At least for the summers, I’ve been trying to move out of this darn place for almost 60 years. Never much of a fan of mercury’s broiling tantrums stretching from early July to mid-October. 

I’ve been keeping track. This year’s a bit different. We had 14 minutes of spring and many uncalled-for intrusions of hot weather early. Normally, it gets hot right around the Fourth of July and heat stays with us for about an uncanny 100 days. Then, yippee coyote, it’s pleasant in Santa Clarita for 265 days.  

A darling dear friend tried to convince me that this heat nonsense some people call “Summer” is but a recent event. He blamed the usual suspects: Climate Change, polar bear farts, Republicans, confident heterosexual white males, my rusting pickup truck. Wearing another hat as local historian, I assured him it’s been blankety-blank stupid hot here since before the internal combustion engine and that there’s no record of Ursus maritimus making the 913?? ZIP code his home. In fact, if I were asked, on my final breath, to name my favorite Mighty Signal story, it would come from the 1930s. Then editor/publisher, A.B. “Dad” Thatcher, wrote a little ditty in his front-page column, the Jin Jer Jar. It was during a Depression-era heat wave and an old cowboy walked into The Signal office, then on Main Street. The cattle puncher came in to present “Dad” with a news scoop. 

“It was so hot yesterday, I saw a coyote chasing a rabbit,” said the cowpoke. “And........

© Santa Clarita Valley Signal