You arrived at the estate feeling the day was longer and lazier, and your mind and body were entitled to nothing less than moving aimlessly slow.
There were more than three dozen staff busy minding their own business at every corner of the estate, trying their best to be out of your sight and be as quiet as possible. If they accidentally ran into you, they stopped what they were busy doing, lowered their heads, and smiled at you. You nodded and gracefully walked past them while giving them an approved smile.
You stepped out into the courtyard on the southern wing corner. That’s your favorite place to read novels and your cousin from London England just mailed you one most sought-after new novel called Rebecca. You could hardly put it down. When you finally raised your head to look around to check some tiny sound made by a sparrow coming from behind your bench, the heroine in the book was on her way to Manderley Estate as a newly wedded supper nervous bride. You made a mental note to write back to your cousin to watch out for this author Daphne du Maurier as you want to get every single book she had written and in plan of writing.
You stood up, walked back into the mansion, and stepped into the study room. You checked some opened mail the staff put on the table and flipped through the magazine. Then you walked into the ballroom to make sure all the Halloween party decorations were removed and the floor was mopped spotless and ready for the Thanksgiving and Christmas events.
The staff were busy putting lights and decorations on the outside of each window on the second floor and you’d better not disturb them. So you come to the kitchen just to find some newly baked bread and cakes out of the oven with an enormous delicious aroma full of space. You lingered a few minutes while the staff was busy fetching ingredients in the adjacent storage pantry rooms. You finished your last inhale of the baking aroma and walked out from the main entry. You walked about 50 yards and turned left to admire these giant oak trees behind the north wing.
It was such a beautiful Nov 5th day at the heart of the San Francisco peninsula.
Traveling Back in Time at Filoli Estate
Filoli Estate is a private garden nestled in the valleys of the San Francisco Bay Area, built by a wealthy family in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. After the original lady of the house passed away, the estate was taken over by another wealthy couple in 1936. Eventually, in 1977, the second lady of the house entrusted the estate to a nonprofit organization following her husband’s death, opening it up to the public.
Thanks to this organization’s careful management, ticket prices have risen from less than $10 over a decade ago to $34 now, with the revenue used to maintain and restore the estate to its former glory.
On Election Day, when my company had the day off, I revisited the estate to enjoy the quiet, only to discover that much had changed since my last visit six or seven years ago. There are now many more staff members, and significant restoration work has been done to bring back the charm of the past. Inside and out, the estate felt alive, like stepping a century back in time. (While the second floor is still closed to the public, it’s been restored enough that staff can now go upstairs and decorate.)
I wandered around, pretending to be Agnes, the estate’s first lady of the house, strolling leisurely through the grounds. I nodded in greeting to the staff members who popped up here and there, busy decorating for Christmas (my servants, perhaps?). They would pause, smile, and quietly step aside whenever they saw me — the visitor (or “lady of the house”) — which really added to the immersive experience.
I later settled down under the grand oak tree in the garden to read a novel, watching the staff go about their work tidying up the grounds.
Inside the house, I lingered by the lady’s desk in the sitting room, carefully examining the scattered letters and magazines, then wandered over to the ballroom, nearly tempted to sit and play a tune. I ended my visit in the kitchen, where I admired a freshly baked loaf of sourdough and a few open cookbooks on the counter.
Imagining Agnes’s daily life, I felt her serene, leisurely rhythm — a life of simple, quiet luxury. It’s said that, at its peak, the estate employed over 30 staff members, most of whom were recent European immigrants. The couple had a son and a daughter, though tragically, the son passed away in infancy, and their daughter passed in her early forties, before her parents. Such sadness may have shaped their lives, making them wealthy yet modest souls who cherished their days without lofty ambitions.
In comparison, our modern lives seem chaotic — constantly on the go, jetting from one place to another. It’s progress, perhaps, but every now and then, it’s worth finding a quiet moment like this, stepping into another time, and briefly experiencing the graceful beauty of an era long past.
