How we use the past: a need for community

David Allison

I’ve been reading a book called Unruly Places by Alastair Bonnett (2014). In one chapter, the author highlights quilombos—places in Brazil settled during the 1700s-1800s by individuals who had formerly been enslaved. These primarily Black Brazilian communities have experienced a resurgence in interest and scholarship in recent years. One statement from Bonnett was noteworthy to me.

“Quilombos are not remnants of something gone but places that look to the past to define their present. It’s something that all living places do. It can sometimes mean that they appear to be more interested in preserving tradition than inventing new ones. But that is a risk worth taking—indeed it is a risk that has to be taken if places are to be communities, something more than just spaces of temporary individual habitation. Without the binding presence of the past, places are emptied of a meaningful future.” (p. 162)

I liked much of the sentiment built into this statement, especially the contrast between communities and spaces of temporary individual habitation. I think the American peripatetic tendency combined with the transitory nature of suburbs and jobs in the 21st century conspire to degrade community. Moreover, we tend not to quickly trust or even spend much time with our neighbors. However, I feel that the work of FoBH and the Looking Back for a Vision Forward series can help to reforge any weakened and broken community identity for Broomfield. Thank you for your efforts toward this noble goal!

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Image by [email protected]

Cottonwoods, Coal, and Community: Broomfield in the 1930s and the Flatirons Mall Today

Frank Varra Park is almost as far west in Broomfield as you can get. Down the hill from Flatirons Mall and across from I-36 is a beautiful, if noisy, spot. A small stream flows through scrappy cottonwood, and the mossy rocks are worn from the continual flow of water over them. A short path is crosscut by bike paths, but the marker below is sheltered back from the path. 

In the early morning hours of January 20, 1936, north of Broomfield and just outside of Louisville, a massive explosion rocked a Monarch mine. Only two men there that day survived the explosion, which was likely caused by an overabundance of combustible coal dust that had been ignited by sparks from a coal car collision. The other eight men died in the conflagration and ensuing rock fall.

While this marker is a fitting tribute to the men who lost their lives in this tragic explosion, there is another memorial to this event that is harder to find and perhaps even more touching. If you made it to the marker, take a short walk down to the stream and look a bit further to the west and across the stream until you spot a huge, old cottonwood. Cross the stream (I jumped across on rocks, but you can also just slosh on through) and you’ll see a swing hanging from a sturdy branch. 

Then, as you take a glance at the seat of the swing, you’ll see the beautifully painted seat. The vibrant monarch butterflies against a green and yellow background are a hopeful reminder that beauty emerges from ashes, and that new life returns after dark winter.

Source:

Conarroe, Carolyn. Coal Mining in Colorado’s Northern Field. Denver: Conarroe Companies, 2001.