It was a fight of many years over the plans for that little farm. when my parents were young that whole area was farms. Then the 101 State Highway was rerouted and expanded, A marsh area became a man-made ‘lake’ (more like a very large pond). A housing tract was built next to it and kept expanding over the years while a park was developed on the other side of the 'lake'. The piddling little road that used to give access to the area was expanded and named Madonna Road. The fruits of the labor of bringing this all into being gave enough wealth to one contractor who subsequently built the ‘world famous’ Madonna Inn. Through all of that this little farm survived. It received a new neighbor on its other side, the Madonna Plaza and for years was left alone.
Then some people from Texas bought the little farm while visions of bundles of cash danced in their tiny heads. Vote after vote, year after year their dream was shot down by the people of the city, and the little farm, year after year continued to grow crops. Texas grew frustrated, sold the land to a conglomerate that included the son and grandsons of that successful contractor. A new vote was arranged, with a big difference. This time, it was the COUNTY voters who would decide the fate of the little farm, and the farm was doomed. The locals who had loved the little piece of agriculture with its accompanying rustic house and barns could not give their sentimental values to those who lived over the mountains and down by the sea.
Years passed as plan after plan was rejected by the planning commission. The city itself was going through many changes. The little agricultural college grew up to become a major polytechnic university, and brought in many students from far away. Rich parents bought their children houses to stay in and turned their investment into rental property when graduation took the offspring out to the cold wide world. Rents rose, and rose...
Then we were 'discovered'. Oprah praised us, Sunset Magazine did articles on us. Nostalgic graduates, having made good in the world came back. Entire neighborhoods were 'gentrified' and the stately Victorians took on a new sheen. At least the lucky ones did. Lovely and not so lovely houses were torn down and condominiums took their place, sprinkled throughout the residential areas. Many of their neighbors were now looking at stucco or faux wood instead of the mountains or our Cerro San Luis Obispo in the center of the city. That mountain (more like a large hill) was now surrounded on three sides by housing tracts and the old city.
Downtown, some of the old familiar buildings were slowly disappearing. Businesses that had thrived for more than half a century were bought out, the new businesses lasting a year or two before disappearing into bankruptcy. Some of those were replaced by more modern, taller, less picturesque edifices with higher rents. Somehow, the height ordinance was given dispensation again and again and finally ignored completely. Much of the city lost its wonderful views of the mountains and the old Spanish ambiance that had drawn many people here.
Yet still the little farm remained. that sweet reminder of times past that was about to undergo a drastic change. As if ashamed of their actions, it started in the middle of the night. Hundreds of trees bulldozed and cut down. A vast ugly scar greeted the eyes of San Luis Obispians the next morning, and many of us cried. The corpses of the fallen woodland laid there for months, the decaying timber slowly being hauled away. One of the rustic barns, slated to become a cultural center because of its rich history, mysteriously burned down one night. Amazingly, through all this turmoil, the little fam continued to plant its acreage and sell its crop to the denizens of the city. Then it finally happened. The verdant lot that had fed so many was bulldozed, the lines and sticks depicting where and what woud take its place were laid out and a piece of the city's heart was put down like a rabid dog.
I don't know what happened to the house and other farm buildings. I surmise most were torn down to make room for the modern dream. I don't take that forgotten lane any more, the lane that lost its name to become Madonna Road. There are ways around it and I choose not to visit that particular gravesite of the past. Some day,I suppose, if I'm still alive, I will journey down to see what the hand of man hath wrought. For now, it is just too painful.