Tag Archives: Half Moon Bay

Waves

Do you find it irritating when people take photos of the same dang thing over and over again, like the waves at a particular small beach in Half Moon Bay, and think that other people will find it as endlessly fascinating as they do?

It’s almost as bad as people who just can’t get enough of their own puppy or baby shots.

Sorry.

It won’t happen again.

We have a particular stretch of beach that we rarely visit without our camera, but it’s not what you think.

Okay, in part it’s the thrill of the big boomers accompanying a high surf advisory after a storm that, without the stalwart intervention of The Big Rocks, would surely rip us away in a Current of Doom.

But that’s so cliche.

While, this–a ridiculously wonderful man playing with his ADORABLE puppy at sunset with little lapper wavelets kissing the sand*–is so NOT cliche.

What?? It’s contextually appropriate: waves, rock, light…

Yawn.

The secret, our friends, to endless fascination in location-redundant wave photography lies not in the spectacular, any more than the appreciation of cloud photography is found only in several dandy shots of tornadoes at 400 yards.

And, this secret is only accessible via photography and its inherent ability to slow a wave down to a single moment in time, AND… you played this game as a kid, only then it was called “what shape do you see in the clouds?”

See the snowflake?

No two waves are the same, yet they happen so fast that without a freeze-frame, we can only catch the artistry in the subconscious. Waves explode really, really quickly.

This explains (to us) why some people can visit the same beach every day of the year, year after year, and never get bored with the scenery, while others go once, figure they got all the sand, water, beach glass, yadda yadda figured out, and they’re good, thanks.

We think the parties of the first part have minds that soak in all those amazing lightening-fast shapes and ideas, and then those minds play the images back to them at a more leisurely pace in their sleep. The next morning, they’re standing in that lovely, warm, and safe twilight zone in the shower and… PAF! A brilliant idea appears “out of the blue.”

Get it?

Ever noticed how some types of creative communities congregate at the coastlines? Waves, dude… channels for the Muse.

Sometime it may even work retroactively. For instance, here I can clearly see the crochet circles of my Grandma Fentiman’s Christmas tree ornaments that she made a few years before she died.

Is it any wonder we feel so connected and comforted and whole down by the water?

Just as with clouds, you can see the speed of charging horses…

… and the fearsomeness of huge “Monsters, Inc.” style beasties charging in on you, gargantuous hairy paws grabbing at your head over the only line of defense, poor rocks… Hold on, rocks!

ACK!

So, aren’t you glad that the only actual hairy paws you’ll have to deal with from the beach will need to be rinsed gently in clear water before coming in the house so they don’t get sand all over the couch or develop an allergic reaction to salt water between the toes?

We thought so.


* I know that should be an actual em dash, but I don’t know how to do the html coding for that. Rick does, but he’s not at home right now, which is why I was able to sneak in such sweet photos of him with Winnie at the beach. It was worth it, right?

On Kids, Time, and The Farmers’ Market

Farmers’ markets are better places for kids than grocery stores.

Instead of being stuffed into germ-ridden shopping carts and wheeled down aisle after aisle of over-packaged high-fructose corn syrup, the kids in our Half Moon Bay farmers’ market get around the old-fashioned way: they walk.

Yes, it makes the shopping experience longer, but how else are they going to have access to the appropriately height-positioned samples?

And how else are children going to learn to give goods their full consideration before making a final selection?

We often see adults in the produce section of a big box store choose fruit and vegetables using the “grab ‘n go” selection process. You have to conclude they’ve never learned the necessary insights of how to select a perfectly ripe peach, or how satisfying the experience can be, or how important AND delicious high quality food is.

But a weekly engagement in a shopping world which offers samples, knowledgeable and kind vendors, AND moves at a little kid’s walking speed can impart an education to an emerging consumer that no high-school nutrition class will ever match.

And freedom from a shopping cart allows not just walking, but a full range of movement.

Nothing like a little tomato-powered Zumba with room to twirl to set a girl’s Saturday morning on the right trajectory. Of course, not everyone’s a dancer. Some prefer to cozy up close and scrutinize the finger work…

… while others actually need the assistance of a couple of extra fingers in order to get jiggy wid’ it. This little dude took squealing pleasure in implementing the mantra “Bounce like no one’s watching.”

But walk, dance, sit, or bounce… in every case, parental units never seem to be in a rush to hurry through the experience. It’s one of the very few community interaction hubs where everyone goes at their own pace, and everyone else seems to be okay–and even enjoy–that, and one another.

The casual market setup provides lots of seating options for those not too proud or busy to pull up a curb or a crate. Now, there’s a concept I’d love to see in my local Safeway! I’ve often wanted to be able to set ‘er down on a horizontal surface for one minute, even if it’s just to check my list. Stores used to have such surfaces. They were called “the pickle barrel,” and you could plunk yourself down on one and chat with the grocer or people watch for a minute or two.

The pace also encourages all kinds of learning opportunities that one rarely sees in a conventional grocery store.

Because each stall at our market houses an independent vendor, there can be several transactions, mostly involving actual cash, during a shopping visit instead of just one electronic swipe at a checkout counter. Without the pressure of the long line-up behind you, both market merchants and market parents are willing to take the time to let kids participate in the exchange.

This little girl was her family’s official “money holder.” She took her job seriously and with an admirable, almost ferocious, intensity. You could already see the pink-fleece venture capitalist waiting to bust into the world.

The lessons in commerce are equally matched by opportunities to expand the palate.

And who knows the depth of impact imparted when children watch other children happily trying new things?

At minimum, the farmers’ market experience opens the door to new family avenues of conversation and a great place to slow down, open up, and hang out… to become community.


All photos of children in this blog are used with parental consent.

HMB Brewery Dogs

Last Sunday at the Half Moon Bay Brewery, there were more dogs than children — and the dogs were better behaved.

They sat when it was requested of them, and aside from the occasional nose bump or delicate inquiry into a chum’s rectal health, seemed content to mind their own business and eat what was put in front of them without complaint.

Of course, some sport more heavy motivational bling than others. I saw a few parents of serious brats eye-balling that collar with a wistful gaze.

And yes, there was bling.

Marilyn Monroe (seriously: I asked) here had spent more time on her hair than I had.

And Cody Bryant (yup) had on a nicer shirt than me. Kinda embarrassing, actually…

Jake was just too hot in the full sun. Silly dog… wearing a fur like that to a brew pub. What was he thinking?

Negra knew better. She went with a lighter coat in a simple black and tan motif.

Perfect.

Shecky chose the understated yet classic dog tag…

… while all Holly needed was her big smile, can-do attitude, and excellent posture to show up fully dressed.

It was Griffin, though, who made me feel better about the whole “who combed whose hair before dining out?” one-upsmanship thing…

… and Bubba was a great reminder that fretting about one’s weight while simultaneously anticipating a good meal is just plain dumb.

I relaxed about my appearance, and we settled in with the other kids to visit until a table was free.

And as we waited, I found myself with a question that had never occurred to me before…

Do wiener dogs get nervous in a restaurant with a children’s menu?

On Writing A Book About Farmers Markets

First of all, why?

1. We love farmers’ markets for the fresh, local, organic produce.

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Where DOES it come from?

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For instance, what’s the difference between the ways organic and mass-market cherry farmers go about their business? And why, in our opinion, do the organic ones taste so much better?

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How much work goes into raising a $2 bunch of organic swiss chard?

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Or an organic red onion?

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And who are these people who choose to make a living this way?  For instance, Farmer John here… what’s the story of chard before it gets here on a Saturday morning, and why do he and Eda do this and not something else?

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We love that farmers’ markets are populated with people on both sides of the tables who wear everything from parkas to promotional t-shirts…

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.. to perfect, powder-blue pullovers…

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.. to purple hair, if that’s the way you roll.

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Ever wanted to see a TRUE strawberry blond?

So while the primary draw is access to locally produced food and other goods, the ultimate story is, of course, about people.

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2. Farmers’ markets are about community and the interactions between the people who buy the goods…

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… and the people who produce them.

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There’s a generosity and artisan pride in the practice of offering samples…

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… and a palpable and respectful connecting of one generation to the next in the transaction that inspires incredible hope in us.

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There’s an authentic simplicity and beauty to the promotion of goods that is sane and comforting.

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And there’s enough intrigue of gustatory possibilities to satisfy any foodie’s fantasies, which leads us to the third reason why someone might write a book on farmers’ markets.

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3. Once you’ve got it home, what can you do with it?

For every food vendor we hope to highlight, we’ll not only feature the marketplace experience and what it takes back on the farm to get them there, but we’ll also share the fun of what we do with it once we get the goods into our own kitchen.

Yes, yes… there will be tears of joy over what Rick comes up with.

That’s just how I roll.

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So that’s why. Now, how?

We figure we’ll start with Erin.

Erin, a farmer of a niche variety of scallions and a lifetime local, started the Coastside Farmers’ Markets of Half Moon Bay and Pacifica nine years ago.

We figure that beyond a kickin’ story about how the market got started and why, she’ll know where to get a great cup of coffee to go with the Bee Bakery lavender shortbread cookies.

A Perfect Blue Point Oyster Dinner

To make a perfect Blue Point Oyster dinner:

1. Go home and start the laundry while Rick visits the Half Moon Bay Fish Market, leaving his wallet in the car and entering the store with a maximum of one $20 bill in his pocket.*

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2. Get out of the corporate zoot suit and hose, jump into favorite old yoga pants and fuzzy blue sweater, start the washing machine, put on some Diana Krall and then take the flowers that Suzie brought over and place them where you can see them during dinner.

3. Give Rick a hug when he gets back from the market and help put away the groceries.

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3. Go upstairs and see what’s new in Facebook, Gmail, Statcounter, Google Analystics, and start tomorrow’s blog post while Rick lays out a beautiful bed of ice, perfectly shucks the exquisitely fresh and delicately flavored oysters, plates out olives, baby carrots, leftover roasted eggplant, cuts the fresh bread, sets the table on the balcony, and mixes up two ice-cold Manhattans with Italian amarena cherries.

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4. Grab the camera. ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS grab the camera when Rick has prepared, well, anything.

5. Pause for a couple of profound moments in gratitude for the life you inhabit, noticing the warmth of the setting sun, the chirping frogs, and how close the warring hummingbirds are to your head tonight. Duck if necessary.

6. See if you can coax your trusty D90 into coming anywhere close to capturing the beauty and essence of your dinner.

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7. Lift your perfectly chilled glass in celebration of another great day on the planet, and then try hard not to inhale your meal like a trucker with the motor running and a thousand miles still to go.

*Coming to a blog post near you soon: the story of how Rick went to the HMB Fish Market to buy a couple of tilapia fillets for dinner and came out with two grocery bags full of wine, bread, six different kinds of fish, and $108 less in available cash reserves.


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Lulu and Oliver Visit The Beach

Two new ecru Poos flew through the dunes of Half Moon at noon.

Did we just win something? I feel like we should have won something…

The one in the green collar is Oliver. And the one in pink?

Lulu.

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They’re five-month old Standard Poodle siblings. Lulu lives in Half Moon Bay. Bro Ollie lives in El Granada. Their respective owners got them together for a visit and a romp on Sunday.

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There was some important skills-training going on with the older kids. The black Standard (from the same breeder, I think) was working the ball moves, showing them how it’s done.

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Lulu caught on quickly.

While the twenty-yard tennie chase was fun, the pups had their fill of it soon enough.

Time to practice the synchronized prancing routine.

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Of the eight available paws here, it seemed that only three were touching the ground at any given moment.

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The new trick for the weekend? The half-circle split and return. They did pretty well, except Oliver couldn’t quite get the syncopated trotting thing down. No worries… there’s always next time.

And look! Kids!

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We thought they were a mixed Afghan-Poodle blend at first, the way that kinky hair shimmied and shook. Lulu was working on the blond hair flippy thing that female teenagers seem to enjoy so much.

It turned out they were simply soggy Standards.

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Like all youngsters, they were trying on different roles and poses. For instance, it occurred to Lulu that if she could get both ears flapping in time, she might get a bit more lift. She’s seen “Dumbo.” Don’t tell her what is and isn’t possible.

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Oliver started the butt nipping circuit.

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Lulu ended it.

I must say, I don’t blame Oliver. Lulu is so sweet…

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… I almost bit her myself.

Hey, Rick? Forget the elk.


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New Olympic World Record in the “Bobbled Bilodeau”

I had to start over. Twice.

By the time we took this photo, I was pretty chuffed with my progress and was gunning for the gold in the event. (Rick is still waiting by the phone for the modeling contract offers to start pouring in. As I said in the post, he’s very patient.)

However, when the judges reviewed the tapes, it seemed that I had added several gates at the top of the hill and had disqualified myself from that heat. The photo evidence was in: my hat was lumpy and getting lumpier with every round.

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The second round of out-ripping wasn’t as disheartening as you might suspect.

My secret? By February 18, I had watched so many hours of Olympic coverage that the lyrics to the new Nike spot had burned themselves into a prominent earworm in my head:

“It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re at. Everybody gets knocked down, how quick are you going to get up?”

Okay, just a small point of clarification, Nike: sometimes how you finish is a direct result of how you start.

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All philosophical nit-picking aside, where I “was at” was back in front of the TV in my red recliner with one new and one slightly used ball of lovely baby Alpaca wool.

I also had taken a quick jog down to Fengari Fiber Arts for a brief but intensely enlightening tutorial from Ann on what the hell “Rnd 1 Work 8 sc in ring. Do not join or ch 1 on this or foll rnds, work rnds in a spiral” means.

Plus, the Muse in White and Red had visited and I was in possession of an Olympic inspiration for an original creation.

Yes, I had aimed my crochet hook at a Bobbled Bilodeau, and I wasn’t going to holler “Crosby!” until I reached the summit. Er, hem.

Except somewhere along the way I realized they weren’t bobbles…

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… they were moguls, so I added an extra set just to make the course more technically challenging.

That’s how we do it in Canada. Plus we add fog so you can’t see where you’re going… more fun that way.

Yup. Canada shone in the Arctic sun that presided, at least a couple of times, over the best Olympic games I have ever enjoyed. Rick now loves hockey and is curious about curling. (Me: “Ever watched curling?” Rick: “No, but it’s like Eskimo bocce ball, right?”)

And my national-pride-o-meter got re-set to 33 million, give or take an Ol’ Bear or two.

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After those hockey games, things look a little different from under the ol’ Bilodeau.

Thanks, boys and girls.