David Allison

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

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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. 

Broomfield Strong

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When Broomfield shut down due to the stay-at-home order in March, I noticed the many ways that residents here sought to encourage each other during the long weeks of isolation. 

One house in Ward 2 was particularly inspiring. I love the cute chicken wearing the mask!

I also came upon numerous rocks painted with hearts or phrases of sunshine for walkers to enjoy. 

These small tokens of goodwill and cheer were delightful alternatives to the quiet public spaces and playgrounds elsewhere throughout the city. It was eerie and unsettling to step onto a playground that is totally devoid of the sounds of children playing, laughing, and enjoying the equipment. In early April, I found myself at Mountain View Elementary school. The only sounds at the playground were the rhythmic clanging of a chain against the tetherball pole and the rippling of the yellow caution tape in the wind. 

The breeze blew through the empty monkey bars and slides, and I wondered how long it would be until this place was once more used for its intended purpose. How long until the ball is back on the chain? How long until children returned, and the music of play once again filled the air? But through it all, hope endures.

Wendell Berry writes in his essay, “The Purpose of a Coherent Community” (2004), “Only the purpose of a coherent community, fully alive both in the world and in the minds of its members, can carry us beyond fragmentation, contradiction, and negativity, teaching us to preserve, not in opposition but in affirmation and affection, all things needful to make us glad to live.” 

And so, to end this post, I’d like to share one more picture from the April stay-at-home order—this rock bears the statement, “Keep the music playing.” That is my wish for you as well.