citizen’s group and San Mateo County and an additional 450 acres acquired from Kendall B. Towne. From the parking lot (vehicle entry fee $6) and Visitors Center, you’ll see trailheads leading in all directions. Set your course—whether it’s Heritage Grove, Big Tree Trail, Ridge Loop or Towne Fire Road—and you’ll find towering redwoods, breathtaking panoramic views and verdant meadows. Also tucked amongst the miles of trails to honor Sam’s legacy: three hike-in Youth Camps, which are available for day or overnight use by nonprofit youth groups. 

Near the Visitors Center, we catch up with San Mateo County Park ranger Katherine Wright, who describes the unique nature of the park’s experiences. “There’s the giant redwoods, the old-growth forest, and then you walk up through some oak woodland and get up onto the highest part of the park where there’s grassland habitat and chaparral with amazing views of the ridgelines around you,” she tells us. “Sam McDonald features a lot of the different habitats that are in San Mateo County, and you can experience them all in one place.” 

A San Mateo native, Katherine spent a good part of her childhood camping in nearby forests. And like Sam McDonald, she now makes her home in La Honda. “I grew up hiking in the Santa Cruz Mountains,” she says, “and I feel like we have that similarity between the two of us, that appreciation for the redwoods.” As a ranger, Katherine works on interpretive programming, which includes helping visitors feel a deeper connection with Sam McDonald. “I knew I wanted to create a hike all about Sam McDonald,” she says, “because I was so inspired by his remarkable story. When he purchased the property, his only purpose was wanting to keep it just as it was. He wanted to create this preserve where he could attain the sense of peace and beauty that you wouldn’t normally get to experience anywhere else.” 

Katherine leads Sam McDonald-themed hikes for groups of visitors and has made key highlights accessible anytime through the Outer Spatial app. Guided by her directions, we embark on a three-mile (there and back) walk from the parking lot starting on Youth Camp Trail, which unfolds like a woodsy narrow path through the forest. We wind our way onto Old Uncle Road and note the Youth Camp sites with picnic tables tucked into the groves below us. As we maneuver a series of elevations and descents, we begin to hear the tantalizing sound of trickling creek water. Passing behind a few private residences, we catch a glimpse of red paint through the trees. 

Chee-Chee-Wa-Wa. Sam’s cabin. Still there, tucked along the bank of Alpine Creek. Damaged by flood waters, the house is worn down and weathered by time but instantly evokes images from another era. It’s easy to imagine Sam hunkered inside on a cold spring night, jotting down his “chronicles” on a yellow pad, handwritten pages that would become Sam McDonald’s Farm.

There, behind the cabin, out back by the creek, Sam’s presence can be felt grilling up a barbecue to celebrate the Stanford football team after an exhilarating win. When Sam looked skyward, he found replenishment in the very same towering redwoods—as high as 280 feet, as old as 1,500 years. And while Sam only dwelled in these woods for a matter of decades, a fleeting blink of time to “the lords of the forest,” this man of noble heart and stature created a sanctuary where they could live forever.  

“It is wisdom itself to find happiness with one’s fellow man; equally so with nature, the bounties of mother earth, and the creatures that walk, fly, and creep, all begetting inspiration.”

— Sam McDonald 

If you’re venturing up to Skyline Boulevard in Woodside or catching a bite at Alice’s Restaurant, be sure to check out the Methuselah Tree, located across the road from El Corte de Madera Creek Open Space Preserve. The Methuselah Tree isn’t just any old tree. The gigantic redwood is estimated to be around 1,800 years old, which, according to Peninsula Open Space Trust, makes it “the oldest and largest living tree in the Santa Cruz Mountains,” outside of the trees in Big Basin State Park. Methuselah is instantly noticeable due to its enormous size. With a diameter of 14 feet and a circumference of 44 feet, it’s uniquely positioned on a ridgetop on Cal Water land and is accessible to the public. Methuselah is believed to have sprouted in 217 AD when the Ohlone were the only human inhabitants in the area. The massive old-growth tree survived centuries of earthquakes, intense storms and devastating fires—with fierce, lashing winds blowing off the tree’s crown and flames hollowing out a cave at its base. You can catch sight of Methuselah from Skyline Boulevard. Just walk down a short path to peer in wonder at this local majestic landmark.

Can you imagine a more lovable face? Clearly, Maddie couldn’t. My distinctive looks immediately identify me as a purebred English bulldog, although I’m particularly proud of my spotted ears and beautiful brindle and white coat. After fostering seven other dogs from Humane Society of Silicon Valley, Maddie knew she was a goner the minute she met me. An aspiring vet, she describes me as her “first foster fail,” which I think is a good thing, as it means I now make my home in Palo Alto with Patrick and Carrie, along with their kids, foster-pro Maddie, Nick and Will, and two dog buddies, Penny and Sawyer. I admit I’m a bit of a prankster. I like to steal dish towels from the kitchen and hide my bowl in the backyard. I also like to race up and down the hall and chase my four-legged friends. But at the end of the day, I’m happiest getting a belly rub, sunbathing in the backyard or snoozing on the couch. I’m told I’m a bit of a snorer but I assume that’s just another charming trait. We recently had an extra bit of excitement. Nick goes to school at the University of Georgia, and Will won a contest to be a virtual fan for the University of Georgia and Alabama football game. I dressed up in my red jersey, and we got lots of airtime on ESPN’s Game Day. I know it was because the Georgia Bulldogs recognized a kindred spirit. Go Dawgs!   

Julie Lythcott-Haims lives for the after-dinner-drinks discussion. The discussion that arises after the formalities are observed, after the small talk is exchanged, after one’s guard is lowered. These intellectual and emotional explorations naturally arise around the firepit in the backyard of Julie’s Palo Alto home. She likes to ask people who they are becoming—not in relation to a title or income—but what they are working on within themselves. As the firewood fuels the nighttime flame, the burning embers fuel introspection. Julie believes that beneath people’s performative façades, all individuals are a work in progress.

“We have had some of the most profound conversations around that firepit,” she fondly recollects. “That kind of interaction is the juiciest, most delicious form of human interaction I know.”

Julie—author of the 21^st-century parenting manifesto and New York Times bestseller How to Raise an Adult and her award-winning memoir Real American—hopes that the honesty she unveils in her April 2021 release, Your Turn: How to Be an Adult, will inspire younger readers to dig deep in seeking their own personal and professional happiness. “Your Turn needed me to be vulnerable about things that I’ve done or things that I had happen to me,” she says. “There is a strength embedded in the tougher life experiences.”

Functioning as a sequel to How to Raise an Adult, Julie writes as a peer to the helicopter-parented Millennials and Gen Zers, who inspired her initial book. Written with a self-help structure, Your Turn is as much a cultural commentary on the modern American adult as it is a guide for navigating life’s inevitable hurdles. By recounting her own struggles, plus sharing profiles of acquaintances, Julie addresses a plethora of “adulting” challenges: career angst, personal identity issues, financial security, and more.

“In some ways it’s me trying to be a dean on paper,” Julie says, alluding to her 14 years working as a Stanford undergraduate administrator and advisor. “I want readers to feel like: ‘She gets me. She is thinking about me. She cares about me.’”

At Stanford, Julie observed the effects of what she calls overparenting: students with elite intellectual abilities psychologically crumbling under the weight of adulthood. She saw a revolving door of students visiting her office with confidence-crushing crises over issues that would have been viewed as minor setbacks to previous generations of students.

Based on the students she mentored and by analyzing her own overparenting tendencies, Julie realized that childhood had become too precious and curated: “A lot of activities, a lot of homework—but not a lot of watching adults do the work of living.” Your Turn is Julie’s attempt to remedy that, or as she puts it, “You grew up without having to deal with this stuff—here’s how I have dealt with it and here’s how others I know have dealt with it.”

Julie certainly encountered challenges in her own childhood. She is biracial and grew up with upper-middle class status—an uncommon mixture for the 1970s and ’80s. Her family constantly moved towns based on her prominent father’s medical appointments, including positions with the Carter administration. 

Because of these complicating factors, Julie’s sense of belonging eluded her. But she’s grateful to her supportive parents for giving her the leeway to wrestle with tribulations. Instead of coddling her, they also assigned Julie regular chores. By the time she reached adulthood, Julie felt adequately prepared for life’s numerous curveballs.

“I mean, there were plenty of things that I didn’t know how to do,” Julie says of her first few years out of the parental nest. “But my mindset was, ‘Oh s**t! I’ve got to figure this out…This is on me.’”

In chapter five of Your Turn, Julie describes a critical turning point in her own journey. About a year after moving out to Menlo Park from Massachusetts, she faced a personal existential crisis. Here she was, a 29-year-old Harvard Law School graduate. She worked at a prestigious Silicon Valley law firm. She received a generous salary. She was happily married to her husband, Dan. They were renting a house for the first time. Any outside observer would say, “She’s done everything right.”

But inside, Julie felt deeply dissatisfied with her occupation and the lifestyle choices it forced her to make. Her suppressed feelings finally crescendoed one day as she broke down crying on her backdoor stoop. By society’s standards, Julie was a successful corporate litigator, yet this career choice clashed with her personal passions. 

As a child, Julie says she always wanted to help people feel belonging because she knew what it was like to feel lonely, to not “fit into a box.” The emotional epiphany on her stoop galvanized her to return to that mission. Her risky professional pivot paid off when she discovered a meaningful calling in university administration—helping students feel genuinely connected to campus.

“Humans need to feel a sense of belonging somewhere in order to be OK,” Julie asserts. “I am interested in being one of those humans who help others feel that sense of belonging, whether it’s to a university, to our community, to our planet or to this life.”

She recognizes that emerging adults today live under different circumstances than she did, and she made a conscious effort in Your Turn to wrestle with the challenges that 18- to 35-year-olds care about. For example, she devotes an entire chapter to mental health and wellness—confronting it rather than burying the discussion in a footnote. She also views Your Turn as an example of how to compose nonfiction in an anti-racist and inclusive manner.

“I do try to be deeply observant of what is happening in our culture, in our community, in our politics,” she says. “The topics I chose to cover are not the topics somebody might have covered 20 years ago had they written this same book.”

Julie is proud of her editorial evolution. Though she had the drive to write her first book, Julie admits that she had no confidence in her writing initially. She went back to school at California College of the Arts in San Francisco, completing an MFA in writing to craft her author-voice, which also forged her sense of belonging in the writing community.

“I think as writers, every piece of writing is evidence of our best in that moment,” Julie postulates. “But then the minute it’s done, we have evolved further. I can look back at my second book and say, ‘Wow, I can tell stories much more effectively now than I could then.’”

Julie exemplifies the takeaway message of Your Turn: true happiness is found doing something one loves, one has a talent for and where one feels belonging. As the book details, that sentiment is far easier imagined than accomplished. 

She reiterates that she is not an expert on the topics she writes about, but does see a throughline connecting her discussions of parenting, race and modern adult life. “What these books all have in common is tremendous empathy for my fellow humans,” summarizes Julie. “Each book is just rooting for humans to make it.” 

Captivated by “the division between asphalt and green,” photographer Gino De Grandis patiently waited to capture this Perfect Shot on an open stretch of Cañada Road along the Crystal Springs Regional Trail. The result is a peculiar perspective evoking a Hollywood backdrop. 

Image by Gino De Grandis / luiphotography.com

Although spring doesn’t officially begin until March 20, already there are signs: new buds in bloom, longer days and the increasing appearance of a certain neighborhood bagpiper. That’s right, bagpiper. His name is Ken Sutherland and he doesn’t have a set schedule, but if the weather’s good and inspiration strikes, you might be lucky enough to catch him.

A lifelong piper—Ken likes to say he’s been “playing the bagpipes since before the first moon landing”—he’s been practicing in and around his Menlo Park home for years. The pandemic only served to ramp up his productivity, as locals who knew of his talent urged him to join the global movement of musicians sharing their passion out-of-doors. Friends and neighbors of all ages now regularly gather for his impromptu performances.

“When a musician comes out and plays for other people, it’s really appreciated and loved,” notes Ken. “It’s a reminder to the neighborhood that we’re all connected. I’m just offering up something that I hope people are going to enjoy.” In turn, Ken is grateful for the kindness of his neighbors’ emails and words of appreciation. “It’s this great combination of the neighbors enjoying it and something to look forward to,” he says. “When you do something routinely that is enjoyable, you want to keep doing it, and so I found that I was playing nearly every day.”

Ken acknowledges that it takes a certain personality and confidence to play bagpipes in public. “You probably have to be a slight bit crazy,” he admits. “I don’t know of many shy bagpipers. When you’re going to play an instrument that you can hear a mile away, you have to be comfortable with being somewhat the center of attention.”

And Ken has rightfully earned his place in the spotlight: his prowess on the pipes is no accident.

With a desire to pass on the musical tradition of his Scottish heritage, Ken’s father, Jack Sutherland, was one of three members of the City of San Francisco Caledonian Pipe Band who recognized that without an organized local effort to train young pipers and drummers, this unique cultural art could eventually die out. So, in 1967, they assembled a small group of young pipers and drummers and started recruiting students—and Ken was a natural to tap. A year later, the Band was officially incorporated as a nonprofit educational organization, the Prince Charles Junior Pipe Band, with young Ken firmly in the fold.

Currently Ken serves as Pipe Major of the Prince Charles Pipe Band (PCPB), a San Francisco-based group but with members throughout the region. Its mission is to teach youth and promote excellence in the art of Scottish bagpiping and drumming. The band competes in the U.S., Canada and Scotland and earned World Championship titles in 2000 and 2003. The current Senior Band has been the Western United States Pipe Band Association Champion for eight of the past ten years.

Ken is also lead piping instructor for the PCPB Junior Band with 12 students ages 10 to 17 now under his tutelage on the bagpipes. A different teacher instructs the drums. Ken’s goal with teaching is to “promote excellence,” he says, “in the way you play, your musicianship and the music that you put out. It’s a very demanding instrument, it’s very hard to play. We try to promote that higher level and encourage people.” And while Ken encourages achievement to the highest level possible, he notes that, “Even if you’re not the best technical player, the band will fit you in. We’re promoting a sense of family, we’re all looking out for each other.”

Born in San Francisco and raised in Marin, Ken met his wife, Sue, in the Prince Charles Pipe Band when they were both teenagers. They’ve lived in Menlo Park for 32 years, where they raised two now-adult children, John and Kathryn. The couple was gratified to see John carry on the Scottish woodwind family tradition, and John’s six-year-old daughter Avery recently declared that she wants to learn the pipes too. 

Even with his long history on the instrument, Ken put his playing on hold for 15 years due to work and family commitments. He picked it up again in 1998 and started competing, crediting his wife for lighting the fire. She challenged Ken and John to get practicing and enter a competition, with the first to win named family champion. They both took up the gauntlet, and Ken won on a technicality by one day. Today, the thrill of competing keeps Ken going, which requires practice and discipline.

“I’ve always told people that in order to get into bagpipe shape, you just have to play the bagpipes,” he says. “When you get to be my age as a musician, you’ve got to keep it up or else you’ll lose it because physically the pipes are so demanding.” Ken explains that the handheld instrument weighs about ten pounds and the reeds require a considerable amount of pressure. “I know people who are incredibly fit, aerobic workouts and all that sort of stuff, who would not be able to play,” he asserts. “They’d get winded.” 

Ken says the popularity of playing bagpipes for ceremonial purposes arose from the influx of Scottish and Irish immigrants to the U.S., many of whom became police officers and firefighters and brought the piping tradition with them to their jobs. The bagpipes we typically see in ceremonies and events are of Scottish origin, even the ones played in St. Patrick’s Day parades. The national pipe of Ireland, the uilleann pipe, requires the player to be seated, so it’s believed that the portability of the Scottish pipes literally carried the day as the more commonly-used instrument.

You don’t have to be Celtic (or even Ken’s neighbor) to appreciate Scottish culture. In the Bay Area, the city of Pleasanton annually plays host to the Caledonian Club of San Francisco Gathering and Games, one of the biggest competitions in North America. In a typical year, tens of thousands of people gather on Labor Day Weekend for the big event. 

According to Ken, competitions keep both the culture alive and the bagpipers in line. “If three pipers get together,” he quips, “two will compete, one will judge and then there will likely be a fight over the outcome.” As for Ken, you’ll know when he’s playing—even from a mile away—whether he’s performing with the Prince Charles Pipe Band or in the Felton Gables neighborhood of Menlo Park.