Takes Me Back

Nestled in the hills of Northern California, on your way from Sacramento to the Central Coast, lies a small mission town called San Juan Bautista. This quaint locale resembles a village or a Mexican pueblo with the Mission being the focal point. But the center of it all for me, the reason I always have to stop over on my way home, is an authentic Mexican restaurant called Jardines de San Juan.

Jardines is a multi-generational family favorite, beginning with my grandparents. I wish I knew how it came to be a special place for them, how it all started, but like so many things, I put this in the missing information mental file. The place where I store things that I wish I had asked, but never did.

My theory is that, my grandfather owned a cactus nursery, and spent a fair amount of time in Mexico himself, and therefore loved the sprawling brick courtyard at Jardine’s, with its ever-evolving collection of cacti and succulents. This courtyard, located behind the outdoor seating, is a quiet place of beauty to take in and meditate on after one’s belly is full of a satisfying meal.

I must be honest and admit that the draw for me for quite some time (20s to early 40s) was the strong, top-shelf margaritas they sell. Now almost three years sober, I am able to make room for the food, and the memories, as I stroll through the gardens and appreciate both past and present.

We have had many family lunches at Jardines over the decades. We hosted an anniversary party there for my parents’ 30th anniversary, and a memorial lunch for my grandmother there as well. Celebrations of love and of life. Stopping whatever is going on around us to sit together and appreciate family, great food and the beauty of the gardens. To be reminded that time passes and the time to stop and be together is always now.

Like my grandfather, I love cacti and succulents. Wandering the garden takes me back to afternoons in his greenhouses helping him graft and repot rows and rows of plants. Some spiny and angry, some with a white tuft of old man hair on top, and some smooth and serene. My favorites were the ones that sprouted a large bright orange, yellow or violet flower, a flagrant reminder that even painful things contain beauty.

We stopped at Jardines on our way back from our daughter’s gymnastics meet in Santa Cruz a few weekends ago and I brought my camera to lunch. All the way through the basket of tortilla chips and the savory enchilada sauce, I anticipated being able to walk around the back courtyard with my daughter and capture the nostalgic spikey plants.

“Aren’t they gorgeous?” I asked my daughter, hoping someday she will be having this conversation with her daughter.

She wrinkled her nose. “They look like they hurt.”

“Well, they can,” I said. “That’s their protection. But inside they are soft and tender.” I realized I was also describing my grandfather. And the memories I held inside.

I wandered around, witnessing moments of beauty and capturing them for safekeeping. Taking memories with me, old and new. I love going back there. I love how it takes me back.