David Allison

Recently I was walking a section of the Broomfield Trail just east of 287 and south of the Broomfield Depot Museum. (You can check out a map of the extensive trail system in town at the link below.)

Map Front 2016

As you well know, it has been absolutely beautiful this week. It was cool in the morning, and the crisp cloudless sky was a rich blue. As I enjoyed being outside and strolling down the Trail, I couldn’t help but notice my surroundings. With apartment complexes on one side and industrial and retail buildings on the other, I felt like I was nestled in the heart of a modern, thriving suburb. But Broomfield has not always been such. 

The Arapahoe and Cheyenne people used this land for hunting and habitation, and more recently, farmers grew broomcorn and raised cattle and hogs. When I walk through unfamiliar places, like I was that day, I often look for evidence of what a place might have been like in the past. I try to visualize what that old barn looked like when it was freshly painted. Or I imagine what the rolling hills outside of Gettysburg might have felt like on that hot July day when two enormous armies clashed there in 1863. 

The past accretes over time, and we live our lives with pieces of the past constantly intruding themselves upon the present. What part of Broomfield’s past might I stumble on here along this Trail? At this section of the Trail, it follows along an old irrigation ditch—evidence that farmers had once tried to coax crops out of this arid land. The ditch is a fairly unremarkable, huge piece of evidence. But I also found this beautiful old fence post (see the picture below) with some rusty metal still clinging to it. Serendipitous moments like these, when the past comes alive through a tangible reminder that history is not dead, but is in fact with us all the time, are precious. The post stands alone on the edge of an apartment complex, a reminder that this place has not always been what it is now and will continue to change and evolve ever onward into the uncertain future. 

From David Allison, Museum Coordinator 

When you’re headed north on I-36 to Boulder, just before you hit the Interlocken and Flatirons area, look out the window to your right. You’ll see a wide expanse of plains and a small pond resting tranquilly in the shadow of the Lac Amora neighborhood on the bluff. 

The walking trails, wildlife, and the stunning view of the Front Range make Josh’s Pond a beautiful Broomfield park location. But why is it called Josh’s Pond? 

Josh Cassell was born in 1981 and he and his family lived in a house near the pond that was then called Lac Amora. Josh was born with a heart defect. He had surgeries at the ages of four months and then at two years, which stabilized his health. Josh would be just a couple years younger than me, so I can imagine what his growing up years were like—baseball cards, E.T., trips to the bowling alley, hunting for frogs and other critters in the pond, and long days sitting at a desk in school, dreaming about being out-of-doors and riding bikes with friends. But then when Josh was ten, he died of heart failure in the hospital. 

The grief of the loss of a child must be staggering, and the Cassells no doubt suffered greatly. In 1993, neighbors of the family petitioned the City of Broomfield to rename the pond that Josh had loved after him. If you visit the park, you’ll find both a plaque in honor of Josh, as well as your own ruminations on loss, beauty, and the transience of life. 

To get a quick visual of Josh’s Pond, visit the link below.

And you can learn more about Broomfield’s history and Josh Cassell at Carol Turner’s blog—https://caturner.wordpress.com/—or in her book, Legendary Locals of Broomfield. Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2014.