We bought the house we live in nearly forty years ago. I was drawn to this area in the Santa Cruz Mountains even before that. In high school my surfing friends and I would drive over the mountain range to go ride waves at Pleasure Point, on the northern edge of the Monterey Bay. I remember as we passed the old IOOF cemetery out on the edge of town how we would laugh at one of the more prominent head stones close to the road, that of a fellow named Davis Peck. The stone is still there. I’m not sure why we found it so fascinating, but were sure to make note of it every time we drove by, on our way to the beach. Soquel keeps alive some of the original characteristics that have drawn people to it. Perhaps mainly because of the forest to the north, the creek that runs all year round through down town, and how Soquel adjoins another quaint village, Capitola, that faces out onto the Monterey Bay.
The California cities have grown so quickly and gotten so leggy, have sprawled so erratically in all directions, since I first moved here with my family in 1960, that I often lose not only my sense of belonging, but often can hardly recognize where I am located. I trip over my sensory intake, out of frustration to look for landmarks that no longer exist.