On Wednesdays, I walk to pick up fish.
For as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco, I’ve been a member of the Sea Forager CFS (Community Supported Fisheries) program. It’s like a CSA, but for fish instead of vegetables; locally sourced, sustainably and responsibly caught fish.
I love the fish, but mostly I do it because by Wednesday evening, I start to hate my job at least a little bit. Somebody’s done something dumb, and I have to clean up the mess. So it’s nice that I have to slam my laptop shut at 5 PM, and go pick up my fish, because fish waits for no one.
My current pick up location is an ice-packed cooler stashed at the entrance of a house about a mile away from mine. The way there is downhill, easy. I meander, I take photos, I think about stuff, I try to let the work stuff go. The way back is more challenging. So I listen to music, huff and puff up a hill.
Living in the Sunset, most of my walks are cold and foggy. But today? Today was glorious. I’m not a fan of long stretches of hot weather, but it’s nice to wander out of the house in shorts and sandals, work up a little bit of a sweat in the setting sun. If you ask me, there’s no better place to be on earth than the west side of San Francisco on a mild October evening.
I learned recently that the Noongar peoples of Western Australia recognize six different seasons. That honestly makes sense to me. The four European seasons make sense in northern Europe, but they don’t map so neatly to the diverse climates of the Americas and Australia.
There’s a joke about the 12 seasons of San Francisco. Our “winters” are mild but we do have entirely too many of them. Still, I call September/October “summer,” I celebrate Fogust, I wait for winter rains (but maybe not as much as last year please?).
And on Wednesdays, I walk to pick up fish, whatever the weather.
