Redwood Cafe Etched in My Soul

Redwood Cafe holds a place near and dear to my heart. I lived just up the Old Redwood Highway in Penngrove for a few years in the early 2000s. I’d separated from my daughter’s mom and had found residence in a rustic cottage hidden in the rolling Penngrove hills. Our neighbors were recluses, hippies, right-wingers and horse farmers. I was just a single dad getting by.

My daughter and I spent our days exploring the winding roads, the smell of eucalyptus permeating the air. We made friends with every goat, horse and pig we came across. There was one pig who was so fat that his owners strapped a roll of carpet around him so his belly wouldn’t get raw when it dragged on the ground. Poor old pig died without fanfare just as we were moving.

The cottage did not have a furnace. On the coldest mornings, I recall frost forming on the inside of the windows. I’d crawl out of my covers to light a few logs in our wood-burning stove. I’d make coffee and stare at the growing flames as my daughter slept in a nest of blankets. I have photos of her bundled up by the stove, all beautiful, excited and happy. These were good days.

After warming our bones, we’d often drive the few miles to Cotati to the Redwood Cafe. Back then it was owned by Michael and Moose, who were like the two-headed mayors of Cotati. They had magnetism, and people packed the cafe. I indulged in bottomless cups of coffee, and my daughter would mingle with the other kids in the toy area at the back of the cafe.

These were pre-Covid days, of course, but those sticky old toys could have infected scores of children with all sorts of infectious diseases. It was all so much fun that it was worth taking the hit.

Michael and Moose have moved on, and the toys have been sanitized, but if I squint just right, it looks just like 2006 in there, the coffee flowing and my daughter laughing with sticky hands in the morning sunshine.