Neighbors make light of the holidays
“There’s a spirit on the street, a pride, among most people who live here.” Julius Gaines, 83, who has lived on Picardy Drive in East Oakland since 1978
Andrew and Allyn Boone are spending their first Christmas on East Oakland’s Picardy Drive, and just hearing them talk about it is stressful.
The couple bought their house in June at the epicenter of the noted Christmas tree lane, on an island with three sides facing a street. That means three times the surface area to decorate their Tudor-style home, with castle-like turrets and peaked roofs that defy even telescopic ladders.
And adding to the degree of difficulty: The Boones were expecting their first child in December. “So getting the lights up has been a little daunting this year,” Andrew Boone said in a late-November interview.
Living on a Christmas tree lane — where residents on a block agree to light up their homes in unison — can be a joy, a headache, an expense, a reward and at times completely magical. It’s pure uncut holiday spirit, visible from outer space.
But the Boones had no idea they were bidding on a Christmas tree lane house when they first walked in the door, weary from a year
of bidding and failing to get homes; a real estate agent disclosed it to them.
Glenn Scurlock, in contrast, bid exclusively on holiday friendly Picardy Drive homes before he and husband Tim Johnson moved in nearly six years ago.
“I love Christmas so much,” Scurlock says. “It’s funny, because the neighbors will ask me, ‘Are you sad that Christmas is over?’ and I say, ‘No, because it lives in my heart all year round!’ ”
The Bay Area has several Christmas tree lanes, including Thompson Avenue in Alameda, Fulton Street in Palo Alto and Eucalyptus Avenue in San Carlos. But Picardy has a layout seemingly designed for maximum Christmas cheer. The compact and charming Tudors, ringed around a central island that includes a giant conifer that is ceremonially lit each year, looks like something out of a model-train village.
The houses were built in the 1920s on property owned by ship captain Charles Nelson, advertised as “modest mansions.” Swashbuckling architect R.C. Hillen promised to pack as much English, French and Normandy architectural flourish as possible into the 70 diminutive homes on a 10-acre tract.
“In addition to the picturesqueness of the exterior,” Hillen told The Chronicle in 1926, “each of these homes, though but five or six rooms, will possess many features found only in those pretentious houses of the $15,000 to $20,000 class.”
The early history of the light tradition is hazy, but residents think it started shortly after the homes were built. Rituals include a “friendship chain” that links the houses together with light strands, and an early December ceremony where a resident — usually a small child — climbs a ladder to light the tree.
And, almost eerily, it seems as if no one ever moves away.
Clyde Jones, 40, vice president of the Picardy Neighborhood Association board of directors, was born in his house. Three generations in his family — Jones’ father, Jones and in 2016 his 10-yearold son — have lit the tree.
Jones says decisions are made throughout the year, including a thoughtful debate about when to schedule the ceremony to turn on the lights: earlier on Dec. 2 or later on Dec. 9. Neighbors are mindful that some elderly residents are on fixed incomes and see the difference in their power bills.
“And then there was also a question,” Jones says. “With everything going on in the world, do we want to actually do it earlier, so people have something to smile about?”
The neighborhood association is active, seemingly more organized than most Fortune 500 companies. When board member Kara Nielsen is asked by email what kind of tree is the conifer, it is quickly filtered to Picardy Drive’s resident arborist. (Answer, received 14 minutes later: a deodar cedar.)
But despite the reputation of Christmas tree lanes as homeowners association nightmares, multiple board members say they have a policy of not strong-arming neighbors into joining the friendship chain. About 12 of the 70 houses on Picardy Drive do not have lights.
“We just let them be,” says board president Dennis Rowcliffe. “It wouldn’t be fair to put pressure on people. Some people are concerned about their electric bills, others have religious reasons for not wanting to participate.”
Scurlock goes heavy on Christmas inside and outside his house. His tree facing the street through a large picture window looks like its own universe of lights, with a depth and radiance that seem to illuminate the street.
He reports that his bill nearly triples from November to December.
“The month of December it goes up to about $480,” Scurlock says, while greeting neighbors before the Dec. 9 ceremony. “I will not live without Christmas, though. That house is getting lit! And so am I . ... Let me get my cocktail.”
One thing that doesn’t change is the neighborly feel. Scurlock says he’s happy he didn’t get the first four Picardy Drive houses they bid on, because every one of the people who moved into those houses turned out to be great neighbors.
The Boones are at the ceremony as well, this time looking much more relaxed. Their house looks fabulous — they took advice from neighbors, who suggested using extendable fiberglass poles with hooks to light up hard-toreach heights.
Halfway through the ceremony, as Johnson is leading carols, neighborhood elder Julius Gaines slowly walks to the island. The 83-year-old tells a story that is remarkably similar to the one the Boones are living now: He didn’t know about the lights either when he bought his house in 1978, until his neighbor told him as the holiday approached.
Now Gaines wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
“There’s a spirit on the street, a pride, among most people who live here,” Gaines says. “They want to take care of their property. And they care about each other. It’s amazing how concerned people are about each other on this street.”