Feature
A Saturday in Los Gatos, from the porch.
People ask what there is to do here. The honest answer is not much, in the best way. Here is one Saturday in October, as it happened, written from the chair on the left.
7:00. Coffee, and the pool before anyone.
Teo has the first pot on by 6:45 and I take a cup to the porch. The oaks are still dark against a sky that is going pink. The guest in Garden Room 7 walks past in a robe toward the pool, nods, does not want to talk. The water is 82 degrees and steaming a little. She does eight lengths and goes back to bed. That is the whole morning for some people and it is enough.
8:30. Breakfast comes out.
The bread arrived at seven from the bakery on N Santa Cruz, still warm in the paper. Teo is doing the Saturday thing, which this week is a cornmeal pancake with the last of the figs. The Oak Suite couple take theirs on the balcony. The family of four from the Corner Room eats on the porch with someone from a Porch Room, and the kids feed crumbs to the jays, which we pretend not to see.
10:00. The market.
Saturday market is in the town plaza, six minutes down the hill. Priya walks down with whoever wants to go. Peaches are done. Apples and persimmons have started. The flower stand has dahlias the size of plates and two guests come back with armfuls for their rooms, which is allowed and encouraged.
11:30. Trail or tub.
Half the house drives to the creek trail with packed lunches. The other half does not leave. The Attic Loft guest runs a bath, reads for two hours, and later tells me it was the best part of her year. The pool fills slowly with people who meant to go hiking.
3:00. New arrivals.
Check-in is from three and the gravel starts crunching at 3:05. Luis carries bags. I give the two minute tour: the library, where the ice is, the pool rules, how the porch swing squeaks and that it is fine. Someone always asks about the chalkboard in the kitchen and gets the boarding house story.
5:30. The lights.
The string lights come on with a timer at dusk and the porch fills up without anyone being asked. Luis opens two bottles from a vineyard up the Summit road and puts out olives and the good crackers. The hikers come back with the look people get after four hours under redwoods. Boots on the mat, Sam hoses them off tomorrow.
7:00. The long table.
Sixteen seats. Twelve guests, three people from town who were on Thursday's list, and me at the end. Little gem with anchovy. Pasta with chanterelles that a forager left at the kitchen door on Wednesday. Roast chicken. Olive oil cake. The couple from Oak Suite 2 sit next to a retired judge from Los Gatos who tells them where the house's original front door went. I did not know that story and I have owned the place for seven years.
10:00. Last glass.
Luis locks the front at ten. The porch stays lit for anyone who wants it. Someone is reading on the swing with a blanket. The pool is still and the lavender smells stronger at night. I turn off the kitchen light, write the breakfast count on the chalkboard, and go home. That is a Saturday here. Come have one.