Occidental Art and Garden Center

Approaching the little town of Occidental from Highway 1 feels like being on a trip through a slower, gentler California. On a recent sunny afternoon I drove north, past the boatyard and houses perched over the sea in Marshall, through the windswept pastures of Tomales, to turn inland just after ramshackle Valley Ford. Here, the terrain quickly changed. The vegetation got lusher and the hills steeper. Willows crowded the narrow two-lane blacktop and old apple orchards stood by, festooned in blossoms and unmowed waving grasses. I hung a left to pass by the acclaimed Wildwood Bakery in Freestone, and soon forests of oak and Douglas fir closed in.

Occidental is more like a village, with men hanging out on the stoop of a bar and a tiny farmers market selling flowered dresses, Indian food, garden boquets and fresh mushrooms grown up the road. I was too busy looking around to notice my road sign and so I drove on. Redwoods rose up on all sides, and the road grew shadowed and the air smelled musty and fresh at the same time. I knew I had gone too far but drove a bit farther anyway, reluctant to turn around.

By the time I got to my destination of the fabled Occidental Art and Garden Center, which is rarely open to the public, it was late in the day and their spring sale was winding down. From the gravel parking lot I wandered down a hill, past greenhouses and strutting wild turkeys, to an enclave of that particular style of architecture I fondly think of as Coastal Californian Hippy. Tables loaded with plants rested under a shade cloth; children milled rambunctiously and men gave hugged and asked about each other's wives. One saw my camera and volunteered an impromptu tour through the grounds - a sprawling combination of facilities and forest. Permaculture classes are taught in the garden filling a sunny swale, and theater performances are held on a small stage beneath some tan oaks. A quarter-mile hike up a dirt road, a pond sits serenely on a grassy hilltop. At the time of my visit, a man was dozing on a small wooden dock, t-shirt crumpled over his eyes.