Article and photos by Jason Mai
I’ll always remember the drive to Half Moon Bay—winding through the tunnels of California Eucalyptus trees that lined the highway and the sight of farmland, pumpkin fields and plant nurseries all teasing our excitement for the coastal city even before we set foot on its beaches.
I’m not a local of Half Moon Bay, but I grew up 20 minutes away — just close enough for many afternoon escapes to the seaside town during my high school years. My friends and I often retreated to the city’s coastline, which was our closest opportunity to greet the ocean.
Sometimes busy but never crowded, these beaches always had room for more. The wide expanse of sea and land invited us to do as we liked—to be free. Most of the time, though, we found ourselves just huddled around together in conversation.
As heated as the inland can get, the Pacific wind and sea fog reliably bathe Half Moon Bay in cool air. The maritime overcast skies of Northern California set a different mood that differs from the energy of a Los Angeles beach.
It’s a meditative energy, one that allows you to be comfortable with your own thoughts. What we talked about or what I thought of, I do not remember; the details evade me, but the sense of freedom remains.
Staring into the unfocused seascape makes me feel as if I’m standing at the edge of the world, peering over an endless horizon — where the sky and sea seem twice as grand and I, twice as insignificant. The longer I looked, the more I felt. What I once saw as dull and flat gradually hummed with energy. I felt fragile, but I remembered that humans lead vivid lives in the face of it all.
In college, I rarely visited Half Moon Bay. Now that I’ve graduated and returned home, I’ve rekindled my old routine. I recognize the same serenity I found years ago. The rhythm beats softly, a striking contrast to the cadence of city life. But it’s not slow or sleepy; it’s relaxed and mellow.
I see this most in the cafes that I visited to work on my computer. From schoolchildren and parents to nearby workers and surfers, locals pour in at different hours throughout the day for a break. Like the chitchat that’s exchanged, the sense of communal leisure circulates and even reaches visitors like me.
The luxury of walking by the beach soon becomes routine, and I begin to indulge in the sight of privilege, houses painted with the bright pastels of retired homeowners.
Statues of dolphins and other nautical themes decorate most of these homes. They try hard to convey personality worth noticing, but their extravagance is dull in comparison to the soaring Monterey Cypresses. Houses continue to sprout near them, and streets are weaved together with trees to form corridors that partition neighborhoods.
The community has cultivated a relationship with the land that isn’t completely deprived of respect. In part, it may have to do with the agricultural history of Half Moon Bay. From the indigenous Ohlone tribe who took care of the land to the different settlers who would displace them and each other generation after generation, the habit of treating the surrounding environment with care endures.
It’s unfortunate that the native people of this land weren’t regarded with the same reverence, but the trees and wildlife remain sacred.
Now the land yields a plentiful harvest that ranges from pumpkins to artichokes. On my last trip to Half Moon Bay, I stopped by a roadside stand to check out what the current season has to offer. Seeing me at the stand, the vendor told me, “The strawberries and honey are locally grown.” Then she added, “But the pineapples and mangoes are imported.”
It occurs to me that much like these tropical fruits, many of the local farm workers come from afar.
It’s amazing how many different people contribute to the city I know as Half Moon Bay. The loud, authoritative voices of city life do not reach here, so it’s easier to reflect on the history and heritage that shape a land. How does the past shape the present? What are the community’s memories, and where are they? Whose stories have been told and untold?
It’s easy to hear the sound of the waves, but now I want to start listening for the drum of those who walked this land before me.
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode below featuring Jessica Alter, founder of Tech for Campaigns. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
