I think I may have discovered the true origin of the “Roy’s Pour” – the astonishingly generous measure of spirits in the Clubhouse cocktails. Clearly, it was devised as an essential anesthetic for surviving an Annual RSFA Board of Directors Meeting. With the restaurant under renovation, those seeking relief will have to trek to the Inn for a double – or stage a clandestine tailgate in the Association parking lot with a handle from the local pharmacy. Honestly, only copious alcohol can make some of this make sense.
The meeting began yesterday with a relatively uneventful recap of the year and a projected budget, which passed unanimously with all the excitement of reading the regs – everyone apparently made peace with a $1.7 million restaurant loss. Again. And then, naturally, we moved on to fireworks… and drones.
President David Gamboa painted a cinematic vision of the community reuniting under a starry sky after a tempestuous year. I imagined swaying to Lee Greenwood, munching a burger, and watching the neighbors – well, the ones we still like – oooh and aaah. $60,000 later, and I was a fan. After hundreds of thousands spent on designers and consultants, surely a few drones to dazzle the masses would be the least the Board could do. But no – after rigorous deliberation, the decision was 6-1 to stick with the afternoon parade and burgers on the village green. Gamboa, heroically, was the lone dissenter, stubbornly championing the idea of actual communal joy.
Then there’s Osuna. Ah, Osuna – the land of locked gates and canceled events. A zoning oversight from 20 years ago suddenly came back to haunt us: apparently, unless you’re running a horse business, forget about Farm-to-Table dinners, scout meetings, or any other social human activity. Osuna Days? Not allowed. A Scout troop picnic? Dream on.
Director Jeff Simmons, with the sage advice of the Osuna Committee, proposed dropping $80K to hire a recently retired 30-year County planner to navigate the byzantine rules so members could regain access. Director Courtney LeBeau proposed an advisory vote – though exactly what we’d be voting on wasn’t clear. Irony, of course, reared its head: residents have been begging for advisory votes on a $10 million restaurant renovation (not to mention Silvergate) for the last three years, yet now, we ponder them for an $80K bureaucratic fix. A stiff drink is once again called for.
Somehow, the Ranch has devolved into a Golf Club vs. Osuna tribal feud. Scarcity mentality reigns: not enough customers, not enough money, not enough love. Director Mark Simpson fretted that a successful event at Osuna would lure patrons away from the perpetually unprofitable Golf Club restaurant. I say there’s room for both – and I can assure you, the Osuna Committee won’t be asking for $10 million anytime soon.
After spirited debate, the motion landed somewhere between “do something” and “do nothing”: don’t hire the consultant just yet – ask them to outline what exactly $80K buys first. Meanwhile, the staff presentation had already clearly mapped a path to restore Osuna events, leaving one to wonder why the Board seems so determined to keep member access… limited. Mysteries abound.
What finally explained a large golf contingent’s presence at the meeting was a detail that only emerged later. Breaking ground on the snack bar has been held up by the County, pending sign-off on the promised replanting of the trees removed — most from the interior of the course — during the illegal grading debacle of 2021. The solution, it turns out, was elegant in its simplicity: the tree planting plan along the trail was quietly swapped out to count toward replacing the course trees instead. Bada bing, bada boom — construction can now proceed, the box gets checked, and the County remains none the wiser. Not so much a scandal as a magic trick — one that, to be fair, surprised absolutely no one who’s been paying attention.
Later the evening I attended the candidate forum – where thankfully, wine was on hand – unfortunately not a Roy’s Pour – but enough to keep one’s sense of humor intact.
Kelli Hillard, a Covenant and former Art Jury member, rarely drinks – except when satire calls.