A Memory of the Outerlands

Once a week, I walk up a grassy hillside overlooking the Outer Sunset. The path passes tall autumn-blooming shrubs and gently climbs through trimmed grasses with tiny spring flowers. Along the way, it rises from the side of the avenue, to the level of the residents’ living quarters, then passes the rooflines. The peak reveals a rolling quilt of colorful homes tumbling towards the ocean.

I’ve made this journey with increasing frequency since 2017, though I remember passing the hill as a child a handful of times per year.

It’s an interesting journey trying to capture a place I’ve known since childhood. If I was asked to describe what I remember best about this place, it’d be that perpetually green grass surrounded by those colorful, expressive San Francisco houses. In particular, there are a couple of bright red corner houses that bring a smile to my face. And I will forever associate this view with the ocean that laps the shores about a mile out. But when I try to capture this place on paper, the houses don’t want to file into the distance in those neat little rows. The ocean hides beyond the edges of the canvas. The homes shed their colors; instead, they express themselves through warm windows and a joyful disregard for the city’s neat grid. At least I can still capture the electrical poles and their winding cables. The gray ceiling of everpresent cloud cover is there, too. But that carefully manicured green grass lawn has taken on a color inspired by cool fog and warm sunlight, mixed into a wistful soft lavender. The hills and headlands beyond are painted in bleached blues. Taken together, they evoke a sleepy neighborhood graced by the soft light of morning.

Maybe this is my true memory of the neighborhood. Because this hill was, for me, always an early-hour vantage point where the soft, cool air caressed me. This place holds a simmering energy that is comfortable being nourished by family and home. The energy is joyful, but not wildly so; proud, but not boastfully so. It is mostly content to be surrounded by murmuring waves and whispering treetops, not camera shutters or flashy creations.