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Ross is one of two municipal entities that make Marin, well, Marin. Not the Marin of the sun-dappled meadows and the crashing seashore and the trails of Mt. Tamalpais, but the Marin of the zillion-dollar mansions and the vertiginous per capita income and the posh, pampered native populace—-the Marin known 'round the world as a bastion of lotus-eating lassitude.

The other municipal entity, Belvedere Island, is a serene and strikingly beautiful place of sumptuous villas, hilly, landscaped topography and stunning, world-class vistas; its charms might even approach its listed market value. So why has Ross, a town of minimal girth (1.6 square miles), horizontal elevation (36 feet above sea level) and an absolutely nonexistent coastline, achieved parity as one of this grandiloquent county's most grandiloquent settlements?

For millennia the region was a serene wooded valley where the Coast Miwok hunted, fished and foraged; seven shell mounds were located in present-day Ross alone. Once the conquistadores had come and gone, the area became part of the 8,887-acre Rancho Punta de San Quentin, a Mexican land grant that was deeded in 1840 to Juan Bautista Cooper, a seaman out of Boston. After a decade of lumbering, dairy ranching and trapping otter along the shores of Corte Madera Creek, Cooper sold the land for $50,000 to San Francisco's Benjamin Buckelew, who unloaded 20 acres to the state for a whopping $10,000 and sold the rest of the rancho to one James Ross for another 50 grand. Ross had made his way to the California gold fields from Scotland by way of Tasmania, and like many a failed Argonaut, earned his fortune by selling goods and hooch to the miners. Now he was a successful San Francisco liquor wholesaler with his very own country estate.

In this, Ross was a true municipal pioneer. Throughout the 19th century, S.F.'s elite would follow his lead and build magnificent manor houses in this warm, tranquil, fog-free valley with its canopy of oaks and elm trees—an ideal setting for horseback riding, fox hunting, lawn tennis and other Gatsby-esque pursuits. One of the valley's most magnificent estates was Sunnyside, built for Ross's daughter Annie. When James Ross died in 1862, his will stipulated that his widow, Ann, would have to pay their daughters $10,000 each when they married, provided they "married well"—a loophole waiting to happen, but Ann ponied up anyway. To do so, however, she had to sell off most of the rancho, keeping a choice 297 acres for herself—the present-day town of Ross.

Annie Ross's splendid home was such a local landmark (the grounds featured shrubs, trees and plants from around the world as well as a striking octagonal outbuilding), when the North Pacific Coast Railroad inched its way upcounty in 1873, it named the stop between Larkspur and San Anselmo "Sunnyside." But when the area's burgeoning (if well-heeled) populace made it necessary to upgrade the stop to a full-fledged train station, Mother Ann donated 1.4 acres to the cause—provided the station (and, by extension, the settlement) be renamed in honor of her late husband. It became official in 1908 when the town of Ross, population 750, was officially incorporated.

The town had a special sense of itself from the beginning. Trees could only be cut with city permission, a radical notion at the time, and approaching and departing trains could not exceed 15 miles per hour. The Lagunitas Country Club had opened (but not to just anyone) in 1903, the Phoenix Lake reservoir was built in 1905 a mile or so west of town, offering residents yet another splendid hiking option, the 1906 earthquake inspired many a summer visitor to take up residence year-round and in 1911, Ross Common, the town's favorite gathering place, was created from a 6-acre patch of donated Annie Ross greensward.

In 1922 the Branson School opened on the beautifully landscaped grounds of the old Albert Dibble estate; today it's recognized as one of the state's finest prep schools. Sunnyside was rescued from oblivion in 1945 when Caroline Livermore converted Annie Ross's dilapidated old property into the Marin Art and Garden Center, a still-thriving community resource offering gallery openings, a children's playground, regular flower displays and the Ross Valley Players (est. 1930!) serving up the show biz. (The acclaimed Jose Moya del Pino Reference Library opened in the old Octagon House in 1965.) And in 1971 the Jerome Flax family presented Ross with the figure that became the town's most recognizable symbol: the Beniamino Bufano bear statue that graces the forecourt of the town's circa-1927 firehouse.

Today's Ross is still the tranquil, tree-shaded enclave of gentility it's been since the landed gentry were met at the depot by their liveried coachmen back in the horse-and-buggy days. The number of residences has hovered around 750 for the past century. There are few paved sidewalks and no postal delivery (residents pick up their mail at the handsome old post office, the town's former train depot). There are no bars or convenience stores or banks or Laundromats or drugstores, but there's a clothing boutique, a beauty salon, an antique store, two landscapers, a handful of acclaimed restaurants and several real estate agents. The median purchase price for a home in Ross is just under $1.5 million, but you can opt for an 1896 six-bedroom on three acres with tennis court, redwood grove, waterfalls, pool and cabana for $22 million if you're so inclined. The town's founders would feel right at home.

One hundred years later, the town remains a splendid place to raise a family, sip lemonade under a sheltering magnolia and retreat from the unpleasantries of the outside world. Turns out a hill and a coastline isn't necessary after all when you're shopping for a slice of nirvana.