A mile in 1900

The air is warm today. Without the misty ocean spray blowing over the rolling dry hills to refresh my sensibilities, it would be easy to lose myself in the tactile triviality of this particular moment. My shoes, just purchased from the general store, are uncomfortable on my feet. Yet, the way that they sink into the mud of the track where horses once ran is an inspiriting thought. I'm just wearing my white flanel shirt today. Ma would have been upset if I got my Sunday clothes dirty again. She hates doing the wash twice a week. I take a deep breath, trying to open my nostrils the way I've seen my cousin's horse do. It's difficult to pull in a lot of air, but the sweet scent of sweat and the tangy aroma of alum from the tanned leather fill my lungs. Maybe I can make it all the way around this time without stopping. I start to run again...

My but this, San Francisco, is different from Boston. The harbor is yet to be filled with ships and the houses are very nearly miles apart this far from the city center. Pa says in his boisterous voice, the one he uses when he's excited about something, "It is the epitome of urban and country living, all rolled into one!" At least that's what the pamphlet he's reading from says. I haven't yet learned to read and Ma says it could be some time before we can afford another tutor. We did get to walk down Market Street this morning though. Just like those who are better off. I put on my vest and derby hat for the occasion, so I would fit in better. Even though my shoes aren't exactly agreeable to my feet, they sure looked good all polished and shining as the fog cleared. That's another odd thing about this place. The fog. It seems to come when it wants, sits over the city like a slumbering sow, and eventually lazily departs once dinner is ready. It sure can be dreary at times.

I think my favorite part of this new city are the smells. Not old and stale like back home, but new, and inviting. Reminiscent of when Ma used to make freshly baked corn muffins for my birthday, and the smell would lure me to the breakfast table. Every corner of this, I think Pa called it a 'peninsula," is ripe for exploration. Yep. I'll grab my straw hat later today and see if I can't find a new place to set up. There's a hill just to the east of our house that looks out all the way to Market Street. I think I'll look there first. Ma called it, "Twin Peaks." Though, I'm not sure why as there's only one 'peak' really. It's just lumpy at the top.

The dust settles on my shoes as I come back to my starting point and look around. Taking in fresh air with each heavy, fatigue-laden breath. This place could be alright. At least I get to see the horses run again.