I decided to celebrate my birthday Monday by returning to Bolinas. It may have been two years since I drove over Mount Tamalpais to visit my old home. A friend accompanied me for the afternoon. We drove by the Bolinas Lagoon — it was low tide. Nothing had changed on the way into town. The farm stand. The nursery. Warren Weber’s Star Route Farm. Suzie Thompkin’s property on the Francisco Mesa.
We parked alongside the community center. Very few people around, a sleepy laid back day. There were only a scattering of shops open — BoGas, the Coop, John’s Store, one or two closet-like storefronts. The tiny house which was once home to the Bolinas Bay Bakery — where I moonlighted making cheesecakes 40 years ago — now sports huge Black Lives Matter signage. A Ukrainian flag was shifting in the breeze. We walked down to the beach on Wharf Road. A woman and her dog were the only people walking in the sand. No surfers. The biggest change to the town was that the post office has been closed for near 400 days now. Folks now have to drive over to Stinson Beach to fetch their mail.
A few people from the old days were on the streets so I had the opportunity to exchange a few hugs, tell people how good they looked, after all these years. My dearest friend, who is a member of the Coop, works the early shift and she had already left for the day. I could not recall how to locate her small cottage which is one of several behind a large fence on a big piece of property situated on one of the dirt side streets on the Mesa.
We drove out to Agate Beach and stopped the car outside the house where my husband and I raised our daughter. So quiet. Tall grasses basked in the sunlight up on the hill behind the house. The air smelled of ocean and pine trees. Invisible birds called out from hidden perches within the branches. The yard was vastly overgrown and several trees had been felled. It was almost like entering into a time warp. I felt as if I could just stroll down the passage to the front door, walk in, and resume my old life. It seemed possible. A Proustian moment. Leaving the Mesa, at the intersection of Overlook and Mesa Roads a sign informed us “There is only NOW.”
Turning left at the intersection, we drove past the Tacherra Ranch and turned off to visit the Vanishing Point Ranch where my daughter rode for nearly 15 years. Driving in on the deeply potholed dirt road, I almost expected I would see Mohave, her white Arabian, still grazing in the grass in his turnout. It was inconceivable to acknowledge that all of the horses that lived there were no longer alive. I yearned to knock on the door, to see if the owner and trainer Sally was around, to share with her that my daughter is still riding two or three afternoons a week. I knew how much she would love hearing the influence she had had on her life. But it felt like too big a step backwards for me to fathom; recollections of those days are fraught with such a deep sense of irretrievable loss.
Tuesday, still under the spell of the magic and my memories, I searched for houses to rent in Bolinas and actually found one on Trulia. A two bedroom about a block away from the downtown beach . Probably too expensive. Probably comes furnished. Lots of stairs. Still, I put in a request for a showing. I received a call and a text from the owner. Called him Wednesday morning to thank him but say I had changed my mind. The big girl in me knows at this stage in my life it would be too challenging and isolating to move back over the hill to West Marin. I only have a few friends still living there. Some of them have passed, others have moved away.
I texted with a friend last night about how painful it was to travel back in time, how powerful the nostalgia and poignancy. She texted back that it would be too painful for her to revisit that period in her life. It was good to know I was not alone in my feelings.
Still, I now have four new tires on my car and I’ve decided I’m going to drive over to Bo more frequently. I did some research on Airbnb and found one that accepts dogs. I’m thinking of starting to drive out every few months and spend a few nights midweek. Maybe start writing poetry again. Brush up on my cheesecake making skills. My next year’s starting to look good.
Kitchen Table Kibitzing is a community series for those who wish to share a virtual kitchen table with other readers of Daily Kos who aren’t throwing pies at one another. Drop by to talk about music, your weather, your garden, or what you cooked for supper…. Newcomers may notice that many who post in this series already know one another to some degree, but we welcome guests at our kitchen table and hope to make some new friends as well.