Love Letters to Noe Valley
posted May 06, 2009 9:21AM
Suburban with a little city to it, Noe Valley has gone from just a run-of-the-mill neighborhood to the Pac Heights crowd’s second home. On 24th Street, it’s all about Bugaboos and brunch while down on Church St., Incanto slings the pig parts as the J Church ambles by.
Submit up to a 300-word “love letter” to Noe Valley in the comment box below. We'll publish the 10 best neighborhood letters in our upcoming Neighborhoods Issue and pick one to win Outside Lands tickets.
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Noe Valley,
This might be a little premature, but just hear me out. I know that we’re both seeing other people right now, but after a date last week with Marina District, the emptiness of her hospitality forced the realization of how strong my love for you is. Who would have thought my sister in-law setting us up 2 years ago would have led to this passion. I love that we can entertain together, and just yesterday my friends Jason and Sarah (the ones you don’t like that much) who we had over last Sunday for your scrumptious TOAST, commented on how much they enjoyed finally meeting you after hearing me rave about how fantastic you are for months. I find it amazing how you and I can just chill together some days. Maybe walk the dog to BERNIE’S coffee for a white mocha hazelnut honey latte, and then paint some pottery at TERRA MIA on our way to play a JUST AWESOME board game before we pick out our favorite scoops of MITCHELl’S at that corner sub sandwich shop you love so much.
I know this is cheesy but you remind me a little of my mother. She always had an open door policy when it came to her home, and you’re the same. You welcome kids of all ages, couples young and old, academics, artists, and even the engineers from Google and Genentech in for your warm hospitality. You’re amazing in the kitchen and I love when you cook Peruvian seafood or cuisine from the Catalan region of Spain.
I know a guy like me is supposed to date a Castro or Mission, but I’m willing to take the leap if you are. I’m ready to settle down and buy a house here…will you move in with me?
Gaysha Punim
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gayshapunim posted 11:19 PM Aug. 23rd
My Dear Noe,
You were part of me before I set my eyes upon you. You welcomed my family, our dreams into this country from our homeland of Ireland. Back when this valley wasn’t so different then our neighboring Mission. You once welcomed immigrants too to this land of opportunity, I have not forgotten. You kept my grandmother and her twelve siblings safe as they rode the trolley on 24th Street downtown to wear white gloves at Macy’s. You are my roots, my foundation. You allow me to roam your streets without a perquisite of a child in a SUV stroller, a puppy, a girlfriend, or a key to a Prius- how I love you so. I walk into your cafes, Martha’s and Bernie’s, my own personal Cheers, I am welcomed with smiles surrounded by the solace of sweets and constant coffee brewing. I learn about the gossip in this commonplace in our urban suburb yuppie jungle. Your rolling hills protects us from the fog and the ills of this great city, gives us so much sun that other neighbors grow jealous. The waves of the J awake me each morning bringing me out of my slumber as the train drifts those to the epicenter of work. Incanto, you are the magnet that brings many to partake in your greatness. James Lick, your middle school, Santana walked your halls, now students from all over the city roam. Some might think you are not right for me. Some might think you are too boring, quiet, not adventurous enough. They might never walk upon your tree-lined curves. They might not feel the warmth of recognition in your eyes. They might not know who you are but I do, we have a history.
Yours,
Murphy Girl at Heart, Bueler Girl in Reality
Kate B. posted 01:05 PM Jun. 10th
Dearest Noe,
This years Valentines Day has come and gone;
And I gave all my heart to my boyfriend, Ron.
Like an ass I neglected you and thus apologize;
I owe you a card, chocolate, a special surprise.
Oh, Noe, dear Valley, please allow me make amends;
By writing you this poem, hoping we can still be friends.
The fact is, pretty Valley, that I’m in love with you;
From the minute I first saw you, it was too good be true.
Your head was crowned in wisps of fog but sunlight danced below;
A breeze, a gust, (honestly, it’s quite a strong wind) did also often blow.
It lifted up your pretty skirts and I could see downtown;
Such magic and wonderment were hiding ‘neath your gown!
Smitten I am, with your luscious lanes and rolling hills;
Your chorus-lines of preening houses all done up in frills.
I see happy, laughing families, dogs, hipsters and the like;
I see lovers, diners, shoppers and pretty girls on bikes.
I walk around the neighborhood gathering smells and sights;
As I stroll across your heaving bosom en route to Bernal Heights.
As Bourgeois and slightly preppy as you sometimes pretend to be;
There are still some freaky things about you, I know you will agree.
You’re still a part of San Francisco and I know you can’t deny;
That being slightly weird is good for us, it helps to keep us spry.
We’re too close to the Mission, baby, to not be kind of kooky;
And anything less than a little bit strange is, frankly, kind of spooky.
So I raise my glass, my hands, my shirt, I drop my pants and smile;
You are my sweetest Noe and I think I’ll stay a while.
Call me.
zoebrock posted 02:46 PM May. 23rd
Dear Noe,
This letter is long overdue and I beg your forgiveness with much fawning and simpering at your pretty feet.
I am your humble servant.
It was but a year ago when first a spied your luscious curves and beguiling crevices. A new resident of this fair city I discovered you shortly after my move and began exploring your nooks and crannies, quickly becoming transfixed with your sweet nature. But you already know this, I hope? No? Perhaps all your lovers stare at you with such longing, such adoration? Perhaps they all pick flowers for you and leave them on your street corners? Perhaps they all call you at strange hours of the night and whisper weird desires down the phone lines?
But I detract.
Allow me to catch my breath, calm my trembling fingers and still my beating heart.
I find a quick stroll down 24th St is often a cure for this kind of anxiety.
Passing smiling families and squealing children, residents lounging under trees Rubinesque with pastel blossoms; the anticipation that squats over ye olde Bell market and the near frantic whispering of the wind as it whips through the abandoned parking lot moaning “…Whole Foods is coming, Whole Foods is coming…”
I sit a while at Bernie’s and sip a sweet-spicy chai made with love and a smile. I walk to the crest of one of your many slopes and admire the views of downtown, Bernal, the Bay. I wave at your mane of dense, frilly fog and chant “You can’t get me!” for rarely do you let your hair fall down to your waist. I am safe down here in the valley. Nestled in your bountiful bosom I am warm and blissful.
Thank you Noe, you saucy minx.
Sincerely, Zoe Brock.
zoebrock posted 02:36 PM May. 21st
I spell love: M-i-t-c-h-e-l-l-s.
Walking down Dolores street to the home of my beloved mocha almond fudge cone with my dad, Paul, a robbery inspector for the SFPD, and my little brother dragging behind.
"That's where we use to hop a ride on the milk train" Dad said, as he pointed to the new house that broke up the chain of lazy Victorians. "The train went right through there." We knew. We had heard the story so many times." And see those hills, Twin Peaks, they were all sand. We used to slide down the hills on cardboard when we were your age." "Did you ever crash?" my brother would catch up to ask. "All the time! " Dad's eyes would sparkle as he looked up at the silhouette. And did i ever tell you about when the 24th street streetcar jumped the tracks as it made the turn on Dolores Street, and smashed into the corner house?" We could tell just how close we were to ice cream by the story he was currently telling.
Mitchell's counters were so high back then, but the smell of cones and ice cream are the same today. We walked back home slowly, enjoying the sweet treat, and the secret we kept from Mom, who hated all things sugar, and thought we went out for a nightly walk.
My Dad Paul grew up here, and still calls Noe his home. He more than occasionally knocks on my Duncan Street door, and steals my two daughters away for a "walk".
They come back with smiles, and chocolate on their lips, and wonderful stories to pass on to their kids about the neighborhood that our family has been privileged to live in for 4 generations.
Click click click “There’s no place like Noe!”
christinamarie posted 04:42 PM May. 12th
