I do not answer my phone. I mean I do answer it, but only if it buzzes while in my presence; it does not ring. I prefer it that way. A text will work fine for me, and if one was to leave a verbal message, then I will probably check it by the end of the day or get to it by the next. I realize when looking for another place to live in West Marin that this type of phone policy is not necessarily the best way to go about it. But in a way, this practice does signify a category of search and also a desired outcome: to live in a place I like, in the vicinity of people I like. It makes me happy.
My optimism originates from my own history and knowledge of myself. I have always had good luck when it comes to gainful employment and places to live—though I have never been able to carry that over to financial stability or relationships. Somehow things seem to always work out. But seven weeks into a 60-day notice at my CLAM rental, and the anxiety of uncertainty was taking its toll.
I had put word out of my rental quest to friends and acquaintances. I had placed fluorescent green “HOUSING WANTED” notices on every bulletin board in every town on this part of the coast. There was my letter, published in the local newspaper about diminishing affordable housing. And the not-so-subtle mentions on my weekly radio show. I was starting to wonder if my pledge to stay living in West Marin was for naught.
I was desperate! I would have taken anything that came along at almost any price. Even if it was just a temporary residence while I continued to look. So I decided to check my phone for messages. There was one: a voicemail from a local number, but not one I recognized. As I played it there was a warm female voice with a slight but proper British accent expounding without hesitation the words I so longed to hear: “We have the perfect studio for you.” She added the general location and a request for a return call.
I thought about how the week earlier, as I sat in an interview for a local apartment, I had been interrupted by texts and emails tipping me off about the apartment I was currently considering. The space was expensive, dark and small, with rules for curfew and noise as well as social expectations and some chores to boot. I knew it was not for me, but I would have taken it. The next day, five friends contacted me about another CLAM rental becoming available. They were so quick to pass on the information from a local website that CLAM staff had not known about it yet. I had been living in one of their sponsored junior units for a few years that had no storage, no porch, and was too small for the expensive monthly rate. I was not excited about jumping through those hoops again, but I would have taken it.
The following days saw a considerable influx of community support. A small army of locals was looking for a rental for me. My program manager at KWMR told me she had people coming to her to ask if she knew of any places for me. These days it seems rare that persons who are not even related to you can look after you so well.
My faith in our small towns has not wavered. The spirit of these bays and beaches is as consistent as the tides. The beauty of the ridges and valley has always taken my breath away when I come back from over the hill. Nature and the people here over time have taught me: We must have the humility to appreciate our connection with the land, the waters and the community we have created. I could not be more grateful.
As I continued to listen to the voicemail, I waited for the other shoe to drop. How could I be so fortunate to have another space fall into my lap? A wonderfully private and quiet writer’s studio with storage, laundry and a view to the west over an open pasture? An eclectic mix of redwood, oak and maple trees lining the small street of a few single-story houses?
When I pulled up in front of the house to meet, hopefully, my new landlords, I could already imagine the soon-to-be-green pastures and wildflowers blanketing the neighborhood. I was met by a friendly woman with an accent and voice that matched the one on the voicemail. “Your food precedes you,” she exclaimed as I stepped out of my truck. Her partner, a soft-spoken man of Hispanic origin who appeared younger than his years, shook my hand. He looked up at me and said, “Wherever you cook in West Marin, when you leave, the food sucks!” I was flattered but tentative, not knowing the cost of the rent. So I thought to myself, maybe some cooking lessons could be in order. The woman continued, “It would be beneficial to have someone here since we have decided to not be here much, staying in our other house in Bolinas for the most part, but most importantly we want someone to live here that will be HAPPY.”
I had found a place. A place to be happy that I could afford. I have found a spot in West Marin that I like, around people that I like who like me. I was presented with the studio cabin by a gracious old-fashioned handshake, respect and trust, along with the first and last month’s rent and a security deposit, of course.
With new friends, I could not ask for more. In the end, it was the fluorescent green flier on the bulletin board in a small town of a mostly lovely community that landed me in this wonderful place. Well, also my delight for where I live, the love I have for feeding people and, I guess somewhat, my food, too. To all I must express gratefully, thank you!
David Cook has been a renter in West Marin for 40 years. He is currently happy and living in Tomales.