If you’ve driven through Lafayette, Moraga, or Orinda in the last week, you’ve noticed it. A new bloom is on. The wildflowers are done, the hills are doing their golden thing, and a fresh ecosystem has taken over the front lawns: the senior yard sign.
Welcome to graduation season. It is, depending on how you count, the second-most stressful weekend of the year for a Lamorinda parent. (First place is still kindergarten registration. Don’t @ me.)
The Sign Census
Every Lamorinda lawn currently hosting a graduate falls into one of four sign categories:
- The Official School Sign — printed by the booster club, slightly weathered, perfectly serviceable. Acalanes Dons, Campolindo Cougars, Miramonte Mats, Orinda Academy Wolves. Civic. Restrained. Correct.
- The Custom Photo Sign — Vistaprint, $89, features a senior portrait that was clearly taken in October. Visible from the street. The dog is also in it.
- The Multi-Sign Installation — Three signs. Sometimes four. Includes the college they’re attending, often before the deposit has technically cleared. UC Davis. Cal Poly. Cal. USC for the bold.
- The “We Did It Too” Sign — Older sibling’s college decal still proudly displayed on the rear window of the Subaru. The senior we are currently celebrating has been gently reminded that this is their year now.
The drive down Moraga Way between St. Mary’s Road and Rheem Boulevard is currently producing roughly one sign per 30 feet of curb. This is unscientific. I counted.
The St. Mary’s Effect
Then there’s the St. Mary’s College factor. Their commencement is Saturday. Approximately 4,000 people will descend on Moraga, half of them looking for parking they were promised would be “easy.” Reader: it will not be easy.
If you live in the Rheem Valley or anywhere near St. Mary’s Road this weekend, you already know. You’ve planned your grocery run for Friday. You’re not driving anywhere between 10 AM and 2 PM on Saturday. You’ll be on your patio, watching the GMC Yukons roll through with out-of-state plates, quietly pleased not to be one of them.
The Local Ceremony Logistics
Acalanes graduates on the football field. Campolindo graduates on theirs. Miramonte does its thing. Every single one of these ceremonies will be:
- Hotter than expected
- Longer than expected
- Photographed from approximately 1,400 simultaneous iPhones held at full extension
- Followed by a parent attempting to find their kid in a crowd of nearly identical caps and gowns for roughly 25 minutes
The unspoken rule: you arrive 90 minutes early to claim seats. The grandparents get the shade. Dad volunteers to be the “roving photographer” because it lets him stand up. There is always one cousin who flew in from somewhere and is deeply jet-lagged.
The Party Migration
By Saturday evening, every other house on Reliez Valley Road has a tent in the driveway. Caterers from Lafayette Park Hotel are doing brisk business. The taco truck industry in Contra Costa County is having its single best week of the year.
You will be invited to three parties. They will all be at the same time. You will try to attend all three. You will succeed at attending one-and-a-half. This is normal. This is correct.
The Mortar Board Inflation Index
The cap-decorating arms race continues unabated. What started as a tasteful “Class of 20XX” in gold paint has evolved into glitter mosaics, taxidermied flowers, full quotes from Hamilton, and at least one (allegedly) functioning LED installation. Parents pretend this is fine. Photographers love it. The principal said something gentle at the senior assembly about “tasteful expression” and was, as always, politely ignored.
The Tahoe Question
By Sunday afternoon, half the new graduates will already be in Tahoe with friends. Their parents will have negotiated this in May like a hostage situation. There will be a group text. There will be a “designated mom” who is, in fact, going to bed at 9:30 PM and pretending not to hear anything. There will be one parent who insisted on Life360 and is right about that, actually.
The Quiet Weeks Ahead
Here’s the secret. After this weekend and next, Lamorinda gets quieter. The drop-off lines vanish. Coffee shops have available tables before 10 AM. The reservoir’s morning rush thins. The grocery store on a Tuesday at 4 PM is almost peaceful.
The seniors are scattering — to internships, to summer jobs, to that Tahoe house, to the very last summer before whatever comes next. Their lawn signs will stay up until July, faded by sun, listing slightly, eventually relocated to the garage where they will be discovered in nine years.
The hills will keep going gold. The pools will fill up. The town stays the same. The kids don’t.
Congrats, Class of 2026. Try to remember which Yukon is yours in the parking lot.
