Love Letters to Bernal Heights

I first fell in love with you during the fall of 1984. I was 2. My parents had discovered a house on a hill that was rundown and had tire tracks on the stairs. We moved in immediately. A couple of years later, it was you that stood by my side as I went off to school in the excelsior district. You weren’t jealous; in fact quite to the contrary, you were excited. One of your own was off to begin what would become years of schooling. Besides I had you on the weekends where I could show my friends your beauty. The trees of Holly Park were the best. You could hide for what felt like an eternity behind them. Sometimes the wind would blow so hard through them that it almost seemed like they were telling each other stories. I fell in love again at the age of 11. I joined your local T-Ball team The St. Mary’s seals. We were 10 and 1 that season. I averaged a near perfect 400 batting average and ZERO errors. You were so proud. You made sure that every game had the perfect amount of sun, so as not to blind our outfielders, with a decent breeze to help keep us from overheating. You made other teams intimidated with the scowling hills that they would have to climb just to get the field. You were our home field advantage. Now, in my late 20’s, I can truly see your beauty. You have survived 2 monstrous earthquakes unscathed. Proving that even the gods themselves, cannot bear to see you in shambles. Your streets are now full of life, but please don’t forget about your locals. The ones who have been here when you weren’t so hip, when the police themselves wouldn’t come through and getting a cab was all but impossible. I will always love you Bernal and I will always tell the world of the one who will love me forever. Bernal Heights. Xoxoxo You Know who…

Dear Bernal Heights, You hold a very special place in my heart. I moved here from the mission because I thought it would be nice to live in a place that had a more low-key, neighborhood feel to it. I love walking up to Holly Park and making the loop around to see views of the bay and surrounding neighborhoods. I've grown quite fond of discovering new staircases, gardens, and routes leading up to Bernal Hill. I have gotten used to the vast amount of baby carriages and dogs that pass me on my walk up Cortland. The beautiful garden at the Wild Side West feels more like my own backyard when I'm lounging there in between the trees and sun on an early afternoon. The sound of buses and people are replaced by birds chirping and wild blowing. I find memories left on sidewalks in the form of books, baby toys, and old picture frames. When I am hungry I have an array of possibilities and am always left satisfied. I look forward to spending more time in this peaceful pocket of the city that is undiscovered by most.

I live on a hill of my own. In European fashion, the zig-zaggy streets are so narrow, cars have to pull over to inch by each other. Some streets lead to dead ends, some to country dirt roads, some to never-never-find-your-way-back land. People that don’t live here think it’s really far away from everything (which is exactly why we like it). Writers live in Bernal and so do architects and former Mission hipsters that decided to domesticate. It’s hard to be ostentatious in Bernal—there’s no room for it. You have to enjoy life in the miniature: small cottages, creaking with the spring winds that whip off the hill. On the top of the hill, there are 360 degree views, blackberry patches, hawks on the hunt; there have been coyotes and horned owls. There are dogs roaming free and politically-correct parents taking walks, babies strapped to them in the latest in attachment-parenting getups (although the Bugaboo/BMW parent quotient is on the rise). Irony is low here; pride is high: Locals wear comfortable shoes—a rainbow of Crocs—and Bernal t-shirts. They also display Tibetan flags. (Santa Cruz and Bernal Heights exist in two degrees of separation.) There’s really no reason to visit Bernal unless you live here (which is exactly why we like it). Cortland Street is small-town: dykes-with-bikes crowd shoots pool all day at the Wild Side West; the manager at Good Life gives the kids gummy bears whether the parents like it or not; and Liberty Café always has a line on Sundays for its just so-so pastries which are made with so much love that you forgive. But the best part about Bernal is on my back steps, on a warm summer Sunday afternoon, when the salsa music wafts up from El Rio, right before evening sets and the fog spills over Twin Peaks.