“Lawrence of Hillview”

In the countryside outside of Petaluma, CA, there was a farm with an arched sign over the entrance that read, “Lawrence of Hillview.” In the distance could be seen a pink Victorian house, surrounded by lush green fields.

A most curious sign, indeed.

This farm was along our bus route enroute to Kenilworth Junior High School; as our school bus went by we’d all affect English accents and make the ‘pinkies up’ tea-drinking gesture.

“LOH-rhuns uhv HILL-vyoo,” we would intone with a snicker, probably sounding more Transylvanian than British.

I always wondered if some English baron pulled up stakes in Jolly Olde England and settled there.

I learned today that:

Surprise! No tea and crumpets involved. This was the prestigous Bill Lawrence dairy farm, who was quite the big deal in Petaluma’s farm scene. No, he wasn’t a peer of the realm, but he might as well have been.

He moved there from… Ellendale, MN! Uff da!

How ironic is that? He moved from MN to CA, trading snowfalls for sunshine, while I went the exact opposite way, becoming one of the frozen chosen in search of a better life.

And why was his farmhouse pink?

In that era, especially in Sonoma and Marin, the big dairy families had a particular swagger: land, herds, political clout in the co‑ops, and a sense that the farmstead was both a business and a personal signature.

If Bill Lawrence wanted a pretentious sign and a pink farmhouse, nobody was going to tell him otherwise. In fact, the more distinctive the color, the more it telegraphed, “Yes, this is my hill, and you know exactly which house is mine.”

I tried to find a historical photograph of that sign; it was marvelous. No dice, though. If anyone could scare one up, I’d raise my pinky in gratitude.

I wonder if he ever met Bill Soberanes, another Petaluma legend in his own right.