Introduction

My first memory of Bo Town

I was five or six, I can not remember. We had left the court house, the two adults that were holding my hand signed some pictures, and a caravan of six cars followed us back to Bo Town to our house. Just being five or six, moving to a small town in Northern California was a big step, and it was a lot different from Oakland where cars were always going down the street where the foster home was, and gun shots could be heard once or twice a week from a couple streets down. We had to go over this hill and curved our way down a mountain and as we came out of this forest the view was of something so spectacular, I remember thinking I was dreaming. The beauty of seeing the point of Bo Town and Stinson below us as we stood at a pull out was a look to be seen and remembered. It was a view that I still stop to enjoy every once and a while to appreciate where I have been lucky enough to grow up. 

That day when I was adopted is a day I will always remember, but it is a day that was made even more memorable when I learned that I was not going to live in a disgusting city where the yard of the foster home was nothing but dirt, a little garage and basketball hoop with small children running around in it. At my parents house we had an acre of land, a huge front and back yard, all gated, and apple and pear trees that could be seen from the kitchen window. My Dad when we arrived the first day living with them had put a swing up in one of the pine trees made out of a floater from a fishing boat. Clothes lines were hung from a cherry tree to a pear tree, and raised beds were brimming of fresh lettuce and herbs. We had neighbors but huge yards separated us from them. 

The first few years of growing up in Bo Town was like adventuring around a secret garden. Eventually I made some friends and we would run down Poplar road to the end and climb down the cliffs to what we used to call 'Pirates Cove' and play 'pirate ship' or run down the beach collecting agates and climbing among the reef beds. We would run around the horse ranches, playing in the hay barn and feeding horses. In the lagoon we would canoe and kayak with our parents or older siblings, and bike to school in rain and sun. 

Community functions were held on holidays as well as random events such as pie contests, art contests, sewing clubs, a book club, trapeze classes, talent shows, senior citizen meals, and a pizza business would take over the community kitchen every Friday, handing out fresh pizzas out a kitchen window. 

Hikes in the valleys and to the streams and lakes among the trees of Olema Valley were experienced almost every weekend, and at least one girl would get stung by a bee or stinging nettle, often causing a parent to rush to a car and treat the injury or rash. Because we were so far away from summer camps in bigger towns/cities the clay art shop teacher created a community camp where older siblings and older students would become counselors during the summer and we would adventure around West Marin hiking, kayaking, canoeing, swimming, doing art projects, and playing sports until the summer was over and school was supposed to start.

When I graduated in 2006 the whole school could fit on half of a half of a basketball court (K-8) and the grade that had the lowest number of students was a fifth grade class that was five students, only one girl. 

For the longest time I said that I hated living in a small town, but as you get older, and especially since I have found myself back in the town living with my parents, I can see how a small town can be beneficial before you enter into the chaos of the world. 

These will be memories of growing up in Bo Town and experiences that have brought me back to memories of living in a village that has contributed to who I am today.