You Tell Me Summer’s Here

My annual Tahoe trip is really my summer. Sure, San Francisco has Indian Summer. In September and October, it’s usually warmer or at least less foggy. But the key word is usually. Even in September and October, sunshine isn’t guaranteed, it’s just more likely.

In Tahoe, though, I can rely on a daily dose of sunshine (with occasional breaks for balmy thunderstorms). It’s one of the few times when I get repeated, back-to-back hot days, days when I wear sandals every day and never carry around a jacket “just in case” (as required in unpredictable SF).

In Tahoe, showers come at the end of the day to wash off the sweat, the sand and the sunscreen, rather than in the morning to prepare for work.

Even the nights were warm so we ate dinner outside and slept with the windows open and the fans going strong. This year, we even took nighttime swims under the stars (the low lake level made for relatively warm water).

But as much as I loved my dose of sunshine, I’m not used to unrelenting heat anymore, and at times, it was too much. I missed the ocean breeze we get in the Bay Area.

And I missed California produce while I was in Tahoe. Finding California-grown produce was surprisingly hard near the state line. If it weren’t for the Tuesday South Lake farmers market, it’d be a food desert.

I walked through the supermarkets in disbelief, asking myself, “how do people live here?!” The local Raley’s had Straus milk and yogurt, but not a single California-grown tomato. The Chilean/Canadian/Mexican tomatoes they did carry were hard as rocks.

Now that I’m back home, I’m back to fresh food and strong coffee, but summer’s gone. I came back to Mark Twain’s “coldest winter”: the fog hasn’t lifted for days, and the wind is cold and damp. People on BART have been wearing sweaters, and a friend turned her heater on this week.

As I looked for my wool coat this morning, I found myself asking the same question: How do people live here?!

In Tahoe, we stayed outside as long as possible, but now, I rush to get inside and out of the wind. Last weekend, we were eating corn salad, but I’m looking at recipes for corn soup.

Without the sunshine filtering into the room in the morning or the sound of my relatives downstairs, it’s been harder to wake up. Our little Oakland house seems incredibly small after being in the huge cabin, and summer seems a long way away.

Get It Together

Even though Tahoe is relatively close by, we’ve been preparing for the trip. Instead of worrying about luggage restrictions or 3 ounce liquids, though, we’re focused on food.

Mr. WholeHog and I try to bring beer, wine, food and coffee up to Tahoe with us. It’s a way for us to contribute since my aunts all pay for the cabin, and it’s a way for us to insure that we don’t end up eating feedlot meat, or drinking supermarket coffee or Costco-brand beer.

Tahoe has grocery stores, of course, but that requires leaving the cabin, driving  on Highway 50, and mingling with the oft-trashy South Lakers — all of which I try to avoid as much as possible.

I’d also rather avoid most supermarkets since they doen’t tell you anything about the food: where is the meat from? where were the vegetables grown? And if last year was any indication, supermarket produce can be abominable. Last year, produce was literally rotting on the shelf.

South Lake does have a farmers market (we went last year but won’t be in town for the Tuesday market this year) and there is also a decent meat option:  we found Overland Meat Company a few years ago, thanks to the Eatwell Guide. But while the meat is free of hormones and antibiotics, it’s generally not pasture-raised. Aside from meat, Overland also sells a pretty good salsa, cheeses and some good wines.

Here’s some of what we’re bringing to the lake this year:

1 jar Massa almond butter (in an effort to avoid feedlot lunch meat or Salmonella-infused peanut butter)

2 packs of Primavera tamales

2 lbs Rancho Gordo beans

2 packs Fatted Calf Mexican Chorizo

2 lbs Blue Bottle Coffee (much of it made into coffee concentrate by Mr. WholeHog)

5 lbs Prather Ranch ground beef

2 Gleason Ranch chickens

6 bottles of wine

12 Arizmendi english muffins

Packed Like Sardines in A Tin

In just a few days, I go to Tahoe for my family’s annual vacation and I just can’t wait. I spend much of the year looking forward to Tahoe the way some people look forward to Christmas. How often do you get a chance to vacation somewhere beautiful with people you adore?

Tahoe is a true vacation. The goal of each day is to do as little as possible. There are no museums to visit or sights to see. We just eat, read, swim, play cards, watch the sunset, rinse and repeat.

The challenge at Tahoe is sharing space with 20 people since we cram as much of our ever-expanding family into one giant cabin. Cabin really isn’t the right word for the place, since it’s not at all rustic. Cabin also implies a smaller place and this one is massive. Initially built as a duplex, it has five bedrooms, five bathrooms, assorted sleeping alcoves, and two living rooms.

But even though there’s plenty of room for our big group, it’s still odd to go from living with the quiet Mr. WholeHog to living with a pack of my very loud relatives. And it’s strange to live with my parents again, and also my aunts, uncles, cousins, and now, increasingly, cousin’s kids. It is, as my grandfather used to say, an unusual combination.

We may be family, but we don’t all live the same way. We don’t have the same schedules. Some of us sleep in until noon (Brendan), while others (Mary Jo) get up early and, inexplicably, shuffle cards.

We eat different things as the extra-crowded fridge attests (low-fat milk and soy milk, pasture-raised meats and Oscar Meyer bologna). We have different ideas of what is clean and what is dirty, what should be recycled and what should be thrown away, what is too noisy and what is just right.

Even in the extra-large cabin, we get in each others’ way, especially in the kitchen where if you open the fridge, whoever is at the sink is stuck in the kitchen, and whoever wants to get to the garbage, say, has to wait. There’s also never enough hot water for all the showers, so we learn to brace ourselves for the shock of cold water in the shower, as someone else siphons off the hot water.

But mostly, living together is what makes Tahoe so fun. Everyone wanders down to the breakfast table when they wake up and we spend hours there, visiting with each new arrival and trading sections of the newspaper, while someone inevitably burns the toast. Often, we’re still at the breakfast table when lunch time rolls around, playing cards or deep in conversation.

Every night, after dinner, we all head down to the beach to watch the sun set behind the mountains and take our yearly family picture. From the picture, you can’t tell who had the cold shower, or who was woken up by the sound of shuffling cards. Instead, it just looks like a happy, if unusual, combination.

Rave: Indian Springs Calistoga

Napa Valley is a pretty common escape for us City-folk. It’s an easy enough day trip from SF, but if you’re drinking wine (and why wouldn’t you be?) and especially if you’re wine tasting in the fall, in November, say, when the grape leaves start turning their most vibrant colors — you’re going to want to stay overnight.

But where? Napa lodging tends to be expensive and most hotels require you to stay two (pricey) nights. I’m happy to pay more to stay somewhere special, but I can’t stand the faux French chateaus or faux Tuscan villas that are so prevalent in Napa. I don’t want a ceramic rooster in my room, nor do I want to sleep in antique four-poster bed with an f-ing teddy bear.

My tastes tend to be more modern and simple — ideally, with a bit of vintage-style — and that’s just what I found at Indian Springs in Calistoga, my new favorite place to stay in the Valley.

Just look at this sweet cottage:

Isn’t this the cutest?! This is the Colbert Cottage (cottage #3).

Inside, there was a bright red couch in the living room, a full kitchen (we’ll make better use of the kitchen next time), great linens (Frette, if you care about such things), and a sweet back deck where you can read the Chronicle, delivered each day to your doorstep.

We stayed one night in Cottage #3 and another night in Cottage #11.* Cottage #11 was smaller and lacked the back deck and the kitchen stove, but it had a cozier layout and more vintage charm, like the sweet jade green and burgundy tiled kitchen and bath.

As much as I loved our cottage(s), the real star of Indian Springs is the warm mineral pool:

The pool is open from 6am to midnight so we began most mornings with a dip and every night, we returned to swim in the steaming waters and look up at the stars. Dreamy, I tell you.

After floating one evening, Mr. WholeHog pronounced himself the most relaxed he’s ever been.

The one thing we didn’t do enough of this trip was simply lounge — a shame since Indian Springs has many, many places to veg. Cottage #3 had its sweet back deck and in the back yard, there was comfy hammock. In front of the Bath House, you could sit under big orange umbrellas. Or up at the pool, you could stretch out on chaise lounges in the sun or in the shade.

This particular option was calling me right about the time we were checking out and preparing to head back to the City:

Now Indian Springs might not be your thing. Maybe you like to stay in a flowery B&B. Maybe you can’t sleep without a teddy bear nearby. Maybe you had a bad run-in with a mullet in Calistoga a while back and now stick to the more upscale parts of the Valley. That’s fine and dandy.

Go get your free bottle of Beringer and that continental breakfast. I’ll be here, maybe on the back deck of the Colbert cottage, or floating in this gigantic bathtub pool, or taking a little nap on a chaise lounge in the weak winter sun.

*There’s no two-night minimum at Indian Springs, but we decided to stay another night and take advantage of their ‘winter’ special: stay a weekday night (we stayed Sunday night) and get free mud baths!

Let Me Take You Down

When we need a escape from the City, we often head north. We might go to the Marin Headlands or to Mt. Tam for a hike. Point Reyes has so many of our favorite things: hikes, beaches, farms. Up north, there are apples to pick and pork to eat. But a recent trip down Highway 1 reminded me of the many reasons to go south.

First, there are u-picks right off the road. I’m a little obsessed with u-picks these days. I love the chance to seeing how things grow, I love seeing what grows in different regions, and I love the bargain prices most u-picks offer.

We picked berries at one of  Swanton Berry Farm’s fields. As well as making a delicious olallieberry jam, Swanton was the first organic farm in the country to unionize their workers. Their workers receive health care, retirement benefits, and vacation and holiday pay — better than what many other (and likely more profitable) companies offer their workers.

Their olallieberry u-pick was already closed for the season but the strawberry patch, just north of Davenport, was open. It’s a serve yourself operation. You take a flat and some plastic baskets and then take a short walk to the u-pick field. When you’re done, you weigh your haul and pay, taking what change you need from the open till. (You can also pick up pies, strawberry shortcakes and their terrific jam there as well).

Despite the notice that this year was slim pickins for strawberries, we found plenty to pick. We were the only pickers out there on this Saturday afternoon. Maybe the gray weather kept people away or maybe most people associate strawberries with spring time.

We picked more than two people could reasonably handle, of course. There’s something about a u-pick. We always pick more than we should, whether it’s tomatoes, apples, or berries.

But our seven pounds of strawberries in the trunk of the car — enough to have strawberry shortcake for the next three weeks straight — didn’t stop us from hitting the brakes when we saw the sign that said “SLOW FOR PIE”.

This is yet another reason to spend more time on Highway 1 between San Francisco and Santa Cruz: it’s Pie Road. Swanton sells pies, Duarte’s in Pescadero is famous for their pies, and then there’s Pie Ranch, half way between the two.

Pie Ranch operates out of a barn on the side of the road. You’ll find local produce, dried beans, and you can even grind your own wheat. Or, of course, you can just buy a pie, as we did.

After all, strawberry shortcake makes for a delicious dessert, but pie and coffee is truly the breakfast of champions.

You’re Leaving There Too Soon

It was hard to leave San Francisco when the City had provided two (two!) full weeks of sunshine, but a second trip up to Tahoe was irresistible.

I can’t recall if I’ve ever stayed at the lake in September and I must say, the lake is especially dreamy post-Labor Day. It’s quiet. Most of the surrounding cabins were empty, and often, we were the only people in sight in the lake.

This trip, we stayed at a far more rustic cabin that was right on the beach and our lives for those few days revolved around the water: coffee, breakfast and the newspaper were taken outside, under the trees, looking out at the still lake.

The lake was cold, more in line with my childhood memories of swimming in Tahoe and certainly cooler than it felt in July, but we still swam a few times a day. (It shocks and appalls me to hear of people who don’t swim in Tahoe because it’s “too cold”. Tahoe, at any temperature, is the best swimming you’ll find.)

The nights were cooler than I’d anticipated as well, but that was all the more reason to eat dinner inside, open a bottle of red wine and watching the orange glow of sunset fall across the water.

And since its cold and there’s no one else around, why not duck into the neighboring cabins’ hot tub and look up at all the stars?

My Heart is an Apple

I don’t want to make you jealous, but I have friends in gravenstein country, friends with 90 year old antique apple trees and apple picking equipment who remind you when the gravenstein’s short season arrives.

Every year, John and Kathy invite Mr. WholeHog and I up to pick their apples but we always seemed to have plans during the two weeks that the gravensteins are ripe for picking. But this year, we awoke Sunday morning to a fog so thick that we could hear it dripping on the deck outside and as we contemplated how to escape this dreary City, we realized that it was still gravenstein season up in Sebastopol.

Our friends are the kind of people that when you call on a Sunday morning and ask if you can come up and pick their apples later that very day, they say yes and give you directions. (And when you forget the directions and miss a turn off on your way and have to call them again? They don’t even sound irritated).

I told you: friends. Friends with apples in sunny Sebastopol.

We should all be so lucky.

John outfitted us in true apple picker attire and scoffed at the two bags we’d brought to hold our apples. He clearly knew (or hoped) we’d pick more apples than we anticipated and we filled every additional bags he provided.

We moved from tree to tree, all of them studded with gravs, as they call them in West County. We ultimately filled three grocery bags with apples. A good amount, John said as he helped us carry them back to the car, because now you’ll more motivated to find something to do with them. And then he led us to a patch of Asian pear trees to pick some more.

Life outside the City seems awfully appealing, especially during these summer months.

There is something truly lovely about
being under an apple tree on a summer day.

On our way home, we stopped first at my sister’s new apartment and dropped off a few pounds of apples with her. We spent the rest of the evening peeling apples, following Kathy’s instructions for making applesauce (so easy and delicious! who knew?!) and making apple muffins. We have a pie in our future.

It’ll Be Brand New

Going to Tahoe each year with the family might seem like it would get old, but it never does. Although we rent the same giant “cabin”, play the same card games and head off each night to see the sunset, there are always some small changes.

Our group changes a little each year. Boyfriends and girlfriends are often introduced to the family at the annual Tahoe gathering, and now that my cousins are having kids, some years there is a new baby to hold and admire.

The place we stay each year is changing, too, as many of the funky little cabins are replaced with larger, fancy vacation homes. Even the dirt roads were paved this year.

The lake changes, too. There were the drought years in the early 1990s when the water was so low that we could walk 100 yards out into the water and be only up to our knees. Lately, we leap off the boat dock into the lake but during the drought, the dock was completely out of the water.

This year was marked by the California wild fires. Crossing Echo Summit on our way to Tahoe, the view of the lake was obscured by smoke. Our first few sunsets in Tahoe this year looked like something out of a science fiction novel.

But thankfully the mountains get summer storms. We knew to pack up our beach chairs when we saw the storm clouds gathering over Heavenly, and we were inside playing cards when the rain and hail came down.

By sunset that night, Tahoe was back. The air was clean and smelled of pines, the opposite shore of the lake reappeared, and the sun, as it set, was once again bright and clear.

Make It Great

In the early, first hours of 2008, as our friends prepared to leave for Oregon, they said jokingly: “2008: Make it great!”

I wasn’t optimistic. After all, they were our closest friends, and they were moving.

But they’re move left us with more free weekends and we often spent these weekends getting reacquainted with this City that we love and this beautiful edge of the country.

After 9 years in San Francisco, I now have a favorite hike on Mt. Tam. It’s long but not strenuous. It takes you through forests and meadows and up alongside a creek. For six miles, you are rewarded with incredible panoramic views.

The Marin Headlands reminded me how much I love the ocean, that there’s a reason I live on the coast. At times, I get so caught up in City life that I forget the ocean is even there. But every time we went to the Headlands and sat on Rodeo Beach, I thought of all the time I could have been, should have been, at the ocean’s edge.

Last weekend, we went to Point Reyes which encapsulated so many of what we love about California in one easy weekend trip.

There were gorgeous, view-filled hikes like those we’d appreciated on Mt. Tam.

Like the Headlands, Point Reyes had incredible beaches. The water looked almost tropical in color (but it was decidedly Northern Californian in temperature).

Point Reyes also had farms. Cows were practically looking in the windows of the cottage we stayed in, in nearby Olema. Their pastures stretched out along the road in almost any direction.

Given the nearby farms, it was easy to find the local meats, cheeses and produce we love.

And if that wasn’t enough, on a particularly beautiful beach with particularly beautiful weather, Mr. WholeHog told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, and to marry me.

My Little Corner of the World

My dad and his friends all love the outdoors. They head to the Sierra nearly every chance they get. When they come to a point where there are forests, mountains, and lakes as far as they can see, my dad’s friend John likes to point out: “There are millions of people in California and we’re the only ones here.”

California is a crowded place – not just in the cities or on the roads, but even in campgrounds and on hiking trails. We can’t just spontaneously head out for a weekend camping trip because often there aren’t any available spaces. Campgrounds at some popular parks and beaches fill up months in advance.

Heading out for a hike can pose a problem, too. There may be no parking available, or the trail may be so busy that we’ll end up sandwiched between other hikers.

Living somewhere like this, you start to appreciate the little things that can keep the crowds away. “It rained yesterday, so the trails will be muddy and most people won’t want to get dirty!”, I’ll say triumphantly. “Let’s go!” (Of course, you may head out in not-so-optimal conditions only to find that everyone else had the same idea.)

Lately, I think the crowds are down simply because it’s winter, and many people don’t associate winter with being outside. Even though, in the Bay Area, winter usually brings a few gorgeous 60 degree days. The recent bout of sunshine has brought more people outside, but it’s not the usual hoards.

We’re eating it up. Despite our love of the City, the opportunity to be outside without the rest of the state has driven us across the bridge on most weekends.

We don’t even need to go very far. Just across the Golden Gate Bridge, the Marin Headlands offers the chance to sit on the beach or take a hike into the gentle Marin hills.

It’s close enough that we can go late in the afternoon, when there are only a few daylight hours left, and still feel like we enjoyed the best of the Bay Area on our own.

As spring approaches, we’re taking every chance we have to say to each other, “Millions of people in California — hundreds of thousands in the Bay Area alone! — and we get to have all this, all to ourselves.”