Old-timers love to wax nostalgic about the good old days, how beauty and poetry flew lazily across the Santa Clarita Valley, like butterflies and whippoorwills floating on gentle spring breezes.

I grew up here. It was an armpit. With dust. I remember being a boy, sitting on a hill, saying goodbye to dusk. House lights were separated by miles, not microns. Night’s a good thing because it hides blemishes, like mediocrity. We don’t have as many oaks today as dotted the valley in the 1950s. But, we have more trees by ten thousand-fold. One thing The Newhall Land & Farming Co. and the city of Santa Clarita did, not just right, but beautifully, was Orchard Village Road. It connects ancient Newhall with yuppietown Valencia. From the medians to the shady pathways along Orchard Village, planners, gardeners and bureaucrats created just the perfect, sigh-bringing distraction to our woes and problems. In its simple, tree-lined beauty, Orchard Village would bring a tear to the eye of Vincent van Gogh.

And then, some knucklehead or pride of knuckleheads at City Hall had to go and not just spoil it, but ruin our pastoral pathway.

What buck-toothed knave is responsible for installing these primitive, yard-tall phallic symbols along both sides of this former bucolic avenue? Is there a name, title and department that goes with the designer of these Easter Island statues in the shape of appliance-white giant plastic salamis?

What. The holy heck. Were you. Thinking.

?????????????

This eyesore? It’s city-sponsored graffiti. It’s a thrown can of motor oil onto Renoir’s La Grenouille.

Orchard........

© Santa Clarita Valley Signal