Santas Village

August 29, 2025

“Just Thinking"

We were going through some pictures before mom’s funeral, and we came across some family shots taken in Santa’s Village. If you are under 50 years old, you have no idea what I am talking about. Santa’s Village was in Scotts Valley, on the way to Santa Cruz, it was a Christmas-themed amusement park that operated from May 30, 1957, until 1979.

The park featured several kiddie rides, a spinning Christmas tree, a petting zoo, buildings that looked like gingerbread houses, and a column that was known as the "North Pole."

Employees dressed as elves and gnomes, adding to the immersive experience. The park even had its own freeway exit, which still bears the name Santa’s Village Road

For years after it closed, the remains of Santa’s Village lingered along the highway in Scotts Valley. The whimsical buildings that once delighted families stood silent, fading, and slowly surrendering to time. Sometime in the 1980s, on my way to a job in Santa Cruz, I noticed the exit for Santa’s Village and felt a pull of curiosity. Childhood memories urged me to see what was left.

To my surprise, the front gate stood wide open. I eased the truck down the familiar road, only to find a place transformed. The once-bright buildings of my youth were now shells, their cheerful colors muted to gray and brown. The pavement was cracked, weeds pushing through the seams, and the redwoods pressed in as if reclaiming the land. Candy-cane posts and gingerbread trim sagged under the weight of neglect, nature wrapping itself around the fantasy.

It wasn’t long before unease crept in. My imagination took over, twisting the ruins into something darker. I could almost see a Stephen King scene unfold before me, a grotesque holiday nightmare. Santa appeared in my mind’s eye, his beard matted and gray, his suit torn and grimy, staring me down with a growl: “You don’t belong here.” Behind him, reindeer, no longer gentle, pawed the ground like beasts ready to charge. From shadowed doorways emerged elves and gnomes, their movements stiff and unnatural, zombie-like. Gingerbread men and snowmen seemed to lurk just beyond sight, while the candy canes had blackened with age, and the oversized mushroom cottages pulsed as though alive.

The dread was overwhelming. My heart raced, and I felt the pull to leave before the vision swallowed me whole. Throwing the truck into reverse, I backed out through the open gate, relieved to see the highway again.

I chose then to leave the ghostly version behind, to remember instead the wonder of family visits: the joy that we felt as children, the sparkle of Christmas in July, the smell of gingerbread wafting through the pines. For me, Santa’s Village will always be that place of magic in the redwoods, not the haunted shell it became.

Let me know what you think.