Pouring love on pets who defy the odds

Photos from Dustin Doskocil / Doskophoto

The staff at Longmont Humane Society are ready to love any pet that comes through their door, whether it is a three-legged dog or a cat with no eyes. No pet is turned away, regardless of their disabilities or special care needs. 

“We look at each dog individually,” Lynsey Georgen, the humane society’s Director of Operations told Yellow Scene. She said “We look at each animal’s specific personality and figure out what we can do to make them adoptable, and get them into their forever home.” There are special challenges to consider when planning to adopt or foster a handicapped pet. They might need ongoing physical therapy, daily medicine, or another kind of accommodation. One of the biggest deterrents to taking in an animal with special needs is the financial commitment. Despite this, it can be a rewarding experience that many people choose to do over and over. 

Georgen has a special place in her heart for disabled pets. She said that handicap is her “favorite breed.” She has opened her home to dogs with just one eye, dogs with missing limbs, and multiple deaf dogs. “I fostered a blind puppy that had dwarfism because of overbreeding, and she was a handful,” Georgen shared, “but also, my soul dog.”

Photo credit: Dosko Photography, Dustin Doskocil

When it comes to fostering, there is more stigma around taking in a handicap pet as opposed to one that is seen as healthy, according to Georgen. She said this is likely due to the challenges that already exist for fostering. “Fostering is already so hard and requires so much patience and time,” Georgen said. “I think that when you add on the idea of a handicap, it pushes people away from that just a bit.” But caring for a handicap pet becomes second nature, Georgen said. “I just have a special place in my heart for spending that extra time to make sure they’re given a chance.”

Even when owners are willing and able to give a special needs pet the accommodations they need, the financial commitment is still a major factor. The potential cost is one of the main considerations that Dr. Danyel Wynn, the owner of Walking Paws Rehab, wants potential adopters to keep in mind. There are resources for mitigating costs, such as pet insurance, but adopting a disabled pet is still a long-term financial commitment. This is especially true of animals that require ongoing physical therapy. 

“It takes time,” Dr. Wynn told Yellow Scene. “It’s not a quick fix. It’s not an instant moment where a dog is healed. It really does take a commitment of doing the physical therapy, doing these exercises, and helping that dog get healed again.”

There are other resources that can potentially help mitigate costs and challenges, such as specialized nonprofits. Handicapped Pets Foundation is dedicated to enhancing the lives of disabled dogs and cats. They donate new or reconditioned pet wheelchairs to low income families in need. Nearly every month, over 100 applications come in. 

“We respond to all of them, and we award ten to twenty wheelchairs to families each month,” Rachel Shields, the Foundation’s Executive Director told Yellow Scene. To date they have donated over 120 used wheelchairs and nearly 600 new wheelchairs.

In her time at Longmont Humane Society, Georgen noticed that some disabilities “tug at the heart strings” and make it more likely for those pets to be adopted. She has seen dogs that are blind and deaf get the same attention as any other dog, and sometimes they are even adopted quicker.

Georgen said that caring for disabled pets is not as big of a deal as it seems. “Don’t look at it as a barrier,” she said. “It’s just a unique piece of the animal that’s part of their personality, and they almost always will accommodate for their disability in other ways. My one-eyed dog, who has very poor eyesight in her other eye, makes up for it by having an incredible sense of smell. She’s kind of a licker because she’s finding out her environment through her other senses. I think a lot of time, they make up for it in other ways.” 

Photo credit: Dosko Photography, Dustin Doskocil

A New Sense of Purpose

Dr. Wynn established Walking Paws Rehab to transition out of general practice and into rehabilitation work with animals. The idea for the clinic came from a strong interest in working with injuries. She said that she’s able to do work she feels good about.

“When we would cry in general practice, it was often because of a euthanasia, or a sad moment,” Dr. Wynn explained. “But in physical therapy when we cry, it’s because of a lot of hard work and reward.”

Working with patients at the clinic, Dr. Wynn has seen animals go from fully paralyzed to regaining the ability to walk. When she opened Walking Paws, she wasn’t sure if there was a need for that type of veterinary practice in the area. It didn’t take long for her to see just how much of a need there was.

Dr. Wynn vividly remembers one early patient that helped her believe in the work she could do.

“She fractured her back limb when she was a puppy and was placed in a cast by the primary vet,” Dr. Wynn said. “Unfortunately,  she was left in that cast for a couple of months, and she continued to grow. When they got to the point of taking the cast off, her limb was atrophied.”

The back leg was left unstable and nonfunctional. Multiple orthopedic surgeons in the Fort Collins and Denver area recommended the owners have the limb amputated, Dr. Wynn shared. They turned to Walking Paws Rehab for another option, and they found one. The clinic’s team used a custom brace and physical therapy to save the limb and restore function. In the end, the puppy was able to walk again without the help of a brace.

“It’s amazing when you have a dog that is completely paralyzed, and is given a poor prognosis of never being able to walk again, when euthanasia is on the table and recommended, and then we defy all the odds,” Dr. Wynn shared. 

Photo credit: Dosko Photography, Dustin Doskocil

“A Complete 180”

Shields found Handicapped Pets after her senior dog Squirtle passed away. He used a wheelchair for the last year of his life. “Once I put him in the wheelchair, it was like a complete one-eighty,” she said. “He could get around like he used to. He had to be supervised in the wheelchair because he could flip himself over because he would get excited and try to go very fast.” Squirtle used the chair until he passed away. 

“It really extended his life because I wouldn’t have been able to keep him in the condition that he was in without his wheelchair, because he wasn’t happy being immobile.”

When Squirtle passed, Shields wanted to find a way to donate his wheelchair to another animal in need. Shields was grateful that she was able to buy the chair when she needed it, and she knew there were plenty of pet parents who would not have been able to.

This led her on a search to find a way to donate it. Shields found Handicapped Pets Foundation and they helped her chair get to another dog in need, Paco. She was sent pictures of Paco in the chair and loved getting to see him enjoy it.

Photo credit: Dosko Photography, Dustin Doskocil

Around this time, the foundation was looking for board members, and Shields, who has a background as an attorney, put herself in the running. Handicapped Pets is located in New Hampshire, but they work with families around the globe which their testimonials, or “happy tails,” attest to. Anyone can fill out the application on their website and feel confident that a team member will review it. They accept donated pet wheelchairs too but rather than have donated chairs sent to the foundation, they work with donors to send them straight to the family. 

Shields believes the cost can be a major challenge for many families with disabled pets, and the foundation wants to help offset some of that burden. “I think the biggest hurdle for a lot of people is just the cost that’s associated with helping a pet that has mobility issues,” Shields said.  “A huge stigma is that it can be more challenging having a dog with mobility needs, but they’re just like a normal dog once they’re able to get around.”

Walking Paws also has an expanded reach. They work with several animal rescues that take in handicapped pets, Dr. Wynn shared. Sometimes the clinic can offer the work pro-bono in order to get an animal healthy again. The rescues play a major part in caring for the disabled pets they take in and giving them their best chance at getting adopted. 

The Right Path is Not Always Easy

Disabled dogs and cats are, for the most part, just like other pets, according to Shields. “I think sometimes people view them as defective or like they’re suffering if they have mobility issues,” she said. 

While that can be true for some handicapped animals, many just need extra support.  “When we’re able to put them in a wheelchair, they really just have another shot at life and they’re really resilient and happy.” 

A husky using a donated Handicapped Pets Foundation wheelchair

Belle is supported by a donated wheelchair

Adopting or fostering a special needs pet can be a wonderful journey to make, but that doesn’t mean it is for every one. “It’s not necessarily an easy path to go down to adopt a disabled dog,” Dr. Wynn said.

There are multiple factors to consider, such as the extra care they will need and additional medical expenses. Disabled pets will require more care than a pet that is young and healthy. It can be challenging, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. For many owners, it is one of the most rewarding decisions they make.  

And who knows? You might just meet your soul dog (or cat).

Feature Box: The Story of Coachella

Longmont Humane Society’s current longest stay cat resident is a disabled cat. Coachella, a one year old domestic short hair with tuxedo coloring, has been at the shelter for four months now. She can’t properly walk due to a nervous system condition, and she has trouble making it to her litter box in time. She is FIV positive, and would need to be the only cat in a home. However, she gets along with children of all ages and is trained to walk on a leash. 

Coachella gets extra attention from staff members because of how sweet she is, but Georgen said her special care needs make it harder for her to find a home. Shelter staff hope to see her adopted out as a “shop” cat. The idea is similar to barn cats, but Coachella would need to be indoors. “She needs to be in a situation where she’s going to still get that love and feeling of being inside a home, but maybe the opportunity where her litter box situation isn’t a huge obstacle to overcome,” Georgen said. 

Coachella is given extra attention on the humane society’s social media accounts, and was taken to Longmont’s recent Cat Fest. 

“We’re looking for the best match where she can still be herself and still be successful in a home, and have owners that are understanding and love her anyway,” Georgen said. 

Sidebar:

Owners and rescues alike can use the Disabled Pets Project to find resources for caring for special needs pets. The online directory includes a list of the disabilities found in pets, with descriptions of each. They also have a checklist that highlights important steps for rescues hoping to adopt out disabled pets. For example, they recommend getting three references from potential adopters and doing a home check. In addition, they highlight the importance of considering the pet’s needs and the adopter’s lifestyle.

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter — and get our print edition delivered to your home each month.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. For 25 years, we’ve told the truth — your support helps us keep doing it for the next four and beyond. Administrations come and go. Our team stays ready to lead, no matter who’s in charge.

The post The Challenges and Rewards of Caring for Disabled Pets appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

National Western Stock Show, Photo credit: Dosko Photo, Dustin Doskocil

Colorado’s Wild Roots are Growing Towards Inclusion

Cowboy hats, belt buckles, leather, and spurs, the bleachers of the Denver Coliseum give a taste of Colorado’s Wild West history. Booming voices welcome us to the 120th National Western Stock Show as the people settle. The dusty track before us, the nucleus of our attention, explodes with streams of sparklers and flooding fireworks before we are all immersed in darkness. In comes one rider, visible only by the LEDs lining her clothes, the mane of her galloping horse, and the American flag she bears. She is followed by her fellow Westernaires, a Colorado organization whose mission is to get young folks into saddles, all aglow in red, white, and blue as they run the perimeter of the stadium, the crush of hooves, jingle of saddles, and spray of dust on the brims of delighted front-rowers. The riders converge at the center, lines spinning like the blades of a windmill around the epicenter of the glowing American flag, displaying the Westernaires’ impressive precision mounted drill specialty, and with exact, unspoken coordination, stampede out the exit to the roar of the audience. The pyrotechnics, loud rock music, and general spectacle are proof that while Colorado may still hold on to its history, the state and the cowboy are evolving.

It’s January of 2026, but the traditions that permeate this evening’s rodeo trace back hundreds of years. There is a storied past of western ranch culture in the Centennial State. Horses were imported by the Spanish with fervor in the 1700s, though there are Indigenous histories reporting their presence as early as the 1600s. Livestock became a cornerstone in exploring and working the land. Western settlers also became enamored with the herding and roping mastery of Mesoamerican Indigenous horsemen known as the Vaquero. These techniques are still demonstrated with lasso work and calf roping. The freedom of the Western plains and peaks also gave opportunity for liberation for emancipated slaves, like the legendary bulldogging Bill Pickett, and Buffalo Bill’s dazzling showcases of cowfolk talents touring the nation, endearing Americans to the heroic cowboy lifestyle. While there might be a bias of white-man machismo at the rodeo, the event was born from diversity and freedom.

Sebastian Matthews, a board member of CGRA, said, “Being a cowboy isn’t just wearing the hat and riding a tractor. It’s an attitude: mind your business, don’t be aggressive, honor your word, do more, talk less.”

There are many cowfolk like Matthews who seek to keep the cowboy tradition alive in Colorado.

Terry Nash

The Cowboy Poet

Terry Nash, originally from the agriculture-heavy eastern slope of Colorado, is a cowman, beef producer, and cowboy poet residing in the western range of Loma. Agriculture has always been a part of his life, but it wasn’t until his trucking job took him to the mountains of Loma, where he fell in love with the woman who would become his wife, that he took up raising livestock.

Nash adores the cows he tends in the mountains. “Peace comes on the back of a horse […] following cows on trails.” There are some cows he’s shared a quiet respect with for fifteen years, and others bred for beef, slaughtered every June. Nash takes pride in the 32 families he and his wife provide quality beef for year-round.

“I love being around people, and I love being away from people,” Nash chuckled. “There was an old cowboy poet, Badger Clark, who said, ‘I loved my fellow man the best when he was scattered some.’”

Since 1990, Nash has faced his share of challenges as a steward of the land and cowhand. He noted the Colorado reintroduction of wolves, although a nuanced issue, as being a challenge for cattle keepers. “There are some that kill for sport […] The problem isn’t just that they are killing livestock, but that they stress out the herds. So much so that the heifers can’t breed.”

According to Nash, the Western range has been under drought for roughly the last ten years. “One day I was riding my horse over the hill looking for a cow and my horse took a step onto some dry grass that sounded like stepping on potato chips.” Creeks and streams that his and his fellow ranchers’ herds once relied upon have dried up, limiting areas for grazing. On July 10 of last year, a dry lightning storm set Turner Gulch in Mesa County ablaze. While most of the cattle were not harmed, over 30,000 acres were destroyed, and the herds, along with their tenders, were displaced.

Nash’s reverence for the peace and hard work of the cowboy lifestyle is apparent in his poem “A Cowman’s Lot,” about a heifer giving birth:

“The first flakes to fall were wet and wide spaced
But a warning, for soon they fell quicker
Wind and dark were neck and neck as they raced
And the cowboy pulled on his vicar,

Thought about supper, the wife who’d worry.
She’d watch for his truck at the gate,
And he with a heifer no man could hurry,
And decided supper could wait.”

Carl Schmidt

A Modern Cowboy

Carl Schmidt is a longtime friend of Yellow Scene Magazine, but his love of livestock goes even further back, to his high school days doing 4-H and riding horses in Corpus Christi, Texas. For the last 24 years, Schmidt has been working with rodeos in Denver and runs his own bed and breakfast, the Capitol Hill Mansion. Schmidt is well known for his roughstock management and chute coordination for the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA), an amateur rodeo welcoming to all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

A novice might wonder, with trepidation, about the danger of rodeo. As with most sports and other hazardous lines of work, Schmidt said safety precautions have improved over the decades he’s worked the job, thanks to the convention held yearly to review and improve IGRA’s protocols. “My whole job is the welfare of those animals and the safety of those contestants,” Schmidt explained.

The safety of gay people at rodeos like the National Western Stock Show is a different story. “[Being in the LGBTQ+ community] is a lot more common or a lot more known in the wider rodeo community than it was when I was growing up,” Schmidt assessed positively. “But if I go to the Stock Show, they don’t know I’m gay. I don’t think they’re very supportive of that.” When asked how many gay rodeo contestants compete at wider rodeos, Schmidt said, “There isn’t really any crossover from the gay rodeo to places like the National Stock Show. If gay people are there, they aren’t out.”

Schmidt continued, “They might not feel safe at places like the National Stock Show, and that’s why the gay rodeo exists.” Although general acceptance of the LGBTQ+ community has improved since cowboys like Carl Schmidt were younger, it can be hard for potential rodeo-goers to forget how bad things once were, or to overlook the present-day threats and disdain for the LGBTQ+ community on display in the current U.S. administration.

International Gay Rodeo, Colorado members

Living Legacy

John Beck is a highly awarded Hall of Famer for the IGRA. He has competed in all thirteen rodeo events for twenty-six years and, at 76 years old, still competes. Beck has competed in every IGRA finals, excluding 2006, and won several All-Around titles. Born smack-dab in the middle of Nebraska, he’s been riding horses just about as long as he could walk. “My dad used to say, ‘If you don’t ride, you won’t eat for a week.’ So that will get you pretty motivated.”

By the early 1980s, Beck had made it to Denver and was in the basement of Charlie’s gay bar, dreaming up events for the International Gay Rodeo, like the Wild Milking Competition. “It’s too crazy to be done now,” Sebastian Matthews, Beck’s younger counterpart, laughed. The contest included a team chasing around a lactating cow separated from its calf, trying to milk her, and consequently getting kicked in the face a lot. Needless to say, the event did not last long.

Reflecting on what he called his “nothing serious” injuries from over the years—two broken collarbones, four broken ribs, one broken ankle, and one broken leg—Beck joked, “I never wore a vest or helmet; they said there was nothing upstairs anyway, so why protect it?”

Beck and Matthews have similar beliefs about LGBTQ+ acceptance in rodeo culture as Carl Schmidt. However, Matthews sees the lack of acceptance of the LGBTQ+ community as not exclusive to rodeo. “How many male athletes of any sport do you see out as gay? There was one hockey player [Luke Prokop] a few years ago who came out, the first one in the NHL, and now he plays in Canada for the Raiders.”

Although the level of acceptance is not ideal, Beck noted how far the community has come. “In the 1970s in Nebraska, I was spending time with a guy, and the KKK tried to kill me.” Beck elaborated that when he was still farming in Nebraska and going through a divorce, his ex-wife’s sister ran to town and told his secret. When he drove to the town gas station to fill up his tank, he was told by an attendant, “We don’t serve faggots.” Around the same time, Beck had a border collie puppy who always wore a bandana. One night, the puppy came back inside with a note slipped under its bandana that said, “Move or die.” The next day, his puppy was killed.

In November of 1981, after years of threats, Beck flipped a quarter at 2:00 in the morning to decide where he would go: heads was Denver, and tails was Florida. When he returned to Nebraska the following fall for harvesting, the shed he built mysteriously caught on fire. For the next seven years, his father told him not to come home, afraid that he and his mother would “catch AIDS” from him.

With a history like that, it’s hard not to be grateful for the progress made in rodeo and other rural spaces, even if it is acceptance through silence. Beck eventually reconnected with his parents at the price of never discussing that he was gay.

Women’s Professional Rodeo Assoc.

The Past and The Future

Karen Kronauge, president of the Alumni Association and wearer of many hats at the Westernaires, said in regard to changes in participation, “It’s a natural progression—kids who grow up on farms filtering out into the cities as they get older—but Westernaires created a pipeline of urban and suburban kids back into rural spaces.” Founded in 1949, the Westernaires is an organization aimed at getting Colorado kids on horses and living the Western lifestyle. Serving over a thousand members ages 9–19, Westernaires runs a precision-mounted drill program tended to with care and diligence.

The camaraderie among participants was apparent as they warmed up their horses in circles in the dirt backstage lots. Most participants in the practice area were young women, a rarity for wider rodeo events. Women competitors are typically restricted to categories like trick roping or speed barrel racing, but Kronauge posited that this was not always the case.

In 1904, it was actually a Colorado cowgirl, Bertha Kaepernick, who paved the way for women competitors to follow. “Before the 1920s, cowgirls could ride horses and steers just as well, if not better, than cowboys,” Kronauge said.

Author Cindy Herschel of American Cowboy magazine wrote in her article “Ride Like a Girl: The Original Rodeo Cowgirls,” “Starting in the 1930s, women in rodeo faced some serious challenges to continued participation. They eventually had to form their own association to organize women’s rodeo events. Roughstock riding rose again as a result, but barrel racing was coming on fast and furious and soon eclipsed it.”

Rodeo leaders of the time claimed that the restrictions resulted from the tragic death of saddle bronc riding, steer riding, and trick-riding cowgirl Bonnie McCarroll, but Herschel noted that “Gail Woerner, author of six books on rodeo history, says that bronc riding didn’t stop because of Bonnie McCarroll. Prior to her death, women already had been killed riding broncs as early as 1915, and by the early 1930s, rodeo promoters were hiring ‘ranch girls’ instead of allowing women competitors. These pretty Western women would drum up buzz for the shows via publicity appearances and did not compete.”

Historian Mary Lou LeCompte said of actor and producer Gene Autry’s leadership in banning women’s participation in 1941, “The end of women’s rodeo was Gene Autry. He put women in their ‘place,’ in the square dances and out of competition.”

Steve Wursta’s 2021 documentary film From Cheyenne to Pendleton follows the rise and fall of the rodeo cowgirl from 1904 to 1929. “He cites social and economic trends for a backlash against women’s athletic accomplishments, including the sour outlook related to the post–World War I recession in the farm belt.” Wursta gathered that “people were saying, ‘We’re in a depression, and we don’t need it rubbed in our faces that women are better than men.’”

However, as other groups not accepted in wider rodeo did, cowgirls created their own association in 1941, which still exists today as the Women’s Professional Rodeo Association. The WPRA yielded cowgirl greats like Jan Youren and Jonnie Jonckowski.

The unanimous voice from the interviewed cowfolk said, “Join us!” When asked what he wants the general public to know about his profession, Schmidt answered, “Let’s rodeo!” He went on to say encouragingly, “The gay rodeo is all about inclusion and equality. Come and join, participate in a rodeo, and live that western lifestyle you wanna live!”

Schmidt assured, “IGRA is dedicated to fostering a welcoming and inclusive environment for everyone regardless of their sexual orientation, gender identity, ethnicity, race, religion, or ability. We want everyone to feel valued, respected, and empowered within the community—to know that they can learn and participate and that rodeo is for them, too.”

While wider rodeo and cowfolk spaces have historically been viewed and acted as more socially conservative than their urban counterparts, there are pockets like the Bill Pickett Black Rodeo, International Gay Rodeo, and Women’s Professional Rodeo that have sought to and continue to change the narrative. Spaces like the National Western Stock Show show inclusion through special events like the Mexican Rodeo and the MLK Jr. Rodeo, but as racial, gender, and sexual identities are increasingly politicized in the United States, the wide-open arms offered by the National Western Stock Show bear some specificity for outsiders to feel safe. After all, cowboys and cowgirls are outsiders themselves—those who choose a life outside the office, in quiet companionship with nature, alone out on the ranges where there’s no one to judge or condemn them for being who they are.

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter — and get our print edition delivered to your home each month.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. For 25 years, we’ve told the truth — your support helps us keep doing it for the next four and beyond. Administrations come and go. Our team stays, ready to lead no matter who’s in charge.

The post The Evolution of the Colorado Cowboy appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Illustrations and Design by Jackson Fojut

I’ve done a lot of fundraising over the years for nonprofits, campaigns, and causes I believed in. But this one’s different. This time, it’s for the work I’ve spent my life supporting.

My career came of age in a free press. I got my start in independent media at 21, on the advertising side, which was always enough to sustain the work we were doing. We never used to have to fundraise to be journalists.

For years, good journalism was funded by good advertising. That was the deal, and “Church and State” was gospel; the two should never marry. It worked until corporations swallowed up local media and that balance broke.

I am very proud of the work we produce for the community, which local businesses have sustained for 25 years. A huge thank-you to all the local organizations that have chosen Yellow Scene as a vital platform for reaching their neighbors. They understand that content is king; it’s what drives engagement and trust. For two and a half decades, Yellow Scene has delivered Boulder County & the North Metro directly to their doorsteps.

That’s what the Gala is about: not just raising funds, but raising hope. It’s the one night a year when we turn the hard work of journalism into joy, when readers, advertisers, and neighbors all share the same dance floor and remember why local stories matter.

Publisher’s Assistant Extraordinaire, Peter Constas. Photo by Dustin Doskocil, Dosko Photo.

The world has changed over the last 25 years. The common belief is that people don’t read because of digital disruption. I read an article once that called that lazy thinking. Besides, 86% of books are still sold on paper, and while Gen Z uses tech as much as the rest of us, they are more actively separating themselves from it. (See Peter Constas’ newest article, Confessions of a Digital Marketing Manager. He breaks down why, as a Gen Z, he left his digital marketing job for print).

Journalism didn’t die; hundreds of thousands still want to work in the field. It’s just that six major conglomerates own 85% of all media in the country. Today, Yellow Scene is the last and only locally owned, independent outlet serving all of Boulder County & the North Metro with authentic journalism.

I admire my peers at the Camera, who continue to show up and do the work despite operating under a hedge fund and with limited resources. They produce good work, and I love that together we can cover more stories in our shared backyard. We both know we need each other, and a piece of that was lost when the Boulder Weekly closed. I’m also grateful we still have KGNU, a vital source of local radio and community storytelling.

While I’m proud that Yellow Scene still adheres to old-school journalism principles and has never accepted any kind of pay-to-play content, we’re not swimming in resources either. Local advertising is no longer enough to sustain local journalism.

Digital saturation has us ignoring 87% of online advertising (while 50% of users rely on ad blockers), and more clients are realizing that social media alone isn’t enough to sustain a business. (After hosting plenty of events over the years, I can tell you social media alone is not enough to promote one).

People still read; they just need more platforms that recognize content is king. But journalism costs money, and sponsored content is free for outlets to publish. So we are left with a sea of “lifestyle” magazines filled with nothing but paid content.

Over the last 25 years, Yellow Scene has been free to pick up at newsstands, mailed free to homes, available online with no paywall, and free of influence on our journalism — and we intend to remain free. Through community support, we stay unapologetically unbought and unbossed. We’re hyper-local, rooted in Boulder County’s neighborhoods, small businesses, schools, and civic halls, because an informed community is a stronger community.

If we’ve got to fundraise to do journalism, we’re going to host a PARTY!

And this year’s party ROCKED THE HOUSE. The Pamlico Sound had the dance floor full all night. Guests came out dressed up, and for those who didn’t, we had glow necklaces, stick-on tattoos, feather boas, and even a few light-up bunny ears. But mostly, we danced the night away.

The Pamlico Sound, Oct 16th 2025, Yellow Scene 25th Anniversary Gala at The Louisville Underground

The Louisville Underground at TILT! proved to be the perfect venue, with guests flowing between the dance floor and the skee-ball lanes. We carried on the silver-and-gold theme; Peter in a shimmering silver turtleneck, me in a golden jumpsuit, and together we soaked in all the love.

We took the stage to thank everyone for their support and to reaffirm what the night represented: the power of truthful, local reporting. But mostly, we were there to party.

Magical Awakenings with Dan Liss offered tarot readings to curious party-goers, while Carnivale photo cutouts gave guests a chance to strike a pose and make memories. The Pamlico Sound is gearing up to release their new album Fun Key Van Gel Is Uhm and fundraises to keep their art alive. Jackson Fojut, our resident artist, created all of the designs for this year’s Gala, so that $8 a month helps support local artists as well.

We have a few choices today: sell out the journalism, quit, or fundraise. And since we’ve got an army of journalists who want to keep communities informed, we’re still selling ads, choosing fundraising — which is simply valuing the local news you get from your local platform — and making a few smart adjustments to keep Yellow Scene strong.

The first of those adjustments is that we’ll gradually begin to move our free home delivery to sustaining supporters. You can still pick us up in newsstands for free and find us online for free, but home delivery will begin to move to sustaining supporters. Eight dollars a month gets the printed copy delivered to your home and keeps local journalism in the community. We also know that readers retain seven times more information from print, and honestly, it’s a damn, nice, escape from the screen.

We’re honored to once again be part of the Colorado Media Project’s end-of-year Matching Grant, which kicks off on November 1, 2025. Through December 31, your support goes twice as far during this year’s #LocalNewsIsAPublicGood campaign. All donations are tax-deductible, including sustaining supporter contributions.

This means your $8 monthly contribution counts as $96 during the matching period. Our goal is $5,000, which comes down to just 52 new sustaining supporters — a small number with a big impact on keeping Yellow Scene independent, unbought, and unbossed.

Become a sustaining supporter at yellowscene.com/support or contribute through Colorado Gives at coloradogives.org/story/YellowScene

The room was filled with community: readers of Yellow Scene, supporters, local business owners, even elected officials, but all fans of authentic, local reporting. Most of all, the room was filled with love and a lot of dancing. That’s the point of the Gala, and of everything we do: to remind ourselves and our community that truth still has a dance floor.

Great local Yellow Scene partnerships to support:

I can not thank the staff and freelancers enough, because they are the lifeblood. But these local organizations are too.

The Aaron Harber Show

Alpaca Connection

Art Night Out Lafayette

Aspen Winds on Fall River

Bennetts Karate

Berkelhammer Tree Experts

Bluebird Music Festival

Blue Mountain Ranch Youth Camp

Boulder Chamber

Boulder Comedy Festival

Boulder Hybrids

Boulder Philharmonic Orchestra

Boulder Rock Club

Boulder Taco Fest

Bricks Retail

Busaba Thai

The Children’s Museum of Denver at Marsico Campus

Chiropractic Center of Erie

Colorado Green Plumbing

Colorado in a Basket

Colorado MahlerFest

Colorado Mountain Kava Company

Colorado Mountain Ranch

Cottonwood Farms

Crystal Ski Shop

Crystal Springs Brewing Company

D&K Tire & Service

Downtown Boulder Partnership

Dugout Grill & Bar

Efrains of Boulder

Elevated Communities Gently Used Clothing Boutique 

Energy Arts

Eric Olson Master Jeweler 

Erie Animal Hospital

Erie Social Club

Exploring Minds Academy 

Fowler Group

Frequent Flyers Aerial Dance

Georgia Boys BBQ

Great Clips

Groundworks Art Lab

Hapa Sushi Grill & Sake Bar 

Harlequins Gardens

Hoshi Motors

Ivy Rose

Jaipur Indian Restaurant

Jasper Animal Hospital

Jax Outdoor Gear

Kalita Grill Greek Cafe 

Keene Smiles

KGNU Community Radio

Lafayette Chamber

Larkridge

Lee Hill Peat

Liquid Mechanics Brewing Company 

Longmont Downtown Development Authority (LDDA)

Louisville Chamber

Longmont Museum

Longmont Theater Company 

Mana Thai Comfort Food 

Marcos Hot Dogs & Tacos

Moe’s Broadway Bagels

Monkton Guitars

Morning Glory Cafe

Moutus Theater

Moxie Bread Co

Kerix Health

Paragon Service Dogs

Paul’s Coffee

Paul Dart: Realtor

Pellman’s Automotive Service  

Piripi

Ras Kassa’s Ethiopian Restaurant 

Reinholt Tree Care

Rocky Mountain Equality

Roots Music Project

Rumbo 52 Cocina & Cantina

SALT

Santiago’s

School of Rock Boulder 

Taj Mahal 3 Restaurant & Bar

The Aaron Harber Show

The Sink

Si Senor! Real Mexican Food

Snarf’s Sandwiches 

Sojourneys Academy

Southpaw Electric Co. 

Spot Climbing Gym

Stacy’s Kitchen

Sugarbeet

Tangerine

Taylor Moving and Storage

Valar Aesthetics

Village Coffee Shop

YMCA of Northern Colorado

The post The Gala Was Grand! Celebrating 25 Years of Truth, Justice, and a Free Press appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Coloradans have always had a knack for voting with their conscience, not just their party. From the State Capitol to the ballot box, our history shows a consistent theme: we care about people. Over the past twenty-five years, voters and lawmakers alike have leaned into bold decisions around education, criminal justice, health care, the environment, and human rights.

Colorado has become a proving ground for big ideas; some controversial, some groundbreaking, but all fiercely debated. From pioneering marijuana legalization to reimagining clean energy, expanding reproductive rights to reforming criminal justice, the Centennial State has led national conversations time and again.

And through it all, Yellow Scene has been there; covering, questioning, and amplifying the voices of our communities. Here’s a look back at some of the most polarizing, widely publicized, and defining measures that shaped Colorado’s political landscape year by year:

2000
Amendment 20: Medical Marijuana
This amendment allowed for the legal use of medical marijuana, four years after California became the first state to permit medical cannabis.

2001
The School Safety Act: Student Safety
In the wake of the Columbine shootings, Colorado sought to address the problem at the root, enacting bullying-prevention measures. This act has undergone several adjustments and amendments as social media has evolved.

2002
House Bill 1404: Criminal Justice Reform
This bill required that an individual be convicted of a crime before their property could be seized. It also required that any seized property directly pertain to the crime—a major win for civil rights.

2003
SB 03-314: Family Rights
To protect children and families, this bill required that siblings in foster care or out-of-home placements be kept together whenever possible.

2004
SB 04-037: Criminal Justice / Mental Health Reform
With a growing number of individuals with mental health issues ending up incarcerated, the state created a prevention act to expand services, strengthen screening, and divert individuals from prison where appropriate.

2005
TABOR Referendums C and D: State Spending

• Referendum C, which passed, allowed the government to spend revenue above the constitutional limit in areas such as education, health care, and transportation.
• Referendum D, which would have expanded state borrowing capacity, was defeated.

2006
Amendment 41: Ethics in Government
This measure limited gifts to Colorado elected officials, capping them at $53 per year and banning gifts from lobbyists altogether. It also instituted a two-year “revolving door” rule, preventing former officials from lobbying within two years of leaving office.

2007
SB 07-025: Anti-Discrimination
This law prohibited employers from firing an individual based on sexual orientation or gender identity. Over the years, it has been amended to strengthen protections for gender identity.

2008
HB 08-1119: Criminal Justice Reform
This bill funded research into racial and ethnic disparities in the juvenile justice system, which disproportionately incarcerated BIPOC youth.

2009
HB 09-1293: Health Care Affordability Act
This bill imposed a provider fee on hospitals, using the revenue to fund state Medicaid programs as well as public health initiatives. Now moving toward universal health care, Coloradans still largely support the principle of care for all.

2010
HB 10-1365: Clean Air–Clean Jobs Act
This act required Xcel Energy to convert three coal-burning plants to natural gas. Its goal was to improve air quality and promote sustainability. The politicization of oil and gas remains a hot-button issue in Colorado.

2011
HB 11-1148: Disclosure of Health Care Employee Information
In a move for patient safety, this bill absolved health care employers of liability when disclosing information about prospective employees’ violent or drug-related histories if relevant to client well-being.

2012
Amendment 64: Recreational Marijuana Legalization
This nationally watched measure legalized recreational marijuana in Colorado. Yellow Scene Magazine supported the claim that marijuana is safer than alcohol.

2013
HB 13-1229: Gun Safety
In the wake of the Aurora theater shooting, this bill required universal background checks and mental health screenings for firearm purchases or transfers.

2014
Amendment 67: Women’s Rights (Defeated)
Voters rejected a measure that would have legally defined human life as beginning before birth, which could have criminalized abortion and miscarriage. Its failure preserved reproductive protections.

2015
Proposition BB: Education Funding
Using proceeds from marijuana taxes, this proposition allocated $66 million toward education funding.

2016
Amendment 70: Minimum Wage Increase
Voters approved raising the state’s minimum wage to $12 per hour. Yellow Scene Magazine has continued covering the importance of wage adjustments as costs rise.

2017
SB 17-207: Mental Health Crisis Response
This law allocated $7 million for crisis response teams to assist law enforcement, allowed for 72-hour mental health holds, and expanded facilities for those in crisis.

2018
Amendment A: Criminal Justice Reform
After failing in a prior year, this amendment successfully abolished slavery and involuntary servitude as punishments for crime, prohibiting unpaid prison labor.

2019
SB 19-181: Environment / Oil and Gas
This bill gave local governments greater authority to regulate oil drilling and fracking, an issue that directly impacted towns like Erie, Colorado.

2020
Proposition 114: Wolf Reintroduction
This measure directed Colorado Parks and Wildlife to create a plan for reintroducing gray wolves—a fiercely debated issue among ranchers, environmentalists, and animal advocates. Yellow Scene continues to cover its impacts.

2021
SB 21-173: Tenant Rights
Part of a package of criminal justice and housing reforms, this bill provided renters with a grace period before late fees and limited fee amounts. The 2021 session also saw significant sentencing reforms (e.g., HB 21-1250).

2022
HB 22-1279: Reproductive Rights
This law affirmed individuals’ rights to use or refuse contraception and to choose whether to carry or terminate a pregnancy. It also confirmed that life is not defined as beginning before birth. Yellow Scene covered this issue extensively.

2023
SB 23-169: Gun Safety
This law raised the legal age to purchase a firearm to 21, part of Colorado’s ongoing effort to reduce gun violence.

2024
Amendment J: Marriage Equality
This amendment repealed the outdated definition of marriage as solely between a man and a woman, affirming equality in marriage under Colorado law.

2025
Senate Bill 25-144: Family Leave
This extended care through the FAMLI medical leave plan to allow for parents to have an additional twelve weeks, making the total twenty-four, if their child was born needing neonatal care.

Like Journalism Like this? Consider becoming a Sustaining Supporter, and we can cover even more.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. For 25 years, we’ve told the truth — your support helps us keep doing it for the next four and beyond. Administrations come and go. Our team stays, ready to lead no matter who’s in charge.

Plus you get the hard copy delivered to your home—reading is good.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 25 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

The post Notables: 25 years of Legislative Bills that Shaped Colorado appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

What does it really mean to break down?

Culturally, we dread the idea of reaching a “breaking point,” or having a “nervous breakdown.” Yet in nature, breaking down is often the start of something new. Compost becomes fertile soil. Seeds split open to sprout. Even our bodies rely on breaking down food to release energy.

Maybe breaking down isn’t so bad. Sure, there’s chaos and a little pain, but that’s also where self-discovery happens and new ideas find a way to burst through.

No one understands that better than publisher Shavonne Blades, known around here as the Red Tornado. She’s made a career out of tearing up traditional media by the roots to clear space for independent voices to grow. And to be frank, surviving as a small indie publication for more than two decades requires weathering more than a few breakdowns along the way. Those breakdowns and breakthroughs began well before Yellow Scene, back in the days when she was hustling ads on the California coast.

In the 1980’s, Shavonne was living in Santa Cruz, California, sketching ads by hand for an alternative weekly. It was there she sharpened her sales instincts and grew a genuine love for news. But her time on the coast was literally bookended by upheaval.

An earthquake struck. “There was a crack in the road to get to my house,” she recalled. “So deep you couldn’t see the bottom, so long you couldn’t see the end. My God. And my house was, you know, now on shaky ground — literally.”

The quake left more than just cracked pavement; it left Shavonne rethinking her own footing. It was one more sign it was time to head back to Colorado and build something new on steadier ground.

Erie, Colorado became and remains her chosen home where she would immerse herself in a sales role with Boulder Weekly for five years. There she would learn from and get inspired by Joel Dyer and Greg Campbell, both deep diving journalists who were deeply dedicated to their work. 

The Boulder Weekly focused, unsurprisingly, on Boulder proper. But Shavonne was watching East Boulder County grow at a breakneck pace, and she couldn’t help but notice an issue, entire communities just outside the city limits were being left without a strong voice in local news. 

So, she made a decision. She left the Weekly and struck out on her own. Her first venture was called Goldmine, its name hinting at the stories waiting to be unearthed. With a knapsack full of issues slung over her shoulder, Shavonne walked door to door through Erie, delivering copies herself to every household she could reach, while raising a son and bartending at night.

It was scrappy, exhausting work, but also the beginning of what would eventually become Yellow Scene, a publication rooted in the belief that every corner of the county deserved to see itself reflected in print.

Unsurprisingly, one of the first major challenges Shavonne faced was price. Printing hundreds of pages was expensive, and printing full-color copies was proving to be a recipe for bankruptcy. Resourceful as ever, she bartered with a local copy shop and secured a deal for yellow paper.

 “It’s an optimistic color, and it would stand out,” she said. That choice would become a defining feature of Yellow Scene — a publication for bold optimists, unafraid to be seen.

Once the printing was figured out, the next hurdle was getting the magazine into people’s hands. In those early days, margins were tight, promises were few, and every day felt like a test of stamina and willpower. Shavonne treated every potential reader and client as essential.

Shavonne Blades, bartending at the Erie Inn when YS was just a little flyer

Delivering copies in Erie, 4,000 doors back then, took a full week. Some days, she pushed her infant son, Nick, now 29, in a stroller, dashing from the sidewalk to each front door and back again. On top of that, she worked part-time at a local coffee shop in town, and bartended at night. Her passion for putting Yellow Scene into readers’ hands was so intense that she sometimes tried to hand out copies to customers while waiting tables until the owner told her, in no uncertain terms, to “leave the customers alone.” (She kept handing them out anyway.)

That kind of drive, persistence, and inventiveness became the backbone of what Yellow Scene is today.

Like a canvasser deciding whether to stop and drop literature or keep moving, Shavonne constantly had to balance her long-term goal of bringing an independent media outlet to East Boulder County with the day-to-day reality of building it by hand: hustling, strategizing, and improvising every single day.

Just as she was gaining momentum and weighing her next steps, an early, unexpected tragedy struck: September 11th. It was a difficult time, people were anxious, skeptical about the future of the country, and hesitant to engage with anything new, including independent media. Yellow Scene was put to the test, and in response, the publication began to sharpen its identity: rebellious, unflinching, and unafraid to push boundaries.

One of those defining moments came in the form of an early controversy. An early contributor, Brian Ball, penned a column called The Wrecking Ball.

 Shavonne recalls, “It got us so many letters, sometimes the most outraged, unhinged responses. But that was to be expected. The column had a reputation as a knock-down, drag-out critique of aspects of local society.” 

The early days of Yellow Scene, circa 2003

Early on, Yellow Scene had to make a choice: defend this kind of fearless, challenging content, or dilute its voice. They chose to own it, to be creative, provocative, and unapologetically independent. That decision has continued to echo in the publication’s ethos ever since, shaping every story, column, and feature with the same bold, independent spirit.

It seems like a million years ago, back when us journalists were slipping papers under doors and fending off angry letters. It was a simple time for local news.

At the turn of the millennium, hardcopy still reigned supreme. Only about 23% of Americans got their news online in 2000; today, that number has jumped to 86%. But even then, the industry was already shifting. Institutional investors were starting to eye newspapers as profitable acquisitions. Family-owned papers were being sold to private equity firms, and after the 2008 recession, many outlets faced massive layoffs, budget cuts, and relocations, a trend that left local newsrooms thinner and farther from the communities they served.

Today, much like the national trend, just a handful of corporations control most media, raising questions about independence, coverage, and local voice. In our region, for example, 9News is owned by Tegna and is being bought out by Fox News, a publicly traded company, while the Denver Post, the only remaining Denver print paper after the Rocky Mountain News closed in 2009, is owned by Alden Global Capital, a New York-based hedge fund. Alden, the second-largest newspaper owner in the U.S., has earned the nickname the “destroyer of newspapers” for its pattern of acquisitions and drastic cost-cutting measures.

For the team at Yellow Scene, these trends underscore the stakes of being a truly independent local publication and highlight why their work remains vital to the community.

Yellow Scene: Then and Now

Yellow Scene’s roots have shifted just as much as the media landscape itself. The publication began in a 500 sq ft apartment, moved into a privately owned office building, and now exists within the walls of each contributor’s home, as writers continue remotely. 

Shavonne recalls, “In 2015 I had a building and had to sell it. So we moved Yellow Scene to a 500-square-foot apartment, and ultimately back into my own basement.”

By 2017, she remembers, “I thought I was being one of the big boys, investing all revenue back into Yellow Scene. I was spending $50,000 a month on payroll. All I could think was, ‘Wow, I’m losing money.’ But I was investing. I was trying to push it over the hill. My thinking wasn’t wrong, I just didn’t have the resources to manage it, and I lost control. It led to chaos and a shame spiral.”

“Before we could get out of it,” she continues, “I had to break down my views around donations and not just relying on ad revenue. Reader-supported journalism was completely new for us. For 25 years it was our advertisers who sustained Yellow Scene and supported local journalism. Thankfully, those advertisers—along with readers now—value our independence, collaboration, inclusivity, and resiliency, and they’re willing to put their money where those values are.”

While it would be nice for news to be free, Shavonne notes that journalists need to be compensated. Without hedge fund backing or public shareholders, independent publications have to get creative. People are willing to pay for information they can’t find elsewhere. Many other outlets prioritize pleasing boards or investors, which often waters down reporting and compromises the truth; they’re effectively “bought and bossed.”

While readers may feel powerless against big media nationally, there are ways to support local independent journalism. One option is becoming a sustaining supporter of Yellow Scene, for less than a dollar a day, or $24 a month. Yellow Scene remains free and without a paywall, but because we refuse sponsored content—something Shavonne says she’d quit before allowing—sustaining true local journalism is 100% dependent on the community.

Another is attending the annual Gala, with tickets at $25 and VIP passes at $55. This year’s 25th Gala takes place at The Louisville Underground on October 16 from 6–9 pm, featuring music from The Pamlico Sound, an 11-piece funk band with plenty of dancing. Guests can break it down on the dance floor while helping build back better news.

In an era of sophisticated AI and limited transparency, independent journalism has become a rare lifeline. Yellow Scene isn’t in the business of compiling news from other sources. Our articles aim to challenge readers, encouraging a more informed and engaged community through creative takes and special series rooted in our perspective as Boulder County residents.

A collection of the people who built Yellow Scene

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter — and get our print edition delivered to your home each month.
Democracy needs journalism more than ever. For 25 years, we’ve told the truth — your support helps us keep doing it for the next four and beyond. Administrations come and go. Our team stays, ready to lead no matter who’s in charge.

The post Notables: Breaking Good – 25 years of YS appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

This weekend, Yellow Scene Magazine was honored with 18 awards for excellence in reporting and design at the Colorado Press Association’s annual Better News contest. We also brought home a 19th award for Overall Excellence in Editorial in our class. Nine of those were first-place and nine were second-place. These prizes bring our total awards from various media organizations to 209 since our founding.

It’s always an honor to be recognized by fellow journalists; Wisconsin newsrooms did this year’s judging, and the awards feel good. But, on the same weekend we celebrated, we were also confronted with some hard truths.

Boards vs Bucks

At the convention, funders made it clear: the odds of Yellow Scene receiving operational grants from large donors are slim to none. The reasons?

• Boulder County’s perception. We’re seen as too wealthy, not a news desert. (Never mind that we’re the last independently owned news platform serving the county.)
• Ad sales success. We sell advertising, which makes us look “too successful” for help. In reality, we do a lot with a little.
• We’re A “Political Project.” That’s the label leveraged against us. Grants are typically from large donors who favor outlets that stay as apolitical as possible, which often means just reporting what happened without asking why or showing how it impacts the community. However, that’s exactly the part of journalism we refuse to abandon.

At the convention, I listened to industry veterans speak passionately about journalism’s legacy; about holding truth to power, never giving up, always asking why. It was inspiring, and it reminded me why I chose this work. Yet it also left me asking: How meaningful is our role if we remain neutral about harm? I was taught that journalism asks: Who has the power, and who is causing the harm? At its best, journalism doesn’t just tell you what happened, it also helps you understand why it matters, who holds the power, and who bears the cost.

This is why some platforms focus more on reporting what happened. Asking why and exposing impact is costly. It’s true that many outlets in smaller communities are struggling even harder than we are, but that doesn’t mean we’re rolling in dough either. Over the past three years, we’ve applied for grants repeatedly. Except for the support we’ve gratefully received from AAN, which champions narrative and community journalism, and LION, which helps independent publishers build sustainable businesses, we’ve not made it into the final round. That confirmed what I’d been telling my staff: our future depends more on sustaining supporters than on foundations.

There are some wonderful nonprofit news outlets doing good reporting. Several are even doing hard-hitting investigative journalism. However,  what was reiterated at the convention was an expectation for news to focus on appearing  as apolitical as possible, which is concerning to me. We witnessed how NPR was treading cautiously in how it reported after Trump was reelected. Now the Corporation for Public Broadcasting has been targeted for defunding by the current administration, a reminder that public media can be impacted by which administration is in power or by big donors, both of which can change rapidly, as we are witnessing. Meanwhile, major outlets have faced firings and lawsuits filed by Trump.

As I see some of the new nonprofits form, the reporting often consists of feeds of city council meetings, court updates, and police reports, which is important work, but often stops there. That approach may feel safer for large donors.

Nonprofits also cannot endorse candidates in elections, which means one of the most traditional functions of media, helping voters evaluate their choices through the lens of an editorial board, is restricted. I don’t want to just read politician-speak in an election guide; there’s plenty of advertising doing that already. Yellow Scene has won several awards for our Election Guide. We require a phone or virtual interview (no email interviews), and we absolutely provide our Editorial Board’s endorsements. This is a major reason I do not want to become a nonprofit.

American journalism has always wrestled with questions of influence. Once it was advertisers, today it’s increasingly philanthropic donors. I can’t help but wonder if this wave of nonprofit funding, however well-intentioned, creates new levers of control over what gets reported, or what doesn’t. Project 2025 and other political agendas remind us how dangerous it can be if independent reporting is slowly pushed into narrower lanes.

This is why local journalism, supported by sustaining donors, fundraising, and advertising, can often remain more independent than larger outlets impacted by which administration is in power or the foundations providing funding.

That’s why we chose a fiscal sponsor instead. Your donations are still tax-deductible, but without a Board or large donors shaping our direction, we remain fully independent.

Advertising Alone Isn’t Enough to Fund the Newsroom

Some argued at the convention that advertising no longer works as a model. I disagree. Local businesses still need local platforms more than ever; social media isn’t enough. We are beyond grateful to the many local businesses that value our audience reach and continue to advertise locally. Moreover, a growing number of businesses that were once local are now becoming corporate-owned, so small businesses in a variety of industries are now facing the same challenges of corporatization that we do. That’s why supporting local mom and pop shops matters more than ever. (A commitment to shopping locally is also the most powerful message you can send.)

Yellow Scene maintains advertiser independence with a straightforward policy: we reject all sponsored content. If we wanted to churn out sponsored content or AI-written stories, it would be cheaper and easier, but we won’t. For 25 years, our readers have trusted what they find in Yellow Scene. Today, we remain the only platform in Boulder County that refuses both.

A Fundraiser for the Work Ahead

Our annual Carnivale Gala is coming up, there are only 150 available tickets, priced at $25 and $55. It’s our biggest fundraiser of the year, but it’s not the only way to support Yellow Scene. Whether or not you can attend, a $8 monthly donation makes a lasting difference in sustaining award-winning journalism that asks why, holds power to account, and sheds light on those causing harm. We will never put up a paywall. Informed communities make stronger communities, and free access to information is essential.

Tickets & Support: fundrazr.com/YSGala2025. 

Currently, we have one of the strongest teams in years, comprising two brilliant associate editors, loyal designers, and an army of freelancers who truly care. Still, everyone except one staffer is part-time or contract. We are fundraising both to fill those gaps and to provide unique, hard-hitting journalism. Currently, we are supporting our Emmy-nominated journalist, Vincent Chandler, as he zigzags across the country for his series These American Crossroads, documenting resistance in Trump country. What we’ve learned is that we’re not alone—that no act of resilience is too small, that it matters to go where big media won’t. That’s the work we do every day locally, and it takes real resources to make it happen. 

How does independent, local media stay afloat then?

Since launching the Sustaining Supporter program two years ago, we’ve been figuring it out as we go. It was new for us. For 25 years, Yellow Scene has been free, because while democracy may die in the dark, it does no good behind a paywall. We believe in informed communities, and that means keeping our reporting accessible to everyone. For a long time, advertising alone covered both free distribution and the newsroom. But today, our choices are:

• Become a different kind of newsroom to qualify for grants.
• Accept sponsored content (paid articles).
• Do less.
• Turn to readers for community-driven support. It’s still tax-deductible.

The first three would mean changing who we are, to our community, and to ourselves. The fourth is the path forward. While we plan to eventually replace free home delivery with copies mailed to sustaining supporters, today we still mail a large share of our distribution free of charge. Since we can’t reach every home, we rotate routes every few months, hoping readers who’ve grown used to receiving us will choose to keep us coming by becoming sustaining supporters.

Yes, Yellow Scene is successful under the circumstances. But ad sales don’t always cover the costs of paying staff on time, keeping the presses running, maintaining the website, and paying the mortgage. For the curious, I pay myself a modest salary, and in lean times I’ve even relied on personal loans to bridge gaps. That’s the reality of running an independent newsroom.

But here’s the bigger truth: things are better than they were three years ago. We’ve weathered the blows of digital disruption, corporatization, and the pandemic, which were challenges that have gutted journalism and shuttered thousands of newsroom doors. Being in this business has never been easy, but we’re still here, and we’re moving forward. In spite of the unsteadiness of the world, we’re investing in a thriving tomorrow. Reaching 25 years feels lucky, but it wasn’t just luck. It came from the dedication of our team and the trust of our readers and was built on three principles: exceptional content, design, and distribution.

On Neutrality

We’ve been told nonprofit news must appear apolitical. Fine, but we’re facing a corporate-fueled assault on our democracy, and we’re expected to treat it like business as usual? Racism and police shootings of Black men still happen disproportionately, and we’re supposed to just report another death without asking why? ICE is creating detention camps and snatching people off the street, and we’re expected to avoid calling it unjust?

Truth-telling comes with real sacrifices, and I’m willing to make them. But I will never compromise our journalism standards. Yellow Scene is bold and brave, even if we don’t fit the models large donors tend to favor. We won’t water down our reporting, we won’t accept sponsored content, and we won’t replace journalists with AI.

Now, Onto Those Awards

Huge congratulations to our team for producing these important stories despite the challenges. What makes these honors meaningful is not just the recognition itself, but the impact these stories have had on our community. This year’s awards reflect excellence in both editorial and design—made possible by the dedication of the YS team.

Editorial

• Best Arts & Entertainment Column Writing (2nd Place): Red Shadows Brings MMIR “Artivism” to Lafayette — Rona Goody
  
• Best Breaking News/Deadline Reporting (1st Place): Colorado’s Reproductive Rights Revolution — Ray Manzari
  
• Best Breaking News/Deadline Reporting (2nd Place): Aurora Apartments Make National Headlines: Landlords Blame Migrant Gangs for Public Safety Concerns — Ray Manzari
  
• Best Crime & Public Safety Reporting (1st Place): Blue Immunity: Holding Law Enforcement Accountable — Mohammed Ahmad
  
• Best Data Journalism Reporting (1st Place): Is Remote Work Dying Out? — Mary-Beth Skylis
  
• Best Environmental Story (1st Place): The Colorado River Water Emergency — Doug Geiling
  
• Best Feature Story (2nd Place): Boulder Housing Coalition Brings Back Parts of the ‘Old Boulder’ with Communal Living — Katie Mackinnon
  
• Best Health Enterprise/Health Feature Story (2nd Place): The Role of Spirituality in Substance Use Disorder Treatment — Lexi Miller
  
• Best News Story (1st Place): A Nation in Flux: Local Elections, National Debates, and a Polarized Future — Mohammed Ahmad
  
• Best Opinion Writing (1st Place): Uncomfortable Truth — Steve Nelson
  
• Best Opinion Writing (2nd Place): Trump as Jesus — Steve Nelson
  
• Best Politics Reporting (2nd Place): A Local Erie Ruling May Indicate a Statewide Shift Away From Fossil Fuels — Katie McHinnon
  
• Best Public Service Project (1st Place): 2024 Election Guide — Zoe Jennings, Austin Clinkenbeard, Lexi Miller
  
• Best Series or Sustained Coverage (2nd Place): Reporting on Draco Fossil Fuel Development in Erie, CO — Natalie Kerr
  
• Best Social Justice or Equity Reporting (2nd Place): The Black Cowboys of Colorado — Doug Geiling

Photo & Design

• Best Cover Design (1st Place): March 2024 SuperKids Issue: Best of BOCO — Irina Ratsek, Dustin Doskocil
  
• Best Cover Design (2nd Place): November Issue — Irina Ratsek, Dustin Doskocil

College

• Best News Story (1st Place): “Rocky Horror” in 2024: Can it Still be Relevant for a New Generation? – Julie Rivers, Morgan Taylor, Owen Houtakker

The Answer Is Community

I believe in the journalism we do because everywhere I go, I hear from people who are grateful we exist—people whose lives were impacted by stories others wouldn’t tell. I feel confident asking local businesses to advertise because I know we have an engaged audience that wants to read what we publish. That’s what keeps us going.

The answer to many of the world’s challenges is community. You need us, and we need you.

Gala Tickets & Sustainer Support: fundrazr.com/YSGala2025

The post Yellow Scene Wins 19 Awards; Your Ticket to Protecting Local Journalism appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

This month, I was tasked with Notables—and this year, the focus has been on celebrating Yellow Scene’s 25 years in Boulder County media. From Top 25 Articles to “Where Are They Now?” features, this month I’m highlighting 25 of my favorite covers. And like the others, narrowing this list down wasn’t easy. Each comes with a story—some joyful, some complicated—but all meaningful.

Print is still magic. I watched two kids flipping through Yellow Scene, giggling and pointing out places they recognized. That doesn’t happen with a phone.

Not all 25 years of covers are on the website. The first eight years live in hard copies, CD-ROMs, and Zip drives in my basement. I was literally taking photos of old issues with my phone—because who still owns a CD-ROM drive?

YS has always been collaborative. The creativity behind these covers isn’t just mine—it’s the product of dozens of staff members over the years. Designers, writers, editors, photographers, illustrators, and interns have brought wild ideas to life and made them sing. I’ve had amazing teams pitch me ideas—some I thought were weird but turned out great. That kind of teamwork has defined our pages from the beginning. Editorial content always came first; our goal has been to make every page worth reading.

As I revisited the covers, the memories came rushing back. Sometimes I just liked the art, but most often it was the stories behind them. The greatest feeling I get is thinking about the people who made them. I’ve been lucky to work with inspired, creative minds who wanted to build something special.

When I left Boulder Weekly, clients started calling: “Where did you go?” Erie was exploding—4,000 new homes by 2000. I hadn’t planned to launch anything, but they encouraged me. I sold ads with no product, then figured it out.

The first issues were called The Gold Mine—local ads, local reach, and Easter eggs for fun. By edition four, we had content, a real name, and a growing following. We officially incorporated in February 2001 as Yellow Scene Magazine. We were Reader’s Digest-sized and called ourselves “East County’s cultural scene,” which some Boulder folks laughed at: “Do you have culture out there?” And I’d smile and think, yes—more than you know.

Fun fact: We’ve never put the Flatirons on a cover. Someone once called that a weird flex—but to me, it says a lot. They’re on everything. I wanted to reflect the people, the culture, the values—not just the scenery.

Early on, there was controversy. By issue three, I published letters to the editor that stirred things up. It was my first taste of being a publisher. Then came 9/11. And with it, a choice: what kind of media would we be? We chose bold. Our anti-war stance during Iraq got us letters and boycott threats—but I knew we were right.

The press is mightier than the sword. Yellow Scene has never shied away from the hard stuff. We follow the truth, and the creativity. 

THE COVERS

August 2000: The Gold Mine

June 2004: The Hot Issue

August 2007: The Smart Issue

August 2000: The Gold Mine

Our very first issue—and definitely our funkiest. Not the most beautiful, but it belongs here. Art by Shavonne Blades.

June 2004: The HOT Issue

We featured Left Hand Brewery with a local artist’s painting. Illustration Art: DeWayne Wolff (Longmont).

August 2007: The SMART Issue

One of my favorites—my son was our child model in the early years. Art Director Stephanie Mott crafted a brilliant concept from the shoot. Photography by Jessica Grenier (Denver).

February 2009: One Giant Food Issue

June 2009: The Hot Issue

July 2009: The Glasshouse of Boulder

February 2009

A fun, pivotal issue. This marked our expansion into Boulder. Until then, we were only in East County/North Metro. After the 2008 crash, I borrowed $80,000—the first time ever—to go big: perfect-bound, 100 pages, full gloss. It worked. Art Director: Stephanie Mott. Photography: Ed Corcoran (Golden).

June 2009: The HOT Issue

This was one of those wild staff ideas I almost said no to—a Harlequin romance parody. It turned out amazing. Art Director: Stephanie Mott. Concept: Andra Coberly. Photography: Julie Levy (Boulder).

July 2009: The Glasshouse of Boulder

An architectural shoot inside a stunning home. Architect: Matt McMullen. Art Direction: Stephanie Mott. Photography: Jessica Grenier (Denver).

July 2011: The Hot Issue

March 2012: SuperKids Issue

April 2012: Best Of The West

July 2011: The HOT Issue

Stephanie Mott transitioned to Creative Consultant after this issue, and Brittany Wigham stepped in as Associate Art Director. She nailed this sizzling cover. Art Direction: Brittany Wigham.

March 2012: SuperKids Issue

“82 Ways to Spend a Summer Day” was born from an idea by Editor-in-Chief Andra Coberly. Art by Brittney Wigham, who always said: “In design, no detail is too small.”

April 2012: Best of the West

A Beatles “Abbey Road” homage with our staff in downtown Louisville. Brittney Wigham led the creative. Photography: Joe Hodgson (Denver).

December 2012: The 65+ Issue

June 2013: The Hot Issue

August 2013: The Smart Issue

December 2012: The 65+ Issue

Titled “The Silver Tsunami,” this cover highlighted the boomer wave of retirements. Some people didn’t love the bold image—but that’s exactly why I do. Art Direction: Brittney Wigham. Editor: Andra Coberly.

June 2013: The HOT Issue

I rejected the initial cover (ice cream, tilted sunglasses—too canned). We were down to the wire when I spotted a photo of Mona Lott, a drag queen from our Faces of Summer feature. “Can we put a drag queen on the cover?” the staff asked. Damn straight we can. Art: Brittney Wigham. Photo: Paul Wedlake.

August 2013: The SMART Issue

Michael Kennedy (aka Colonel Matlock) obsessed over every detail. There’s a flaw only he sees—and he still talks about it. I call it brilliant. 

December 2013: Health Issue

March 2014: SuperKids Issue

2015: Album Cover Series

December 2013: Health Issue

We spotlighted tattoo culture. Joe Friend shot the stunning visuals. Michael Kennedy brought it to life with graphic design. And yes, there’s a little surprise in the article.

March 2014: Super Kids Issue

We just re-featured this photo in 2025 for “Where Are They Now?” Paul Wedlake shot both the original and the update. Art: Brittney Wigham.

2015: Album Cover Series

An all-time staff favorite. Readers played along all year, guessing the inspiration behind each cover. My pick for Top 25? Sgt. Pepper’s. Editorial Concept: Brett Callwood. Art Direction: Trish Himmler & Katherine Preucill.

February 2017: Best Of The West – Find-A-Word

May 2017: The Hot Issue

August 2017: The Smart Issue

February 2017: Best of the West – Find-A-Word

We hid puzzles in this one and gave prizes for solving them. Readers loved it. Art Direction: Jennifer Ho.

May 2017: The HOT Issue

A hard moment—Brides and Babies closed that year. However, we stayed true to our values, and despite financial challenges, I commissioned this piece to honor Colorado’s music festival scene. Illustration: Brittany Henson.

August 2017: The SMART Issue

Commissioned art reflecting education funding challenges. Illustration: Christina Ullman.

February 2018: Best Of The West

September 2018: Indulgence Issue

March 2019: Divercity Series

February 2018: Best of the West

After the 2015 series, I wanted more themed covers. This one featured winners standing in front of the Boulder Theater (shoutout to them for putting us on the marquee!). Art: Irina Ratzek. Photography: Paul Wedlake.

September 2018: Indulgence Issue

Restaurant folks, a remote sugar mill road, a ladder, and a cop car. Yep, Longmont PD told us to move—but not before Paul got the shot. Art: Irina Ratzek. Photo: Paul Wedlake.

March 2019: DiverCity Series

A love letter to black-and-white print and typography. Every piece was text-forward. I chose Andrea Gibson for this list—an icon who just left us. Art Direction: Irina Ratzek, Photo: Paul Wedlake.

April 2020: 20th Anniversary Series

February 2021: The Actionist Series Featuring Candice Bailey

February 2022: Heroes Series – Firefighers

April 2020: 20th Anniversary Series

We planned to spotlight past and present staff—then COVID hit. We skipped March and folded what we could into April. The pandemic shaped every shoot after. Featured: Stephanie Mott. Photo: Paul Wedlake.

February 2021: The Actionist Series featuring Candice Bailey

It was hard to choose just one from this series—we featured amazing people, including former Colorado Poet Laureate Bobby LeFebre. But I chose Candice because I have the utmost admiration for her. Her bold spirit is exactly what this world needs. Art Direction: Irina Ratzek. Photography: Paul Wedlake.

February 2022: Heroes Series – Firefighters

Originally planned for nurses post-COVID, but after the Marshall Fire, we pivoted. The hoses in the photo? They’re the ones crews had to cut and abandon to escape the flames. Multiple departments were involved. Photo: Paul Wedlake.

April 2023: The History Series Featuring Erie, Colorado

April 2023: The History Series featuring Erie, Colorado

In 2023, we launched a series exploring the histories of the towns we serve across Boulder County and the North Metro. Beautifully written by Doug Geiling, the research and storytelling were fascinating. I chose Erie for this list because it’s my hometown—and the last standing mine in the area still sits there. Art Direction: Irina Ratzek. Photography: Paul Wedlake.

If you want to explore more then head over too yellowscene.com/archives

The post Our Top 25 Favorite Covers appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Since the days when Yellow Scene Magazine (YS) was printed on actual yellow paper, we’ve tried to give you a little bit of insight into the music community. Sometimes we found an interesting story about an artist in your backyard that you really ought to be listening to. But, on more than a few occasions, we managed to pull an interview with a fairly big-name artist for a small indie magazine based out of East Boulder County.

I recently took over doing our artist interview spotlights for our last few issues. I have a good amount of experience with interviewing musicians for other publications, but YS is a little different. Either you’re looking to find the interesting story in an up-and-coming artist that the reader hasn’t heard of yet, or you’re trying to find the appeal of a big-name artist for our particular corner of Colorado. In a lot of ways, it’s about finding the stories behind the music that are smaller, but still fascinating.

To celebrate 25 years of YS, we decided to pore over the artist interviews from the past 25 years to pick our 25 favorite interviews. While a lot of them are with the big-name artists we consider ourselves lucky to have gotten a chance to feature, a few of them are from local artists with really interesting stories. But that’s the one thing that unites these 25 interviews: they were all instances where we found riveting stories behind the music that are still interesting to this day.

The Dreamy Jason Mraz, September 2009

Our interview with singer/songwriter Jason Mraz came out when his song “I’m Yours” was becoming popular (and it remains his highest charting song to date). Mraz told us it was his “happy little hippy” song about generosity of spirit and giving your time to someone else, and explained how time in Hawaii and a visit to Bob Marley’s house in Jamaica inspired the tune. He explained that he wrote the song in a stream-of-consciousness style by simply picking up the guitar and seeing what he came up with. He was also donating his tour proceeds at the time to VH1’s Save the Music Foundation, which was fighting to keep music education in schools.

Irish Rockers Flogging Molly, September 2009

Irish band Flogging Molly isn’t the first band to combine Celtic music influences with punk rock, but they are definitely one of the most genuine and authentic bands to do it. In our interview with them, they explained how they thrived on a smaller indie label (at the time, all of their releases had been through SideOneDummy Records, which has gotten a bit bigger since then). They explained that industry professionals told them that their style of music wasn’t going to catch on, so they opted to take matters into their own hands rather than relying on a music industry that thought they were destined to fail.

Spotlight on Mandy Harvey, August 2010

The story of local jazz singer Mandy Harvey is genuinely one of the most unique and fascinating stories we’ve ever had in an artist interview. Harvey grew up in Longmont with dreams of being a singer, and trained her entire life to achieve her dream, only to be dealt a crippling setback in adulthood when she went deaf from progressive nerve damage affecting her cochlear nerves. After deciding, on a whim, to put together a recording of “Come Home” by One Republic for her husband while he was away on a trip, she came to the realization that her singing career was not over, saying that, “a light came on in my head that music was just another thing I needed to do differently.” The amazing singer, who has perfect pitch, by the way, later went on to be a contestant on the 12th season of “America’s Got Talent,” where she performed her own original work.

John Medeski, February 2011

Keyboardist John Medeski has been playing with his band Medeski, Martin, & Wood since 1991, playing a unique style of jazz fusion that incorporates funk, hip-hop, and even jam band elements into their sound. 2011 marked the 20th anniversary of the band’s formation, and we got a chance to talk to Medeski about their longevity as a band. According to Medeski, the band managed to survive changes in the music industry because, as an instrumental band, they never relied on radio play or record sales as their main source of income, but rather focused on selling tickets to their electrifying live show. As someone who has seen Medeski, Martin, & Wood live, I can confirm that their live performance is enough to win over anyone who doesn’t think an instrumental band has a lot to offer.

Hanson, September 2011

Everybody remembers Hanson for their 1997 pop hit “MMMBop,” which came out when the band members were literal children. What a lot of people don’t know is that Hanson is still around today and continues to release albums and tour with a much more mature sound now that they’re well into adulthood. In our interview, we talked with Taylor Hanson about his feelings on their first hit single, “MMMBop,” and how it was 14 years later. Hanson said that, while he would like the band to be noticed for their complete body of work, he still has positive feelings about their first monumental hit single. “There’s no question you always desire for people to have a wide and varied perspective on your career beyond a few hit songs,” he explained, “but you also have to be proud of anything that can reach millions of people, especially when it is with something that you created and has meaning to people.”

Four Questions with Pop Favorite: G. Love, January 2012

Garrett Dutton, aka G. Love — frontman of the trio G. Love & The Special Sauce who blew up onto the alternative music scene in the mid-’90s with their unique mixture of soul, blues, funk, and hip-hop — sat down with us in 2012 to discuss the history of the band as it approached its 20-year anniversary. When asked about what Dutton missed most about the early days of the band, Dutton said that he missed the “innocence and blindness” of being a 20-year-old who thought he knew everything while driving around to do 250 shows a year in a “crappy van.” Now that he had a tour bus and lost that blind innocence, it seemed like some of the magic was gone.

10 Questions With Jazz Great Ron Carter, October 2012

Ron Carter has been involved with a lot of different projects as a jazz musician, ranging from his early breakthrough as a member of Miles Davis’ Second Great Quintet to his appearance on alt-hip hop group A Tribe Called Quest’s seminal 1991 jazz-rap album “Low End Theory.” In the interview, Carter explained that his upbringing in Detroit didn’t inspire his jazz career because, when he left Detroit around the age of 17 or 18, he was still playing classical music. It wasn’t until he got to New York and became influenced by the likes of Paul Chambers, Sam Jones, and Charles Mingus that he got turned on to the magic of jazz.

Weird Al Yankovic Talks Parodies, Movies and Children’s Books, June 2013

“Weird Al” Yankovic is a music legend for his parodies of songs, and most musicians consider it an honor and a privilege rather than an insult to be parodied by the legendary comic artist. But in our interview, we talked to Yankovic a little bit about one of his then-new endeavours of writing a children’s book called “When I Grow Up.” In the time since the interview, he wrote a second children’s book called “My New Teacher and Me!” Yankovic explained that he had always wanted to write children’s books and, when an editor from Harper Collins named Anne Hoppe approached him randomly and told him that his clever wordplay would work well in children’s books, he jumped at the chance to fulfill one of his dreams.

Ani DiFranco, March 2015

LGBTQ+ icon and seasoned indie folk artist Ani DiFranco has been a trailblazer in independent music both for her creative talent and her business sense. We talked to her about how her decision to start her own label, Righteous Babe, instead of tying herself to a big label was groundbreaking and almost as important as her music, but she didn’t seem to agree. She said that she gained fans with her music, not her decision to go independent, and that that’s what her staying power has been in her career, which has spanned, at this point, about 35 years.

Duran Duran, September 2015

British new wave legends Duran Duran stopped in Colorado in 2015 to promote their 14th album as a band, Paper Gods. The band took us through some of the details of the two years they spent working on the album and how they connected with collaborators for the album. The first collaborator that contacted them was Red Hot Chili Peppers guitarist John Frusciante. The band wasn’t looking to collaborate with anyone, but felt they couldn’t turn down such a talented guitarist as Frusciante. Saying yes to Frusciante opened the door to further collaborations with the likes of Nile Rodgers, who co-produced the album, as well as another co-producer named Mr. Hudson, who has worked with Kanye West and Jay-Z. The result was one of the best albums of Duran Duran’s long and storied career.

Spotlight on Tammy Ealom, March 2016

Tammy Ealom’s Denver-based indie pop band, Dressy Bessy, holds a lot of distinctions that give them indie cred including having had their songs featured in the cult queer classic film “But I’m a Cheerleader” as well as being one of the few Denver-based bands to be part of the legendary Elephant 6 collective. In 2016, we talked to Ealom about the story behind the band’s sixth studio album, “Kingsized,” which was their first album in eight years. Ealom said she never thought of the time in between as a hiatus because she was writing the whole time. The death of her father and the economic impact of the recession were major factors that she cited as the reason for the gap between albums.

Spotlight on Flo, April 2016

Multi-instrumentalist and percussionist Bill Summers has had a lot of major accomplishments in his career, but the one that probably stands out the most is his work on the iconic jazz-funk fusion album “Head Hunters” by Herbie Hancock. In this interview, Summers took us through his journey from dropping out of high school, to working at a racetrack, to winning enough money to go to California and enroll UC Berkeley as a music major where he put together a band that opened for Hancock, leading to him being invited to participate in one of the most important jazz albums of all time.

Spotlight: It’s Times Like These We Need Flobots Most, May 2017

Hip-hop group Flobots may be remembered by the rest of the country as a one-hit wonder for their 2007 hit “Handlebars,” but in Colorado, they’re known for being a pillar of the local hip-hop scene and political activists. In the interview, MC Johnny 5 (aka James Laurie), told us about the Flobots’ mentor, the late Vincent Harding, who was a social activist and Professor of Religion and Social Transformation at Iliff School of Theology in Denver. Harding encouraged the band to think more deeply about what protest music really was, so the band started gathering people together to come up with songs that could be sung at rallies, which became the basis for Flobots’ 2017 album “Noenemies.”

Spotlight on Josh Barrett of The Wailers, March 2018

Reggae band The Wailers were once the backing band for the legendary Bob Marley, but since his death in 1981, they’ve soldiered on without him. In 2018, we talked with the band’s then-vocalist Josh Barrett about filling the huge shoes of Marley, and he spoke about his journey from singing in church choir, to learning instruments from his community, to starting his band, Judah Tribe, which had the opportunity to open for the Wailers in 2012. Barrett talked about the privilege of fronting such a legendary band and how the music that Marley wrote is still relevant today.

Spotlight on Bill Frisell, June 2018

Bill Frisell is not just a legendary guitarist — having appeared as a session musician on tons of albums, not to mention his solo material and his long-standing working relationship with the legendary John Zorn — he’s a local legend, having grown up in Denver and graduated from Denver’s East High School. In this interview, Frisell talked to us about how he started playing music with neighborhood kids, but he owes a lot of his musical education to music programs in local schools like Teller Elementary and the now-defunct Gove Junior High. “I’m so glad they still have a music program in Denver because in so many places it goes away,” Frisell told us.

Brian Setzer’s Rockabilly Riot!, June 2018

Brian Setzer is famous for his role in the legendary rockabilly group Stray Cats as well as his role in the ‘90s swing revival when his band, The Brian Setzer Orchestra, covered Louis Prima’s “Jump, Jive, an’ Wail.” In this interview, when he was promoting his latest “Rockabilly Riot!” album, we talked to him about the changes in the music industry since he started, and he talked about the changes in how important record sales and music videos were and how so much has shifted to the importance of live performances. Luckily, Brian Setzer could always put on a good live show.

Spotlight on Jeff Gutt, August 2018

Iconic grunge band Stone Temple Pilots has had bad luck with frontmen, with both of their first two lead singers — Scott Weiland and Chester Bennington — having died at tragically young ages. Former Dry Cell frontman and “X-Factor” contestant Jeff Gut became the third person to step into the lead vocalist spot in the band, and we talked to him about the process of auditioning for the gig. He talked about how nerve-wracking it was to meet a band he had admired for so many years, but eventually his idols turned to friends as they worked together on the band’s second self-titled record.

SPOTLIGHT on Nick Urata of DeVotchKa, January 2019

It’s hard to talk about the Denver music scene without bringing up the dark, indie folk powerhouse that is DeVotchKa, who rose to prominence in 2006 with their talked-about performance at Bonnaroo as well as their score for the Oscar-winning film Little Miss Sunshine. In 2018, the band released their album “This Night Falls Forever,” their first record in seven years, and we talked to them about the gap between albums. They said that, with all the opportunities they had gotten since their previous album — including working with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra and being involved with movies like “A Series of Unfortunate Events” and “Paddington” — they had to take the time to make their new album as grand as all their other side projects.

SPOTLIGHT on Tivoli Club Brass Band, April 2019

Denver’s Tivoli Club Brass Band isn’t your traditional brass band, with their 2019 debut album featuring covers of Queen, Taylor Swift, The White Stripes, and even Aretha Franklin. In our interview, bandleader and percussionist Dean Hirschfield talked about the band’s origins, which apparently started with a meal at Jose O’Shea’s in Lakewood when someone asked, “What would the song ‘Seven Nation Army’ sound like if it were played by a brass band?” They also talked about the Kickstarter campaign to finance their album, which was initially planned to be an EP. However, after the overwhelming support for Kickstarter, they decided they might as well put out an LP.

Spotlight: Jimbo Mathus and the Squirrel Nut Zippers, June 2019

Squirrel Nut Zippers are somewhat of a relic of the short-lived neo-swing craze in the 1990s, despite the fact that they didn’t quite fit in with the other swing bands with their neo-vaudevillian style. We talked to the band three years into their reunion and talked to founder and frontman Jimbo Mathus about why he chose to reunite the band in 2016. Mathus said that he thought of just doing a few shows around the 20th anniversary of their 1996 album “Hot,” but decided that there was so much theatricality and musicianship that went into the band that doing a few one-off shows seemed hardly worth it, and it would be better to revive the whole band and jump back into the swing of things, so to speak.

Spotlight on Lynyrd Skynyrd, October 2019

Lynyrd Skynyrd was probably the biggest name band that we have ever interviewed. At the time, the band’s so-called farewell tour was coming through Fiddler’s Green, and we talked to the band’s guitarist, Rickey Medlocke, about why they were retiring from touring. Medlocke talked about how it was no secret that founding guitarist Gary Rossington was having heart issues and the band could no longer handle rigorous touring. Still, Medlocke assured us the band was not completely done and might record another album and play one-off shows. “The funny thing about this all is — when you’re a musician that’s been playing for as long as we’ve been playing, you just don’t wake up one day and say, ‘Okay, I’m going to put my instrument down that I’ve had this big love affair with for 50-60 years,’ and not pick it up anymore and not want to play music or anything like that,” Medlocke told us. Sadly, Rossington died in 2023, but the band continued on and did another tour with ZZ Top in 2023-2024.

Spotlight on Reese Roper and Five Iron Frenzy, March 2021

Since their founding in 1995, Denver’s own ska band Five Iron Frenzy has made a career out of Christian-ish music, but it was always a more progressive form of Christianity than what we’ve come to expect from the religious right. Frontman Reese Roper talked to us about his brand of Christianity and said he didn’t align with the right-wing form of the religion, which he chalked up to a plot between Richard Nixon and Jerry Falwell to turn the Republican party into the Christian party by using wedge issues like abortion to garner Christian votes. “There are so many diabolical things that have been done in the name of Jesus Christ in this world,” Roper told us. “But, I cling to the character of Christ. I know that what He offers is redemption and forgiveness.”

Spotlight on Taj Mahal, March 2022

Legendary blues musician Taj Mahal is one of the most prolific and enduring musicians in the genre, having put out over 50 albums in the course of about 60 years. We talked to him about what was, at the time, his most recent album, “Get On Board,” which was a collaboration with fellow music legend Ry Cooder. Mahal told us about how Cooder had worked with him on the 1966 album “Rising Sons Featuring Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder” and on Mahal’s 1968 self-titled album. After Cooder and Mahal ran into each other and started hanging out again, they decided to collaborate again, but the pandemic got in the way until 2021, when restrictions had lifted enough for the two great guitarists to work together again.

Courtesy of Steve Schnepel

Spotlight on Faceman, December 2022

FaceMan is both the name of a Denver-based indie-American trio and the stage name of the band’s mysterious frontman, Steve Schnepel, who performs in various masks and costumes that give him different faces. Schnepel told us that the idea was inspired by his youth when his father told him he had a “rubber face,” and, in 2008, after taking a brief hiatus from music, Schnepel came up with the vision of a band he could front anonymously with a constantly changing face. The idea really took off when he met designers Justin Hicks, Katie Webster, and Kellie Sequoia from the Denver Center who elevated his basic idea into an even bigger spectacle.

Dervish Takes the Stage with Traditional Irish Music | Spotlight, February 2025

Traditional Irish band Dervish has been lighting up stages with their unique take on Irish music for almost four decades now, since the early days when the original members met at a pub and named themselves the Boys of Silgo, after their hometown in Ireland. We talked to them about their music, which is about 90% traditional songs, and they explained how there’s still a lot of writing and creating that goes into playing traditional songs, including creating new arrangements, harmonies, and instrumental breaks, to the point where traditional music practically becomes their own.

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The post Spotlight on Spotlights: 25 Years of Yellow Scene Artist Interviews appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

In the early 2000s, Boulder County began implementing sustainability-focused policies that laid the foundation for modern climate initiatives. Programs such as the Keep It Clean Partnership (KICP) and the Boulder Valley Comprehensive Plan (BVCP) were developed to promote water conservation and sustainable land use. The county also introduced zero waste policies and renewable energy incentives, aiming to transition away from fossil fuels. While these early initiatives were progressive for their time, they primarily focused on incremental improvements rather than transformative change.

Over the past decade, Boulder County has increased its focus on climate action, renewable energy adoption, and stricter environmental regulations. Some of the most notable advancements include the following:

• Implementation of several key environmental policies over the years to address climate change and promote sustainability. One of the most significant initiatives was the Climate Action Plan Tax, introduced in 2006. As the first tax of its kind in the United States, the county has played a crucial role in funding renewable energy projects and energy efficiency initiatives, helping to reduce the county’s carbon footprint.
• In 2018, Boulder County committed to reducing greenhouse gas emissions by 45% by 2030 and achieving a 90% reduction by 2050. These ambitious targets aim to transition the county toward a net-zero emissions future by relying on cleaner energy sources and more sustainable community practices.
• In 2020, Boulder County strengthened its environmental policies by adopting one of the strictest oil and gas setback laws in Colorado. This law limits fossil fuel extraction near homes, schools, and community areas.
• The county has also taken steps to expand renewable energy programs, actively promoting the use of solar, wind, and geothermal energy to transition away from fossil fuels.
• Boulder County has invested in transportation initiatives designed to reduce car dependency, such as expanding bike lanes and improving public transit options.
• Boulder County is home to non-profits such as Resource Central, which encourages residents to adopt responsible water usage habits in response to increasing drought risks.

While these policies demonstrate a commitment to sustainability, many rely on long-term planning rather than immediate action. Given the accelerating climate crisis, there is growing concern that Boulder County’s efforts are not keeping pace with the urgency of the problem.

The stark reality is that despite Boulder County’s ambitious sustainability goals, progress remains slow, and the region continues to experience climate change-induced challenges such as wildfires, extreme heat, and declining air quality.

Alternatives to oil and gas

While the county has made strides in restricting new oil and gas drilling, 73 wells remain active, and more than 100 additional wells exist in the eastern part of the county. The county has pursued legal action against major oil companies, but legal battles take years to resolve, delaying meaningful impact.

To truly mediate the effects of climate change, policymakers should enact an immediate phase-out plan for remaining oil wells rather than waiting for natural depletion. For too long, politicians have taken money from big oil companies while overlooking environmental violations that directly affect their constituents.

Boulder County has promoted solar, wind, and geothermal energy, yet high installation costs prevent widespread adoption. Additionally, while the county has set emissions reduction targets, these rely on statewide clean energy transitions rather than Boulder-specific solutions.

Additional policies to increase solar power implementation include:

• Subsidies or rebates for low-income residents to install solar panels.
• Fast-tracking community solar projects that allow residents to share renewable energy resources.
• Mandating solar installations on all new buildings to accelerate adoption.

Limited accessibility to going green is one of the major hurdles for rural communities’ efforts to switch to sustainable energy sources. Despite investments in bike lanes and public transportation, Boulder County remains heavily car-dependent, contributing to high emissions. Public transit options remain limited, particularly in less urbanized areas.

Most notably, electric vehicle (EV) charging networks can be limited outside of metropolitan cities, and charging is slow. It sometimes takes upwards of 40 to 50 hours for a fully electric vehicle to reach a full battery and between 5 and 6 hours for a plug-in hybrid. Boulder County has a total of 538 charging stations, 44 of which are fast chargers.

Beyond EVs, public transportation is an alternative to personal car use. However, major improvements in the state’s public transportation system would make it a more viable alternative to driving. Subsidies in RTD passes and the implementation of congestion pricing or low-emission zones could further discourage excessive car use.

BOCO’s changing climate

With rising temperatures and diminishing snowpack, Boulder County is at risk of water shortages in the coming decades. While programs like Resource Central promote conservation, there are no strict regulations on excessive water use.

The Marshall Fire, which destroyed over 1,000 structures, was a clear warning sign that climate change is making wildfires more frequent and intense. Boulder County only began monitoring its stormwater after the fire in 2021. Additionally, air quality continues to deteriorate due to smoke pollution from regional wildfires continues to deteriorate air quality.

Historically, native land stewards recognized the importance of techniques such as controlled burns and reforestation. Some environmentalists have suggested returning the protection of our parks and forests to native tribes who have extensive knowledge and centuries of ancestral traditions of sustainable land stewardship.

Further regulations than those already in place on builders and contractors who construct new homes and buildings in the region should ensure that structures are built to reduce the risk of fire damage. The eastern part of the county had few significant wildfire events until the Marshall Fire, leading the county to update its building fire code. Now, ignition resistance building materials are required in Wildfire Zone 2 as well.

Green policies, red tape

Political and bureaucratic delays cause many environmental policies to require extensive planning, public hearings, and legal battles before implementation. A lack of federal funding results in economic constraints. Renewable energy projects, public transit expansions, and water conservation programs require significant financial investment. Other challenges include public resistance, as some sustainability initiatives face pushback from businesses and residents who fear economic or lifestyle disruptions.

Boulder County must move beyond planning and take immediate, decisive action to truly impact climate change. One of the most urgent steps is to enforce a clear timeline for phasing out oil and gas operations, ensuring a structured transition away from fossil fuels. Simultaneously, the county should mandate solar panel installations on all new residential and commercial buildings, accelerating the shift toward renewable energy.

To make sustainability accessible to all residents, it is crucial to subsidize sustainable energy solutions for low-income households, removing financial barriers to adoption. Additionally, Boulder County must expand public transportation options and invest in electrification, reducing reliance on personal vehicles and cutting transportation emissions.

With water scarcity becoming an increasing threat, strict water conservation measures should be enforced before a crisis arises, ensuring long-term resource sustainability.

Lastly, as wildfires continue to devastate the region, strengthening wildfire mitigation strategies — such as controlled burns, improved forest management, and home-hardening programs — should be a top priority to protect both communities and ecosystems. By implementing these urgent measures, Boulder County can transform its climate commitments into tangible, lasting change.

Boulder County has made commendable progress in sustainability, but progress alone is not enough when faced with the urgent reality of climate change. The slow pace of action continued reliance on fossil fuels, and gaps in renewable energy access highlight the need for more aggressive policies and faster implementation.

Simply put, climate change is accelerating faster than Boulder County’s sustainability efforts. If Boulder truly wants to be a leader in climate action, it must transition from planning to immediate, large-scale implementation — before it’s too late.

Residents can reduce car use, switch to renewable energy, conserve water, and support local climate policies. While individual acts can certainly make a local impact, the largest contributors to climate change continue to be the oil and gas industry. Oil and gas drilling, rising water demand, transportation emissions, and wildfire threats are the most pressing challenges BOCO faces for the next 25 years. The question now is: Are the residents of one of the most naturally beautiful places in the country willing to take radical action against corporate giants in order to protect the land they live on?

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter (and get our printed copy monthly at home.)
Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

The post Going Green: How Much Has BOCO Improved in 25 Years? appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Producing Best of the West is no easy feat — it takes an incredible amount of human hours. Our standards are high: every winner’s blurb must be personalized and, most importantly, interesting to read. Cookie-cutter and boring don’t fly at Yellow Scene Magazine.

As a hyper-local, independent publication, we often operate on fumes. Journalism isn’t where the big dollars are, which is why sustaining support from the community is critical. In today’s climate, producing unbought and unbossed journalism matters more than ever. After 25 years, we refuse to sell out to the highest bidder. That said, being independent also means we’re “scrappy” (a polite way to say we’re working by the seat of our pants).

Despite the challenges, Best of the West is one of the most joyous issues to produce. It’s labor-intensive, but we get to call people with genuinely good news — how great is that?

These wins are truly honorable. YS’s ballot is write-in only — no pay-to-play, no multiple-choice. Just Best (Category) Blank. Readers decide who’s the best, not us.

Our first seven years of archives aren’t online yet (they’re still sitting on discs in the office), and even those need formatting TLC. Some categories are newer, and Boulder joined Best of the West in 2008. But we have hard copies and a living history of Boulder County.

Here are some of the most notable winners, each with over 10 years of wins. Want to create real change? Stop giving your money to billionaires and support these amazing local businesses instead!

Special Nods

Piripi (13 wins in 5 years)

615 Briggs St Suite C, Erie

www.piripirestaurant.com

10+ years

24 Carrot

578 Briggs St, Erie

www.24carrotbistro.com

Anderson Farms

6728 County Rd 3 1/4, Erie

andersonfarms.com

Avery Brewing

4910 Nautilus Ct N, Boulder

www.averybrewing.com

Berkelhammer Tree

28th St, Boulder, CO

berkelhammer.com

Bitter Bar

835 Walnut St, Boulder, CO

www.thebitterbar.com

Blackbelly/Hosea Rosenburg

Boulder, Denver

www.blackbelly.com

Button Rock Bakery

400 W South Boulder Rd, Lafayette

www.buttonrockbakery.com

Cosmo’s Pizza

Boulder, Lafayette, Denver, Fort collins,

cosmospizza.com

Crystal Ski Shop

1933 28th St #101, Boulder

www.crystalskishop.com

Dairy Arts Center

2590 Walnut St, Boulder

www.thedairy.org

Dragontree Spa

2405 Broadway, Boulder

www.thedrangontree.com

Eats & Sweets

401 S Public Rd, Lafayette

www.eatsandsweets.net

Elevations Credit Union

Multiple Locations

www.elevationscu.com

Firehouse Art Center

667 4th Ave, Longmont,

www.firehouseart.org

Flatirons Golf Course

5710 Arapahoe Ave, Boulder

www.bouldercolorado.gov/locations/flatirons-golf-course

Foolish Craig’s Cafe

1611 Pearl St, Boulder

www.foolishcraigs.com

Full Cycle 

2355 30th St, Boulder

www.fullcyclesbikes.com

Georgia Boys

Longmont, Frederick, Greeley

www.georgiaboys.com

Greenbriar Inn

8735 N Foothills Hwy, Boulder,

www.greenbriarinn.com

Hoshi Motors

2907 55th St Unit 1, Boulder

www.hoshimotors.net

Lulu’s BBQ

701 Main St, Louisville

www.lulusbbq.net

Marco’s Hot Dogs & Taco’s

1647 Kimbark St, Longmont

www.marcoshotdogsandtacos.com

Morning Glory

1377 Forest Park Cir #101, Lafayette

www.morningglorylafayette.com

Mountain Sun/Southern Sun/Longs Peak

627 S Broadway #E, Boulder

www.mountainsunpub.com

Moving Mountains Massage

1800 30th St #220N, Boulder

movingmountainsmassage.com

Moxie Bread

641 Main St, Louisville

moxiebreadco.com

North & East Boulder Rec Centers

E: 5660 Sioux Dr, Boulder N: 3170 Broadway, Boulder

bouldercolorado.gov/locations/north-boulder-recreation-center

Organic Sandwich Co.

1500 Pearl St #F, Boulder

www.organicsandwichco.com

Ozo Coffee

Longmont, Boulder, Arapahoe

www.ozocoffee.com

Pellman’s Automotive

2560 49th St., Boulder

www.pellmansauto.com

Piece, Love & Chocolate

805 Pearl St., Boulder

www.pieceloveandchocolate.com

Salon Picasso

489 US-287 #120, Lafayette

www.salonpicassohairstudio.com

SALT

1047 Pearl St., Boulder

www.saltboulder.com

Tangerine

Longmont, Lafayette, Boulder

www.tangerineeats.com

Taj Mahal 3

1075 E South Boulder Rd. #145, Louisville

www.tajmahal3.com

Tilt! Pinball

640 Main St. #B, Louisville

www.tiltcolorado.com

Village Coffee Shop

1605 Folsom St., Boulder

www.villagecoffeeshopboulder.com

15+ years

Atlas Valley Purveyors

2770 Arapahoe Rd #100, Lafayette

avpurveyors.com

Boulder Wine Merchant

2690 Broadway, Boulder

boulderwine.com

Bookcliff Vineyards

1501 Lee Hill Dr. #17, Boulder

www.bookcliffvineyards.com

Big Daddy Bagels

Longmont, Boulder, Lafayette

www.bigdaddybagels.com

The Boulder Cork

3295 30th St., Boulder

www.bouldercork.com

Busaba Thai Restaurant

East Boulder, Central Boulder

www.busabaco.com

Jax Outdoor Gear + Farm & Ranch

Lafayette, Broomfield

www.jaxgoods.com

Nissis

1455 Coal Creek Dr. #T, Lafayette

www.nissis.com

Pumphouse Brewery

540 Main St., Longmont

www.pumphousebrewery.com

Rio Grande Mexican Restaurant

1101 Walnut St., Boulder

www.riograndemexican.com

Stan’s Automotive

1950 W South Boulder Rd., Lafayette

www.stansautomotive.com

St Julien Hotel & Spa, Jill’s Restaurant & Bistro

900 Walnut St., Boulder

www.stjulien.com

Sushi Zanmai

1221 Spruce St., Boulder

www.izakayaamu.com

Waterloo Louisville

817 Main St., Louisville

www.waterloolouisville.com

West End Tavern

926 Pearl St., Boulder

www.thewestendtavern.com

20+ years

Boulder Creek Festival

1236 Canyon Blvd, Boulder, CO 80302

www.bouldercreekfest.com

Carelli’s Italian Restaurant

645 30th St, Boulder, CO 80303

www.carellis.com

Chez Thuy Fine Vietnamese Cuisine

2655 28th St, Boulder, CO 80301

www.chezthuy.com

Chiropractic Center of Erie & Longmont

698 Briggs St, Erie, CO 80516

www.eriechiro.com

Eldora Ski Resort

2861 Eldora Ski Rd, Nederland, CO 80466

www.eldora.com

Fox Theatre

1135 13th St, Boulder, CO 80302

www.z2ent.com/fox-theatre-venue

Hapa Sushi

Boulder, Denver

hapasushi.com

Lafayette Peach Festival

Public Road, Lafayette, CO 80026

www.lafayettecolorado.com/peach-festival

Louisville Cyclery

889 E South Boulder Rd, Louisville, CO 80027

www.louisvillecyclery.com

Sakura Japanese Restaurant

600 S Airport Rd, Longmont, CO 80503

www.sakuralongmont.com

Sugarbeet

101 Pratt St, Longmont, CO 80501

www.sugarbeetrestaurant.com

All 25 years

Bob Burger Rec Center

111 W Baseline Rd, Lafayette, CO 80026

www.lafayetteco.gov/2574/Bob-L-Burger-Recreation-Center

Boulder Theatre

2032 14th St, Boulder, CO 80302

www.z2ent.com/boulder-theater-venue

Efrain’s Mexican Restaurant 

2480 Canyon Blvd m1, Boulder, CO 80302

www.efrainsofboulder.com

Indian Peaks Golf Course

2300 Indian Peaks Trail, Lafayette, CO 80026

www.indianpeaksgolf.com

Jax Seafood

Multiple locations

www.jaxfishhouse.com

Luciles Creole Cafe

Multiple locations

www.luciles.com

Moe’s Broadway Bagels

Multiple locations

www.moesbagel.com

Santiagos 

Multiple locations

www.eatatsantiagos.com

The Sink

1165 13th St, Boulder, CO 80302

www.thesink.com

Snarf’s Sandwiches

Multiple locations

www.eatsnarfs.com

Shop Local—it’s more than a slogan. It’s a Revolution.

The post The Ones We Love Most appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Virginia native Cha Cha Hertz, as she sees it, went to college on roller skates. She stole them from a roller rink years back and fit them with some skateboard wheels. Her story being the last covered in this series is almost kismet as she is a master of several artistic trades: photography to calligraphy to papermaking to painting to graphic design. At this current juncture in her artistic life, she is a metal worker who loves the art and the material. However, she didn’t always love it, and there’s a chance she might love a completely different form of art in the future. Cha Cha’s way is to forever be a student of art and life. By doing so, she gets to choose what is lesson and what is recess.

Cha Cha, the metal worker

“I like the physicalness of moving,” Cha Cha says. “That’s what draws me to metal work is the physicality. And, the fact that steel, bronze, aluminum — they’re all so permanent. They could last for hundreds of years or thousands. I like the permanence of them.”

This, of course, comes with a trade-off. Working metal can be grueling on the body, but when Cha Cha falls in love with something, she doesn’t take half-steps.“Working with metal, you need to wear safety gear,” Cha Cha explains. “I wear steel-toed boots, leather apron, gloves — it feels like I’m suiting up for skiing. I have a face mask and mask that filters particulates, mask for when I’m spray painting, eye protection, ear protection. The metal has toxic stuff so when I’m playing with steel, for example, as opposed to bronze which uses chemical patinas, then I would spray paint and build, much like canvas.”

“It beats the crap out of me,” she continues. “The older I get, the harder it is. Using power tools for long periods of time, a lot of time you get your fingers, your hands will go almost numb. And it can cause nerve damage. The older you get — you don’t really see a lot of old blacksmiths. And there’s not many women doing it. The women have to work smarter. When I went to my very first blacksmithing conference, I met this woman who was quite impressive, and I asked her, ‘How do women do it?’ And she said, ‘We have to work smarter than the men.’ Gravity and leverage is your friend. Power hammers and forges and plasma cutters — you have every possibility open to you. I go in for like five to sometimes ten hours, and I just go until my eyes hurt.”

A different kind of journey

In this cover series, many have started in other professions and carried over into art. Cha Cha, however, wanted to be an artist from the jump: “I was always the class artist,” she remembers. “I was a military brat; art was a self-soothing thing for me. I would copy and draw and sort of document where I was. In high school, I won state, local, and national honors. I started getting my picture in the paper, and I started identifying as an artist because people would see my picture in the paper and say, ‘She’s an artist.’ I went to college on roller skates, and I graduated on roller skates. I would roller skate to all of my classes, and I did all of my photo documentation on roller skates.”

Cha Cha didn’t have any of the struggle jobs that are typical to most artist stories. No waitressing or night jobs working in power plants. Which isn’t to say that she didn’t have her own kind of struggle. On her first interview for a photojournalism gig, for example, Cha Cha told the story of how “a big fat male chauvinist pig took a hit of his cigar, blew smoke in my face, and said, ‘Honey, you’re not worth my time.’” Cha Cha recalls, “‘You’re just going to run off and get pregnant on me. I want a man who’s married and has children.’ So, I moved to Colorado because one of my friends said ‘Come to Boulder. I have a job and a place for you to live.’ I started freelancing immediately. I’ve never had a real job. I did freelance calligraphy, graphic work.”

The encounter marks a win for those who believe in the phrase, “rejection is protection,” a flashpoint through and through. If Cha Cha had been awarded the job, she would have found herself on the corporate ladder, trying to move up instead of out.  However, as a result of rejection, she came to Colorado where she was given a path to follow and a name she still claims to this day.

Cha Cha Bowties

Surprisingly, Cha Cha’s name isn’t inspired by the music of famed Cuban musical artist Tito Puente. Further, she barely knows the steps to the dance: “I know just enough to get out of the conversation doing the 1-2-3,” she says. “I had a therapy dog that I used to take to hospitals and nursing homes, and I taught him how to do the Cha-Cha with me. He would stand on his hind legs, go backwards and forwards, 1-2-3, 1-2-3.”

Instead, her paper-made “Cha Cha” bowties grew in infamy in the mid-1980s. Warhol-style pop art was slipping into the mainstream, and Cha Cha, at that time, was not in love with metal work. Instead, she was in love with paper sculpture. She started making paper appetizers at parties that people would then pin to their outfits. Bow ties were the next evolution as they were a popular fashion accessory at that time, but so was “lampooning.” An element of pop art was calling attention to the popularity of something and teasing at the fact that they were trendy — like MAD Magazine or “Weird Al” Yankovic . Normal bow ties, while appearing boxy and monotone, also have a softness of fabric to balance the look; they’re meant to be a part of the whole ensemble. The paper bow ties, however, call attention to themselves by emphasizing the boxiness to the look and sporting an off-the-wall coloring or pattern.

They became so popular, the brand name of the bow ties, Cha Cha, became a moniker she’s claimed ever since. People started referring to her as “Cha Cha” and not her given name. In a way, her art named her. “Cha Cha fit me,” she says of the name. “I have an effusive nature, and I felt like Cha Cha fit me as opposed to the other name because I don’t feel I am that name. It just sort of fit between the name and the bowties. People started calling me Cha Cha. Most people totally embrace it. Children love saying Cha Cha.”

Discomfort needed to create art

A defining moment came when she first interviewed for the Boulder Arts & Crafts Gallery, an organization of which she was a member for 35 years. She didn’t make the best first impression though, “When I went in for my first interview, I had to interview in front of 75 artists, and it was very intimidating.” She says the interview was for papermaking and she didn’t make it the first time, so she came back with something else, and would do it again and again until she made it in. Inevitably, it was her tenacity that won them over. The situation, like many others in Cha Cha’s life, had an element of discomfort, which is something that she has learned to thrive off of. “When it comes to making art,” says Cha Cha, “you should always be doing things that make you uncomfortable and embrace it because that’s what makes you grow. If you’re uncomfortable, you’ve got to find a way to get out of that. And, part of that is: I like the problem solving of making art.”

In addition to discomfort being a key element to creating her art, Cha Cha also sees the human elements that are needed to make art special as the very reason artists don’t need to fear artificial intelligence. AI is incapable of making the distinction of comfort and discomfort. The technology serves immediacy, not the complexity of the human condition. “I don’t think that AI will ever take the place of artists,” Cha Cha explains. “I think it is a tool. It depends on how you use it and also how you relate to it. People are intimidated by it because it is fast and immediate, where a lot of artwork is a process that is not fast and immediate, and you have to keep working on it to get the effect that you need. I think it will replace some things, but you know, nothing is permanent. Everything changes, and if you see yourself saying, ‘Well, I remember,’ then you sound like an old fart. You got to embrace change because that’s the only constant in the world. If you don’t, you’re screwed.”

How life is art

For Cha Cha, everything she does feeds her art. It’s all connected.  She’s big into kayaking, for instance, and much of the art in her studio is inspired by the nature she sees, like the painted sticks that reminded her of snakes. The fantasy birds she makes often start with birds she’s seen while she’s afloat on the water. Further, whenever she learns a new medium, she adds that to her toolkit. As someone who is fond of culinary arts, Cha Cha likens mixing media to making a good stew. “Each medium is a different spice,” she says. “How do you explain cinnamon next to chili powder? It’s like making a stew. You try different flavors, and it all comes together in a really good stew. It’s the same with art. When you come up with a concept, and you’ve been doing art for long enough, you can draw from all those different concepts, and you can see it in your mind’s eye. And, oftentimes, I have no idea what I’m doing, and it stops talking to me. And I have to walk away, but it all eventually comes together. With abstract pieces, sometimes you’ve just got to do something silly like turn something upside down.”

Cha Cha’s fluid approach to completing her work rings appropriate. Never in the conversation did she ever mention an admiration for strictness of rules and often refers to what she does as “play” as opposed to “work.” And, even though she is in love with metal, she feels glass is going to be her next calling.

Much like choosing her name and going to college on roller skates, she makes her own rules. In other words, she embodies the art of living. As ethics professor and philosopher Pedro Tabensky puts it:

“Lives, like paintings, are composed. Lives are not well lived when they are lived, as it were, by following a given manual. Instead, skills guide our paths through a penumbra of uncertainty that always threatens to upset whatever provisional balance we might have achieved thus far. We cannot fully know in advance what sorts of surprises are looming behind the veils of darkness, but an expert in the art of living will best be equipped to integrate unforeseeable circumstances into the overall composition of her life.

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter (and get our printed copy monthly at home.)

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter (and get our printed copy monthly at home.)
Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

The post The Artists: Writing with Fire appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Engineer-turned-artist Betina Brumm, out of Longmont, loves disruption. Be it in technology or art, she admires the kinds of creations that challenge tradition. The nature of the word “disruption” brings about ideas of chaos, but the true power of ideas comes from the opportunity they create. COVID, for example, broke all our routines and set the whole world on pause. Brumm began that pause as an engineer and came out the other side an artist who is certain this is the career she wants to pursue for the rest of her life.

Abstract realism

One of the more surprising moments in my conversation with Brumm was learning she’s actually schooled as an engineer. And, while she practiced visual arts since she was a child, she didn’t go to art school, something she believes lends itself to her creative process and a strong possibility why she landed on abstract realism as a primary means of expression: “I grew into abstract realism,” Brumm recalls. “I’m not formally trained in painting, but I’ve painted all my life,” “I started painting in my early teens. I started with pastels and crayons, to portraits, and I moved to oils. The transition to artist from engineer wasn’t an easy one.”

According to the International Society of Automation, what makes a great engineer is the ability to see and focus on the smallest of details. As the ISA explains: “Engineering is by definition a detail-oriented profession, but the field of automation requires almost fanatical attention to detail. Everything matters, which is why instrument spec sheets have so many lines on them.”

While a detailed-oriented approach is great for engineering, it didn’t lend itself as well to Brumm’s artistic expression.

“I was doing very realistic portraits,” explains Brumm. I always do painting as a gift, but I found painting portraits very emotionally draining. My approach for realistic paintings is that it has to be perfect. When I made the decision to go to abstract realism, it allowed me to play with color. Very deep and deep saturated [colors]. It gives the piece uniqueness. I’m putting the subject beneath a different lens.”

The Unknown

In her painting “The Unknown,” Brumm depicts the face of an older homeless man. On the surface of this concept, we have the idea of pity and struggle. However, Brumm’s use of color hardens the image, showing the man not only has wisdom and experience but also confidence in his world view.

In addition to the color, Brumm added texture to the man’s beard, uniquely grounding the subject. Using the freedom that abstract realism provides, Brumm adds depth to the painting, creating an image that leaves a lasting impression.

The blurring of artistic boundaries

Brumm’s penchant for the arts started at a young age. Not only does she have a love for visual arts, but she also has a passion for dancing.

“It’s more about the music itself and the expression,” says Brumm explaining her love of dance. I think that, originally, dance wasn’t related to my painting. I [painted] since I was little and did portraits all the time. But, [I] do have a series that focuses on the dance and the movement. Dance is rich and deeply emotional.”

Brumm’s roots connect to Spain, so it should come as no surprise one of the first dances she learned from a young age was flamenco. She was even able to join a tango dance troupe here in Colorado. The balance of movement and structure found within ballroom dance isn’t surprising when considering Brumm’s affinity for abstract realism.

An article on Medium characterized this crossover between the arts: “Both visual and performing arts serve as powerful mediums for the expression of emotions, ideas, and narratives. Artists and performers use their chosen medium, be it paint, sculpture, dance, or theater, to convey complex feelings and thoughts, tell stories, and connect with audiences on a deep emotional level.”

Brumm is working on a series that focuses on this crossover by extending the focus to the movement of dancers. She has a piece where a woman expresses herself through hip-hop movements, and she’s currently working on another piece that’s of a flamenco dancer.

The artist’s control of AI

Brumm’s perspective on artificial intelligence is unique as she is both an engineer and an artist. The threat of AI has been ever present, as Brumm sees it, and as some of the other creators in this series have attested to, AI is just a tool to be harnessed.

Unrestrained Energy

“Well, as a former engineer who always worked with technology, I love robotics,” Brumm confesses. “I love disruption technology. I think people my age who have experienced decades know the challenge in changing technology can scare people. But, it is inevitable.”

She uses AI to make sketches when she has an idea. Then she begins to edit lines, angles, and colors. Brumm admitted that whenever she uses a prompt, the resulting sketch is never good enough. AI is the assistant to her creative process; she is the director of the process.

“AI has been among us for decades,” says Brumm. “But, now it’s in everybody’s reach. It’s a tool.”

A small survey conducted by Playform found 65% of participating artists use AI to do some initial sketches. Though the evidence is a small sample size, Brumm painted the picture of how AI can streamline the creation process and, like most labor-saving technology, is leaning toward becoming a mainstay in the artist’s creation process.

The subtle themes

As the subjects of Brumm’s work are from a variety of different locales, the ideas of migration and global citizenry, although subtle, can also be found in her choice of subject and her craftsmanship. In a piece titled, “The British Library” by Yinka Shonibare, curator Achim Borchardt-Hume explored the nuances: “Migration to me feels ‘normal.’ I am aware that I am saying this from the privileged position of having had a choice. Hardly a migration, yours, some may say. Yet, I chose to migrate. To me, not to belong feels like an open place to be in.”

As her mother is originally from Spain, having such a close connection to another country gave Brumm a unique lens. Abstract realism as a vehicle allows Brumm the space to shift borders, broaden structures, and add extra elements to her work. Portraying subjects from as far away as Tibet and as close to home as Colorado, the lines blur ever so gently, while always letting the core of humanity, the well of emotions, tell the story. Even as Brumm moves to work on a commercial line focused on elements specific to Colorado, she wants to use the physical elements of Colorado to make the pieces unique to this area.

“I’m actually taking something that is very unique to Colorado, which is the change between winter and spring, from nature. It’s something we have that is beautiful. And, to be honest I haven’t seen people paint it.”

She wanted to incorporate the texture involved in the transition from winter to spring and spoke of creating cards. Having a card infused with actual Colorado soil, rocks, or leaves sent across the globe would be a creative turn in Brumm’s artistic process while still carrying the heart of her work.

Where the heart will lead

Currently, Brumm has lots of things brewing. She has plans for shows across the world in places like Greece and, weather pending, Dubai. Brumm often does paintings for auctions that benefit charities. The details on how this will manifest are evolving, but she hopes to have something for the holidays along the lines of textured Christmas cards. What is surprising, despite near worldwide exposure, is her goal of having a local show of her work here in Colorado.

“I think that I would feel accomplished in different ways if I could show all my work in a local museum. Or in a local space where people can see it. Pearl Street, a Boulder museum, but as I said I’m not actively looking at that yet. I want to have enough [paintings]. It will come.”

Brumm stepped forward in her career as a painter with the grace of a dancer. Until her local showing in Colorado becomes a reality, she will continue her journey from Greece to Colorado, wherever she ends up, she simply wants to go with the flow.

Like journalism like this? Consider becoming a sustaining supporter (and get our printed copy monthly at home.)
Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

Democracy needs journalism more than ever. We’ve been telling the truth for 24 years. Your support helps us keep telling it for at least the next four years.

The post The Artists: Painting in the Dissonance appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Nancy Smith,  founder of Frequent Flyers Aerial Dance Company, confessed that the movements of animals or bugs don’t really influence her aerial dance choreography. However, one can’t help but see a caterpillar’s fate in her story. As someone trained in traditional dance, grounded with balance on the balls of their feet and control in the core of the body, her focus has changed. All it took was a workshop with Bob Davidson Colorado Dance Festival in 1987, and Smith was transformed. Her love of dance lifted off the ground into controlled flight. In 1988, she founded Frequent Flyers, an aerial dance company located in Boulder, and has been teaching classes and putting on performances ever since.

A brief history of aerial dance

The art of aerial dance has roots stretching back about 2,000 years into China’s history, connecting it to circus arts like aerial trapeze. However, the modern take — taut cloth hanging from the ceiling, people binding themselves within it, holding the body in  shape, and swinging in patterns through the air — evolved from “the postmodern movement” in the late sixties. “There is some circus influence, but at the time, it was more about people pushing the boundaries of what dance is,” Smith said of the art form’s origin. As previously featured dancer Helanius J. Wilkins” was inspired to express himself through movement from his experiences with childhood fear, Smith had a childhood love of climbing trees and swaying from limbs that guided her to aerial:

“I had been working with a company in Seattle dancing, moved to Colorado, and one of the people had started doing dance trapeze. I saw a show and immediately said, “That’s it. That’s what I want to do.”

“There is some circus influence, but at the time, it was more about people pushing the boundaries of what dance is,” Smith said of the art form’s origin.

However, it takes more than desire to become an aerial dancer. Smith shared the technicalities of transitioning from a traditional, grounded dance to aerial dance:

“It’s much more use of the vertical space. I will sometimes tell the students imagine the space is like a chemistry beaker. You’re trying to fill the entire beaker, not just the bottom few milliliters. You’re trying to be inside every part of this beaker. With aerial you can be up against the ceiling, and you can be swinging to the side in a way you can’t do even with another person lifting you.

“And, then, it’s the sensation, being off the ground and swinging and flying and climbing. I spent my childhood in trees and spinning until I got dizzy and fell down. “

For Smith, aerial dance has become the perfect marriage for all those feelings.

The discomfort of evolution

When training new students, she echoed a phrase uttered by high school football coaches around the globe: “Are you hurt, or are you injured?” While the line might prompt a chuckle for its seemingly tough tone, Smith emphasizes the importance of making that distinction:

“There’s discomfort and then there’s pain, the type of pain that says, ““I’m injuring myself.” And we try to help them understand the difference. Over time, your brain stops telling you it hurts, like hanging by my knees. If I had not been in the air for a long time, I’m like ““Ahh man, I forgot how much this hurts.” Then the next thing is: I don’t feel it anymore. At some point your body will tell you that you’re not being injured by this. You don’t need to keep sounding the alarm. Plus, for the thrill of being upside down,what’s a little discomfort?”

I had been working with a company in Seattle dancing, moved to Colorado, and one of the people had started doing dance trapeze. I saw a show and immediately said, “That’s it. That’s what I want to do.”

When teaching aerial dance, Smith ensures students are comfortable with the transition. As human beings lack wings or the ability to make a web, transitioning into a state of being that requires a person to move in a completely different space — feet off the ground and now dependent on silks dangling from the ceiling. Trust has to be earned. We’re not natural flyers.

“The interesting thing about aerial, especially teaching it to other people: you know people bump up against their fear all the time. It starts with your feet on the ground, but the next part of it is comfort with being upside down.

“[There’s] lots of hands-on spotting, a lot of queuing as to where to go in space, but you’re always training it on the ground first. Let’s say you’re going to do a straddle in the air, which is basically like splits. You practice it on the ground. You roll back onto your shoulders to feel what it’s like to invert into that position. Building strength in your core, then you translate that strength in the air.

“Even in cases where many students enter the studio walled-up with apprehension, they leave the studio with the sensation of gleefully flying.  Smith said, “It’s a wonderful experience to move past fear into achievement. You can feel quite elated. It gives you this feeling of elation and accomplishment.””

So many words for snow

Coincidently, the theme of transformation is central to the next major piece the Frequent Flyers are currently working on: snow. For the Frequent Flyers, the importance of snow is something that they’ve been meaning to turn into a piece of performance art for a while, as one of her performers is also an ice core scientist who travels to Greenland and Alaska:

“So, this particular show is a collaboration with myself, my long-time teacher performers named Valerie Morris, and Issac Endo. The three of us are co-creating a performance that will be at the Dairy. Valerie, her day job is an ice core scientist. She’s had an idea for a long time to do a piece about snow and all the incarnations of snow. Evaporation to crystallization and so on. So, we all agreed — the three of us — that we are going to make a show called “Ways to See Snow.” We’re taking different approaches to what are all the aspects of snow. Valerie, being a scientist, she’s approaching it more like how to depict hoarfrost, for example, physically with the apparatus and making that image come to life on the screen. The work I’m doing for the show is more qualitative. I’m working on a piece called “Thunder Snow.” I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a thunderstorm while it’s snowing, it’s very weird. And, Isaac is doing a piece about how everyone is warm but him.”

“It’s a wonderful experience  to move past fear into achievement. You can feel quite elated. It gives you this feeling of elation and accomplishment.”

Smith’s mention of all the different types of snow echoes the grade school story about certain groups within the Inuit culture not only having the language for the types of snow but also having science prove they are correct in the importance of having such distinctions.  From the National Snow and Ice Data Center:

“We all associate snowstorms with cold weather, but snow’s influence on the weather and climate continues long after the storm ends. Because snow is highly reflective, a vast amount of sunlight that hits the snow is reflected back into space instead of warming the planet. Without snow cover, the ground absorbs about four to six times more of the sun’s energy. The presence or absence of snow controls patterns of heating and cooling over Earth’s land surface more than any other single land surface feature.”

This manifests in changing avalanche patterns, influence on global food, migration patterns, etc. — so much power in such a gentle thing. The idea of snow doesn’t evoke the doomsday images from the Book of Revelation. However, snow shares a bond with water, which is a life-giving element as it sustains nearly everything on the planet. But, as nearly every ancient culture has a flood myth, water can be a life-taking element. Snow’s impact is surprisingly vast, and the Frequent Flyers are preparing diligently to showcase the reaches of its complexity.

It’s not there yet

When discussing the future of aerial dance choreography, the topic of artificial intelligence came up because Smith had already experimented with the technology.  She discovered that, while its current state is as bad as it will ever be, it still has a way to go when it comes to informing the world of choreographed dance:

Our last December show was exactly that, [a spoof]. We poked fun at Alexa. We used AI to generate imagery that was projected. It started out, though, by asking AI to choreograph something. I gave it some specific parameters. That’s what got us into the spoof idea because it was so stupid what came out of it. It just wasn’t even interesting.

However, while AI is extremely limited in its ability to create, there are claims that it can help with the finer points of dancing. According to a Dance Channel TV article:

“AI-powered tools can analyze a dancer’s performance and provide real-time feedback on technique, posture, and movement precision. By using motion capture technology and advanced algorithms, AI can create tailored training programs that address individual weaknesses and enhance strengths.”

In other words, when it comes to the craft elements of dance — the angles and shapes the body is meant to make — AI can be useful. However, when it comes to creating a piece of choreography as Smith’s experience has shown, AI still has a long way to go.

It’s never too late to learn how to fly

Transformation, from traditional dance to aerial dance, from apprehensive students to flying apprentices, from snow to water, is at the heart of the Frequent Flyer’s story. Smith’s passion for the performance art of aerial dance comes through in the certainty of which she speaks about it. She knows its power to impact the audience and its potential to transform the performer:

“This is something that appeals to people across all ages and experience. It’s a very accessible art form. And, we teach students from age five to — I have a student who is 74. She started out when she was 70. It is an amazing opportunity to have this in our community. “

The post The Artists: Oh, the View from Up Here; How Nancy Smith turned a childhood love of dangling from trees into dance appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Jim Morrissey, editorial cartoonist and a creative director in advertising, remembers how crudely drawn the character designs of The Simpsons were when it was a short on “The Tracey Ullman Show.” We talked about the evolution of his own work, the need for political cartoons, and how they function as a means to speak truth to power.

Modern iconoclasts

Around the 8th or 9th century, a group of dissidents formed a movement led by people known as the iconoclasts, which translates to “break likeness” or “image breaking.” History doesn’t note an inciting incident. Rather it reveals an incoming tide that was swelling for years as many iconoclasts would find the imagery of Mary, saints, and anything not pertaining to Jesus himself to be in contradiction with the second commandment — do not worship God through an idol.

Satire does not possess the heft and consequence of this movement, but at their roots, they have nearly the same philosophies: They both see a lofted image, something put on a pedestal for the sake of celebration or reverence and aim to challenge that placement, which is to say, they’re not better than the rest of us.  The original iconoclasts railed against images of the church while the modern iconoclasts challenge celebrity, the icons of today, through parody and satire.

Satirists mean to check power, an idea Morrissey would often come back to when he reflected on why he became a political cartoonist in the first place:

My local newspaper [printed] something dumb like, “We’re going to start arresting people who let their cats out at night!” I’m like, “This is the stupidest waste of paper.” I remember just drawing something and laughing and calling the newspaper saying, “Hey, can you guys run this?” And they said, “Sure. Hey, would you like to do this every week for us?” It was a good way of feeling like, as a citizen, you can have an opinion on something, and there was a way to get it out there.

The article “Satire: Comedy for Democracy” offers a similar sentiment when addressing the value of satire in the modern world:

“Satire also acts as a societal pressure valve. It provides a means for the public to cope with the often disheartening realities of political life. Through humor, we find a way to confront our frustrations and fears about governance and policies.

By mocking the powerful, satirists remind them (and ourselves) that they are not above scrutiny. In regimes where freedom of speech is stifled, satire often bubbles up as subversive art, challenging authority and sparking debate. Even in democracies, it keeps leaders from becoming too detached, puncturing their egos with wit.”

Morrissey echoed the sentiments of a previous artist in our series, Steve Skelton, in his love for the sardonic parody and satire of Mad Magazine and Gary Larson’s “The Far Side.” He would go on to say:

[Mad] was kind of like the holy grail for me growing up. Whatever movie was big or whatever thing was going on in culture, they were right there to parody it and make fun of it. They just had amazing writing, amazing artists. Mort Drucker, Sergio Garcia —  they just had this cast of people on staff that would just capture stuff. Couldn’t wait to get the new one. My friends and I would swap ’em or share ’em. To me, those were just rich with stories, content, art I could just copy, pre-internet.

He would go on to laud the works of Larson’s “The Far Side”:

“The Far Side” is another great example. That was science, biology, sci-fi, anthropology making fun of the whole human condition with animals and space. And, he would boil it down to what I would even consider to be like an Instagram post today. It was short and sweet for a little kid to open the panel and go, “Got it! Yep!” Gary Larson could just create magic in such a short space to make it come to life.

In a lecture given by Professor Kerry Soper, who himself worked with the Larson syndicate to publish his comics online, he talked about Larson’s approach to satire and how why it became so pervasive within the world of satirists:

For example, at one point he spoke on Larson’s tendency to “deflate or parody?genre entertainment myths, fairy tales” saying he was “kind of like the anti-Disney — like all the sweet platitudes you might get in a movie like Bambi are brought right down to?earth with his?naturalistic view of things.” To illustrate this point, he displayed a comic with the caption, “That evening, with her blinds pulled,?Mary had three helpings of corn,?two baked potatoes,?extra bread, and a little?lamb.”

The final point made by Soper about Larson’s work is what makes this kind of commentary important. Within this example of Bambi, even though we see deer grow up, the hunters are still out there. He hasn’t escaped the menu. A harrowing thought, yes, but the most likely outcome for his story.

The political turn

Considering all the influences that Morrissey has taken from Mad and “The Far Side,” one of the more interesting reveals was that those weren’t the influences that led him to political commentary. It was a library book he couldn’t remember the name of:

With political stuff I remember a book. I was at the library. I think it was 741, Dewey Decimal System. I don’t even remember who the politicians were. It was just something that I couldn’t let go of because of the art behind it, how simple it was, how stripped down it was. And, it wasn’t Mad Magazine, and it was “The Far Side,” but there was something intriguing about this world where you can kind of speak truth to power.

Morrissey would then mention the current political climate as we approach what has been an election cycle for the ages:

I was having dinner with some folks, and we were talking politics while keeping it friendly over dinner. But, I look back to July of this year, and July of this year was just one of those watershed moments in American history where I don’t think we all realize,  Wow, here you have one of the worst debates ever. Like Nixon/Kennedy back in the 60s, where Biden just shriveled under the — you know, we just saw what we’d all been thinking. And, then the assassination attempt, then “Biden step down — I’m not stepping down — Biden step down — Grandpa, take your medicine.” And, just to see all that transpire within a 30-day window was pretty remarkable.

And, even though this period has been extremely content rich, Morrissey shed some light on the trappings of such a time period:

This time is one of the richest times in the sense of there’s so much to dissect. But, the other, I guess I’ll call it a trap with it is: It’s easy to fall into the easy gag with it all. ‘Oh I can do this,’ then you look online after you’re done and see five other cartoonists have done it. So, what’s good about it is there’s a lot of ripe things for the pickings that are there for your interpretation. How do you go beyond the easy punchline? … Even when Trump was in office from 2016 to 2020, I felt myself becoming numb to parody shows like “The Daily Show.” All they’re doing is putting actors in a room to reenact what happened this week. And, I don’t blame the writers, but as a creative person you have to figure out what’s a new way to interpret what’s going on with this. How do we as creative [people] raise our level to do something completely different?

It’s inherently human

Artificial intelligence, the ever-divisive subject among the artistic community, is something that Morrissey sees as one more tool to master. As he works in both the world of political art and advertising, the inevitable future where AI is in all facets of work life is fast approaching and many have a great degree of trepidation:

I’m part of a symposium of folks in the creative world, and they were like, ‘Hey, we’re having an emergency meeting. We’re just going to talk about what AI is going to do to our business. I just remember getting on, and there were so many glum faces. Everyone just looked like it’s the end of the world. The end of the world!’ Then one guy goes, “I don’t know if anyone remembers the show on FOX called, “How did you do that?”” It was how magicians share their tricks. And, one magician was going to share all the tricks: coin behind the ear, saw a woman in half.

He would recount how many of the magicians within the community responded with deep-rooted anger. They were worried that a magician revealing the secrets was ruining magic. However, Morrissey would go on to talk about the response from the magician who was revealing the secrets, who stated so to the effect of “No. We need to up our game.”

He would further state, “’Collectively, magic will get better!’ We need to stop being threatened by something that is only innately human. We call it artificial, but all the information is from humans. For me I just want to know the tools. At the end of the day, it’s just another tool in the chest.”

A recent announcement in The Art Newspaper brings Morrissey’s views on AI to the forefront. Morrissey plays around with tools like Midjourney to get a sense of how AI works in the artistic fields. He assesses that we call it AI, but all the data used is inherently human, which is why this announcement of Dataland is so interesting. Per The Art Newspaper, “Refik Anadol Studio today announced plans for the world’s first museum of artificial intelligence (AI) arts. The museum, Dataland, is due to be launched in 2025, with a flagship location at the Frank Gehry-designed development The Grand LA in downtown Los Angeles.”

What’s even more interesting is that the artist’s studio, Refik Anadol Studio, has a  “trademark data style” which is something, as of writing this piece, has little to no precedent, but as use of AI rises, will probably be something we hear more of in the future. In any case, much like Morrissey surmised, it’s a tool we need to learn how to use. And, if artists want to produce work that will lure people away from museums like Dataland, they’ll need to “up their game.”

The worst thing to happen to an artist

Morrissey ended the interview by referencing Rocky, which is less surprising the more it’s given thought. Rocky’s story is that of a fighter, a habitual line-stepper who refused to accept that living in the box he was placed in was enough and always fought for more. Seeing the similarities between the fight within a boxer and the fight within an artist is fitting, even more so when said artist sees the world as iconoclasts did — with a want to combat by questioning those in power. When referencing Mickey’s advice to Balboa in the third film, Morrissey phrased it this way:

‘The worst thing that can happen, happened to you, you got civilized.’ I think that as creators, we can’t ever get civilized in what we do. We just always make sure to keep our backs against the wall. Not in a bad way. Not in a ‘We got to martyrs for the art.’ But, in a sense with everything becoming more AI, and things look very AI sometimes, we can’t ever be civilized in a sense of ‘It’s easy.’ We still need to try hard at what we do.

Jim Morrissey, The Colorado Sun, photo credit: Duston Doskocil, Dosko Photography

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The post The Artists: The Way To Be Uncivilized appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Beginning at the end

In addition to crediting his wife Liz for much of their collective success, Kenny Vasko often talked about musicians as human beings. Adaptability and accommodation are key components to the success of their record studio, Dog House Music Studio. One could argue that’s why Dog House has solidified itself as a mainstay in Lafayette, with the performance space “The End” serving as a musical nest for about seventy patrons to enjoy live shows. The Vaskos love to give back. From open mics to “Women’s Jam,” The End allows Lafayette to celebrate the art of music and the people who make it. This love comes from a genuine place that carried them through a very tough time in their lives.

The ordinary world

The first stage of the hero’s journey is meant to set up a point of contrast. The “known” or “ordinary world” is a simple and traditional life grounded in real world expectations such as in J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” where Frodo loves hanging around, reading, and eating under hills and trees while playing pranks. These ideals are comparable to a small town or suburb where life is meant to be seen as quaint, easy, and expected. Then, within a way too short of time, he’s called to meet elves, dwarves, and men to fight orcs, trolls, and balrogs — things he’d only ever heard of in stories.

Kenny Vasko’s story started on this same spoke of the hero’s journey cycle:

“Let’s go down memory lane here. Like everyone else that went to college, I was in a band. I was the frontman. I was the high energy low talent guy that would get the crowd going. It was awesome. It was friendships I still have. Then I graduated and I got my first paycheck from a tax software company and was like, ‘Oh great! I can let these dreams die.’”

Becoming a Certified Public Accountant was a surprising fit as Vasko is an extroverted person in an introverted industry. But Vasko was a facilitator. “I’d start to make a name for myself in that way. I wasn’t the person working on a spreadsheet until three in the morning. But, I would be on the phone making sure the client was happy with what we were doing. It was good for me career wise, but I did feel like a square peg in a round hole from an emotional standpoint.”

The call

In the cycle of storytelling, there is something that pulls the protagonist away from the known world. Sadly, for Vasko, the call came with an unexpected tragedy:

“My wife and I got married in 2016, and about a week after we got back from our honeymoon, my mother found out that she had cancer. We didn’t know how long she had to live… like a month after I got married, my wife agreed to move to a small town as opposed to the Denver-Boulder-metropolitan area. And, that experience really changed us both professionally. My wife was an urban planner. She has a master’s degree. It’s something that she’s always wanted to do and after the experience of loss when my mother did pass away just a few months later, it really did drive home the point that tomorrow is not promised today.”

When they went back to work they both decided that it didn’t feel right, so they quit their jobs at the same time. Vasko took on the tax books of friends and family to keep afloat financially. He unexpectedly found himself with over one hundred clients and in desperate need of an office. “We were looking through different websites of real estate for lease or whatever then we saw this building for sale, it comes with a music studio.” Vasko likened this discovery to accepting the invitation to peruse the dessert menu. “Yeah, we’ll take a look at the menu.”

What the Vasko family discovered when digging into the details was this was a space rented by about 70 or so musicians. However, once they started to get a vision of what the place could be, they were informed that it was set to be demolished. Initially, they had accepted defeat. But, “Then we took a good long look in the mirror and thought, ‘let’s try and save it. What did we have to lose?’”

With a little finagling, they convinced the initial buyer, who had the rights site unseen, to come and look at the space so he would have a clear understanding of what he would be taking away from the community. “He flew in from Hawaii and within a couple weeks was like, ‘Oh man. I made a mistake. Do you want it?’” From there it was off to the banks in a mad dash search of a loan. That chapter of the story ended on 525 Courtney Way, Lafayette, and they’ve been adding pages to this day.

Crossing the threshold, assembling a crew 

Along with the studio came an inheritance of a mad scientist’s lab. “When we bought it, it looked like a guitar center threw up in it. It was the old owner’s old projects. A lot of stuff that might have worked in the seventies or eighties that no longer worked.” Since then they have renovated a whole wing, got a liquor license, put a music venue in the back, and now serve about six hundred musicians a year.

It wasn’t done by the Vaskos alone. Much like the Fellowship from “Lord of the Rings” or the Straw Hat Pirates from “One Piece,” they knew they’d need a crew. “My wife and I were the first employees. And, after about a month of working seven days a week, we were like ‘this is not sustainable.’” Which set them out on a quest to find a crew. Vasko made sure to shout out his lead engineer and part owner, John Remington, first. “He has an amazing bedside manner with musicians. He understands their motivations and their challenges. He runs the recording studio.” Krista, the studio manager, showed the Vaskos that music fans can make the best employees despite any blank spaces on a resume. “We found that music supporters can be better catered to be employees at spaces like this as opposed to musicians. Krista has a customer service background. All the soft skills she possesses cannot be taught. She manages the studio on a day-to-day basis. Then also does sound checks and audio engineering.”

Kenny Vasko lamented that for a time he had leaned on unpaid internships to help with the workload, but has since found a way to make the internship a paid position. “They were all unpaid for college credit. And, we started feeling really guilty about it, to be honest. Now we just got a seed donation to do paid internships which is somewhat unheard of in the music industry. We established a non-profit called “Rock for the People.” The non-profit’s mission is to create those paid opportunities or marketing tools that people need to succeed in the music industry from historically underrepresented communities. For instance, less than five percent of audio engineers are women — and even less than that are women of color — so my wife and I feel like we have a mission to make sure that the future of music isn’t all old white straight dudes.”

The ordeal

The Lafayette Music Festival has grown in notoriety over the years; however, getting support for the event was earned through perseverance and hard work. And, one can’t have a hero’s story without a trial. For the Vaskos, it started with the COVID outbreak in 2020. “We never really hosted a show. We’ve never hosted a ticketed show before. We were only a year and some change into owning the building. It sold out! It was an amazing evening…We were like we can do this.” Then COVID hit.

Not to be deterred, the Vaskos pivoted to live-streaming, something Kenny likened to the portals created by Doctor Strange from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. They knew they had to do whatever was in their power to keep the doors open. “You’re doing the long game when doing anything based on partnerships. Most partnerships are a long game, it takes a long time to build trust. We called a lot of people when we wanted to do the festival and they were like ‘That all sounds great. Call us when you’re in year two?”

Then Vaskos followed suit. They called in year two and got more people on board. Then they had people call them for year three. “Now this is the first year that we have gained enough sponsors and partner venues that even if not another ticket is sold, we’ll be able to pay all the artists. But, that took three years of doing a lot of volunteer work.”

Sharing of boons

Dog House Music Studios is one of the largest in the area with a twenty-three studio complex. The space is accommodating enough that when the artist Babyface came through for the former mayor’s inauguration, Doghouse accommodated his multi-faceted needs.

Further, as a studio, the Vaskos make sure that the mission of aiding and helping musicians is at the center of everything they do:

“We’re very hands-on about everything. Musicians are human beings. On one hand, we have younger musicians who are very talented but are trying to find their way to booking shows or getting music recorded we consult with them. We help them do marketing. Get their stuff on Spotify. We also host open mics and songwriters circles… One of our major tenets is that every musician has a different definition of success. Some musicians want to play Red Rocks and that’s a different path [than] some musicians who want to play Tom Petty covers to [their] friends four times a year at [their] favorite bar.”

So much of Kenny Vasko’s message was about stewardship, service, and giving back to the community. “I am nothing without other people. I just want to get that across that like any small business or any independent organization, it truly is the bond that you have with those folks.  That really makes everything shine.”

When I asked Kenny about his final thoughts, he brought up his wife, Liz. He mentioned again how she was with him through the toughest time in his life. She co-captained the ship that would become Doghouse Music and is the star of fostering care for the musical arts. The way he spoke of her was reminiscent of a Buddhist sutra on solitude and companionship, “If you gain a companion, one who is worthy of intertwining their soul with your own then you shall overcome all dangers. Let your heart rejoice and go with them.”

The post The Artists: A Whole Crew in the Dog House appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

A poem is not a bullet. A poem is not a windfall inheritance. A poem, however, still possesses the power to change a life. Z’s story sets a path for this kind of understanding. ZBassSpeaks, Poet Laureate of Lafayette, lover of science and hip-hop, was born mute yet was given voice and the power to name themself through poetry.

Identifying your voice

A measure of artistic expression in any art is understanding one’s voice. It is the most essential element to developing a style. Once voice and style are established, a writer begins to root the identifiable elements of their work that distinguish them. Antony Sher wrote of Shakespeare and Marlowe:

“Shakespeare is full of subtle, complex, delicate flavours; Marlowe is rougher, more raw. And then there’s their use of the iambic pentameter. Marlowe’s mighty lines have a thumping regularity to them. Shakespeare is like a master jazz musician, both keeping to the beat and jamming round it.

So to those people who suggest that Marlowe wasn’t killed, but went on to write all of Shakespeare, I believe it’s simply impossible. Shakespeare couldn’t be Marlowe — or anyone else.”

Even within the same poetic structure, there can be a clear difference in identity, voice, and style. This makes Z’s story even more powerful because Z was born mute, they were on the verge of having a completely different life trajectory after getting arrested for shoplifting. Then one day Z crossed paths with Ms. Ramirez, an English as a second language teacher with a passion for poetry. She convinced Z to join the poetry club. “I didn’t do it for the sake of the art. I did it because I felt like I could talk, and I could in turn be heard,” said Z.

Stage vs. page

When the word “poetry” is uttered, for whatever reason, it evokes ideas of ineffability. There is a sacred nature to the word, and it seems only those with a deep understanding of the art can truly appreciate it. Academics often consider themselves the authority of poetry. This can be a point of contention between schools of thought with the writing program that tends to hold the crafting aspect of the poem in higher regard, and the drama program that tends to hold the performance aspect in higher regard. And, almost without fail, if one listened to the conversations held in the hallways, some form of this discussion would come up. Z, however, doesn’t let it influence how they approach crafting their work.

“For me, I don’t care. I don’t care so much about it because it’s so different. Maybe too different. Yes, they have the same ancestry, but they’re too distinguishable from one another. I will switch back and forth. Sometimes I just want it to be written well and interpret it how it is. But, there are some times where I have a vision and a set that I want to deliver, so I will take it upon myself to perform it and only perform it.”

As Z pointed out, outside of those academic hallways, it doesn’t matter. Poetry doesn’t fit in a specific box. It lives far outside those halls.

Hip-Hop is poetry

Consider a conversation between a teacher and a student. The student asks the teacher a simple question: Can hip-hop be considered poetry? After a few moments of pen-bitten hems and haws, the teacher responds, “No.” When the student asks why, the teacher responds, “It’s too simplistic. The music doesn’t use enough poetic devices.”

The story shows yet another disconnect within the world of poetry. Can poetry come from outside academia and still add value to the legacy? The teacher, who perhaps doesn’t have a deep enough understanding of the genre, reduces the art form to the most fundamental elements. As Djaz’s “The Poetry of Hip-Hop” states, “At the most fundamental level, hip-hop and poetry both play with sound, turning them into meaning and then back to sound again, declaimed alone or to the sound of a drum machine or coiled inside a catchy song, verse/rhythm/rhyme….”

The difference between the two sides is that the teacher doesn’t see that the art of hip-hop is evolving by way of its use of poetic devices, focusing on using sound to create a deeper experience. The teacher also doesn’t consider how massive an influence hip-hop can have on the modern poet.

“I’ve been writing poetry practically my entire life since I’m only 26. My style of poetry has evolved a whole lot over the years. As far as influences, it kind of depends on what poem I’m trying to go for. If it’s a performance, I have taken a lot of inspiration from hip-hop, learning for myself that I can memorize things quicker when they rhyme. I appreciate the complexity of double entendre and inner schemes, creating a dense poem especially when it comes to social issues. Hip-hop can get complicated super fast. For me, I love the lyrical “Never Freestyle” by Coast Contra. It is the culmination of what hip-hop is and can be. There’s four MCs on the track, and each one has its own flavor. For one, not only can you enjoy it as a song, but there’s stories being told. When you catch it, it’s like, ‘Oh my God.’” This is not just a pop song. Like, the last rapper where it’s kind of choppy, it’s a date gone wrong. The layers in it is just genius to me.”

As Z alluded, the last MC in “Never Freestyle” tells a story of a date that turned violent on them, leaving the protagonist of the story battered and bruised. However, what’s interesting is how the story is delivered. As Z stated, the delivery is choppy, but the purpose behind shaping that sound was meant to evoke a connection to the sound effects from older martial arts films or the sound of strikes being traded in fighting games. The construction and use of sound delivers a complete artistic experience. This is the power of poetry in hip-hop.

Magic in poetry

One of the discussions within the halls of academia is the humbling of poetry. The idea of poetry being on a pedestal is often debated. If poetry is elevated at too high a level, then not many people will appreciate it. They’ll miss a chance to engage with the art altogether because it’s considered such a lofty, sacred thing. This isn’t to say certain poems can’t impact the reader in a life-changing way, but it’s often a question of how we get the reader to sit and read the poem in the first place. Z spoke on this as part of his responsibilities as a poet laureate:

“I do feel compelled to at least introduce poetry or expose people to poetry. It’s kind of an underappreciated art form. Everybody loves the muralist, the sculpture, the pottery — you know, things that are visible and tangible. What goes underappreciated is the written word or the spoken word. That’s something that can continue in different forms. Poetry is everywhere. If you have a favorite song, you have experienced poetry.”

As a poet laureate, one of the main responsibilities Z carries is getting people to see the wonder, not only opening the door to poetry but encouraging people to walk through it. “One of my favorite things to do when working with young people in my workshops is to use magic,” explained Z. They laud their “fruit card trick” in its ability to clear a path to wonder and a student’s desire to engage in writing, reading, and hearing poetry.

Magician Jason Lattington put it, “As Plato would say, aporia — where we’re faced with something that renders us literally speechless: ‘It must have an explanation, but how could it? I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make sense of it.’ The difference is that, in virtue of being directed at the real, the experience of wonder carries a weight the experience of magic can never match.”

When Z uses magic to teach poetry, they use curiosity as a guiding light that leads others to cross the threshold, taking their first steps into a love of the arts.

To name something

The fairytale of Rumpelstiltskin best exemplifies the power of knowing someone’s true name. The metaphor, of course, leans into the idea that even if a tiny demonic imp threatens your livelihood or someone you love, if you can name it, you can then have control over it. As Dr. Krystine I. Batcho wrote on the power of names:

“On a deeper level, however, names are intimately connected to identity. Labels for things are arbitrary as they vary by language. The words for table, clock, or horse depend upon the language we use. Our name, on the other hand, can remain wherever we go and in whatever language we speak. Our name thereby serves to sustain our sense of continuity of self, despite the constant transitions we experience throughout our lives.”

Batcho further explains, “Names illustrate one of the basic paradoxical tensions in human dynamics — the desire to be known and the desire to be private. Being known is essential to maintaining authentic relationships. At the same time, revealing certain aspects of ourselves can threaten the security that privacy provides. There may be parts of who we think we are and behaviors or attitudes from our past that we no longer value and wish to leave behind.”

Z spoke about how they came to be known as ZBassSpeaks and how it felt like a necessary part of their evolution in understanding who they were as a poet. This evolution has empowered them.

“My legal name is a combination of both Maya, Spanish, and Bosnian if the story being told to me is correct. My name was just funky from the get-go. For the longest time, I was given a different nickname for people who could not pronounce my name. But, slowly I started to feel like it was no longer part of me, it was something put on me. As I got older and more involved with poetry, called me up to read. I really kind of doubted myself there. So, I took the nickname and chopped it all off to just one letter — Z. It’s a beautiful shape. It also enables me to go last [in open mics].

The name evolved by adding Bass because their voice has a naturally lower register. Further, they also like the play on the name as it sounds a bit like German: “Zee Bass Speaks,” as in, they are the voice, and we are compelled to listen.

The next steps

Within the writing arts, there is a concept known as being a good literary citizen. The idea is that someone passionate about arts should spread the good word and encourage those around them to contribute in some way and give back to the community that fed them, kept them safe, and gave them direction.

For Z, these citizens are Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, who inspire hope and wonder respectively, and Z’s teacher Ms. Ramirez, who shared her love of poetry.

Now, Z is ready to give back in the best way they know how. In addition to having two books come out this year amongst other projects, Z is taking on typewriter poetry, a there-and-gone practice that takes in elements of freestyle rap. Typewriter poetry means Z sits in a public space and has a person come up to them with a word or an idea. Z then takes about six minutes to spontaneously write a complete poem tailored to that suggestion. They encourage anyone who is interested, if they see them in a public space, to stop by and receive a personalized typewriter poem free of charge.

Z is at every Art Night Out in Lafayette. And, if you have the time, come up and engage with them.

The post The Artists: Now You Hear Me appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

For Helanius J. Wilkins, a multihyphenate choreographer, it’s about the conversation. During the interview, Wilkins reached back to Louisiana, where his artistic journey began, narrating every significant milestone as we trekked the path that led him to Boulder, where he will unveil the third iteration of his work, “The Conversation Series: Stitching the Geopolitical Quilt to Re-Body Belonging,” sometime this fall. “The Conversation Series” is an evolving work that demands a lot of Wilkins, but he understands the call. He sees what he has inherited from the artists he admires and what it means to leave something behind for those who have yet to come.

Even Fear is a Dance

While there wasn’t a single flashpoint moment that Wilkins could pinpoint as the singular event that made him fall in love with dance, what was surprising is the fact that his affinity for expressing himself through movement didn’t start with “The Sound of Music” or the infamous “streetsweeper” scene in the classic breakdancing film “Breakin’.” It wasn’t film or dance at all. The first movement Wilkins attributes to expression was powered by fear. “As a child, I was very shy and afraid of people. The way in which I responded and expressed myself was by moving my body in some way, shape, or form, navigating the challenge, if you will. The challenge was fear, and how I navigated that was to move. And, at that time, [the movement] may have been just to scurry or hide beneath the table. Whatever it was, whether it was to grab my grandmother’s leg, it involved effort and a shift in my body. Not knowing then what I now know, I was activating how my body can be a vehicle to navigate commentary, to reorient to my surroundings, and create change.”

Wilkins’ words aid those of us who use words to understand how dance can be seen, akin to a child who can’t express what hurt them, but they can point to where they are hurt. The motion of dance often has an underlying emotion or idea that it’s trying to communicate. In “Thrive Global,” Nicolein Dellenson described what she sees as metaphors for dance: “[Let’s] talk about conversations that are more like a dance battle than anything else. I’m sure you can instantly recall similar experiences you’ve been in before. Those conversations where both parties shout their own thoughts and opinions as loudly as possible to get attention, where arguments and facts fly around and nobody is willing to give the other space, let alone have the floor.”

These conversations remind me of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” video, where he intervenes as a kind of mediator to ensure everyone is ultimately performing the same moves as one team. A dance battle is a solid example of how movement can suggest underlying emotion. People involved aren’t fighting, but the gestures are no less angry or vicious. The hurt and passion are on clear display. When Wilkins talks about scurrying for shelter, one can see how that motion and the feelings that spurred it can be the initial steps of a dance.

Representation and Inheritance

Although Wilkins doesn’t attribute the moment of seeing Alvin Ailey on PBS as the time he truly fell in love with dance, seeing Ailey’s work on TV had an undeniable impact on him: “One of my earliest childhood memories is watching a PBS special on the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and introducing himself as a choreographer and remembering that very distinctly resonating with me. Even though I didn’t know what the word ‘choreographer’ meant, this set me on a path of sorts. The power of enacting change the way that Ailey did is, in many ways, whether consciously or not, an inheritance of will. For example, before Ailey launched the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater in 1958 in New York, he learned under renowned choreographer Lester Horton. Horton’s importance in the world of American dance has several facets. As remarked on the Alvin Ailey website, notable among his vectored impact was his stance on integration in the world of dance: ‘He was also among the first choreographers in the U.S. to insist upon racial integration in his company — in his 1995 autobiography, Alvin Ailey wrote, “What it came down to was that, for Lester, his art was much more important than the color of a dancer’s skin.”’

When Horton died unexpectedly, Ailey took on a leadership role before starting his own dance company that still teaches Horton’s technique to this day. Not only that, although Ailey’s company is known for giving Black men a space to learn dance, the school’s philosophy still maintains Horton’s philosophy. The will was passed from teacher to student, and now Wilkins, with his current work, is taking on that same path.

Racism as a Pandemic

When Wilkins opened up about his experience dealing with COVID lockdown, he talked about examining what was going on with the world around him. While it put a pause in his creative process, within that time, he and his team simply learned to adapt to the new normal: “The first thing that came out was this screen dance called ‘Dirt.’ That allowed me a platform to really carry forward some of the things that were slipping away and allowed me to address things not directly related to COVID but everything that was happening that was leading to the various protests and holding structural racism as a pandemic. How this goes back to creating a space of fear, a space that needed to be examined, I was afraid to be outside. I was afraid to be in public. I was even afraid to be in my own home.” This prompted Wilkins to go back to that scene of fear from his childhood that made his body move, and with the help of his team, he discovered a way to use that fear to fuel what would become the “Conversation Series.”

Rebuilding a World One Patch at a Time

Witnessing what happened to George Floyd in broad daylight cracked and shattered my sense of place in the world. The beats were stuck on repeat: this has happened before; this will be a talking point for a while, but when it loses steam, some people in the world attempt to handwave away what we all witnessed as an isolated incident despite the clear pattern. Much has been written about that moment, the movement it sparked, and what was left in the ash once the fervor of rage burned through. Words alone, perhaps, are not enough to convey the deeply layered experience of being Black in America in a post-COVID world.

Lauren, from Natural Embodiment in Colorado, wrote about how the body can be an ally in creating dialogue and a means to treat trauma, especially when digging into the layers of one’s feelings as part of a healing process: “The drama of our lives plays out within our bodies. Moods, emotions, desires, boundaries… these are things that we feel in our muscles, hearts, and stomachs. We can dive much deeper into your WHOLE experience by tuning in to the body, allowing new insights to emerge.” When Wilkins talked about his experience in addressing racism as a pandemic, it isn’t so much protest as conversation.

“What I do is build worlds. I’m a world builder. That’s what I’m interested in. It’s not about what I can do with dance, what I can do with film, what I can do with any other form. I’m asking myself what is required to build that world. I arrive at a medium because something in the process says that’s necessary, not for the sake of spectacle.” He acknowledged there are bells and whistles in the production that chime and blow, but they only exist to embellish the overall message.

How to Make a Quilt

The image most of us think of when hearing the word “quilt” is actually a “patchwork” quilt, wherein the quilt maker takes different pieces of cloth and stitches them together to make a whole cover. Wilkins took this approach to his masterwork where he combined his background in film and dance to create a stage production that gives voice to those often unheard of by interviewing people from each of the fifty states. “It’s about me going to communities and learning what it means to be a resident where they live, what are the things they care about, what are gathering sites, what are matters of urgency. It’s not about me being centered. It’s about me being de-centered in order to learn. How do we build a world that is more inclusive? For me, it’s listening to each other.”

Wilkins talked about other aspects that dictate the “first phase” of his process: — conversations about belonging, discussing specific places within that state or city that residents can’t go to, places where their ancestors didn’t belong, and then going to those places. This is all before the stage production. Each production will play out differently as the aim is to visit all 50 states, with each new state informing and reshaping the work as he stitches old and new stories together. The most human aspect of this work is that after every cycle of this process — going to a place, speaking to a people, learning.

The post The Artists: An Inheritance of Hope appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Cowboy Bumblebee

David Sockrider, a traveling artist currently residing in Ward, doesn’t need a lot of space to work. His studio is well-windowed, providing sightlines to the natural splendor of the trees sleeved in snow. His simple wooden desk sits in front of one of these windows, the back of the desk fortified with tubes of paint, plastic cups full of brushes, and lamps angled from the desk corners to provide light and perspective.

The notion of following the art came about a lot in my conversation with Sockrider who, for reasons beyond him, found himself on a path tread by Georgia O’Keeffe, who herself was a traveling painter who steered away from pretentious living.

How One Story Ended

Sockrider at his studio in Ward

Much of Sockrider’s story navigates the waters within the popular adage, “Adversity is opportunity.” Before the infamous worldwide reset that was Covid in 2020, Sockrider was an art designer for an independent game company in Boulder, Colorado. This gaming company attempted to make tabletop and trading card games whose aim was to take on juggernauts of the industry like Magic: The Gathering. As one might expect, the venture didn’t last too long.

“Covid happened and that kind of put us out of business,” Sockrider said. “I had a room open up at Taos ski resort, and I’m a snowboarder. And the rent is about half of what it is here, so this is a no-brainer. You know? I can go anywhere I want. If I can go to a ski resort and cut my rent in half that’s a win-win to me.”

With his path set, Sockrider packed up his van and headed for the Southwest, living out the philosophy of a Jack Kerouac poem by using his will as a guiding light. As long as he follows his love of painting as an expression of his own freedom and still make money, Sockrider is “living the dream.”

Red Rocks Primitive

Forgotten Details of the Artist’s Dream

An untold detail of the artist’s dream is the number of different odd jobs they have to work in order to keep the paint cans full.Keith Haring, an American pop artist, worked as a busboy in a New York City nightclub. Abstract painter, Marc Rothko, supplemented his income by teaching sculpting and painting classes in Brooklyn.

Sockrider’s path would often take similar turns. Sockrider took to working in a hot springs spot in Arizona, painting murals in a ranch house. Another turn had him staying in a Methodist Church painting murals on crosswalks. It’s not for want of the odd job, however, Sockrider attempted to get a regular nine-to-five, but they weren’t calling back.

“I was trying to get jobs at a convenience store. I tried to get a job at the hardware store. I tried to get a job at the art store, and I couldn’t get a job!” Sockrider said.

A Haven in Taos

Wolf Maiden

Sockrider found himself in the artist collective in Taos. The collective has roots dating all the way back to the early 1900s when two artists from New York discovered their love for the southwestern landscape. These two artists seeded the idea that would become the Taos Society of Artists in 1915.

The foundation established by this collective grew in infamy, known throughout the states as a place where an artist can get a chance to make a living. Sockrider found himself within the collective while he lived down there, traipsing across the land in the fashion of a traveling artist.

“I did a lot of camping. I lived in a yurt on the edge of a mesa for a year and a half.” The yurt also served as an art studio.

While the collective in Taos lived up to its reputation of being a haven for artists. Sockrider found it difficult to make friends during his time there due to the stress that Covid placed on society at that time. Most of the aspects of living in the southwest, like going to visit pueblos and seeing indigenous living firsthand, were all closed off due to the pandemic.

“I didn’t get a chance to see any of the [Pueblos] because they were closed.” He would go on to discuss the isolation. “There’s up to 60 artists there, but I didn’t know anybody. I ended up getting a dog. I did well in Taos, but I craved coming back to Colorado.”

Backyard Jam

The O’Keeffe Trail

During the conversation with Sockrider, we discovered we both had a connection with Georgia O’Keeffe. I had spent many summers in Abiquiu, New Mexico on the Ghost Ranch near her estate. Something that struck close to home with Sockrider since before he headed out to Taos from Ward, he revealed that she has a connection with both places.

“There’s a painting she did of a church here. And, when I was in Taos, I ended up working next to the famous San Francisco De Asis that she painted, and I was like, ‘I’m on the Georgia O’Keeffe trail.’”

Mother Nature

The painting Sockrider referenced from Ward is Church Bell, a painting from O’Keeffe’s personal collection that depicts Ward Church as it was in 1917, when she traveled there with her sister. The church still stands and serves as a community center.

The painting O’Keeffe did in Taos, however, was San Francisco de Asís Catholic Mission Church in Taos on Ranchos de Taos. And, while Sockrider attributes Vincent Van Gogh and Jackson Pollock as major influences in his work—the Van Gogh influence most evident in his painting “Paddleboarders Frisco Colorado” with “Groundation” and “Galactic” showcasing the influence of Pollock—one can’t help but notice the O’Keeffe influence his use of colors in a landscape painting like “Taos Coyotes Sunrise” that shares a lot in common with how she saw the southwestern desert.

In a letter penned to artists Arthur Dove in 1942, O’Keeffe wrote about the landscape of the Southwest:

“I wish you could see what I see out the window—the earth pink and yellow cliffs to the north—the full pale moon about to go down in an early morning lavender sky . . . pink and purple hills in front and the scrubby fine dull green cedars—and a feeling of much space—It is a very beautiful world.”

The Uzumaki Swirl

Wild Nights

The spiral is a recurring shape in Sockrider’s work. As an image, the spiral embodies a nearly primordial power, as it is amongst the oldest geometric shapes discovered within historical artifacts that predate even the roots of many modern religions. One of the more interesting aspects of the shape is, while it can suggest both great power and movement, it is also neutral in nature, meaning it can be viewed as a positive or negative force depending on one’s perspective. An article from Comic Book Resources covers how the Japanese interpret one end of the spiral with their analysis of the shape also referred to as “Uzumaki” or Uzumaki swirl. According to CBR, from a lecture at Heidelberg University in 2014:

“The Uzumaki swirl was commonly used on pottery and to engrave caves and in or at least around graves in the Jomon, prehistoric era of Japan. Its meaning has not been uncovered, and the symbol itself drastically changed in use as Japan’s religion changed from Shintoism to Buddhism sometime within the 10th century.”

The focus of the article is on how horror manga-ka, Junji Ito whose work of the same name, “Uzumaki,” brought the shape of the spiral into subculture just outside of the mainstream by emphasizing the darker angles of interpretation. The story is set in a town that is under a curse that leaves all its people tormented by the sight of Uzumaki swirls with many driven insane. The interpretation is almost a play on words as the characters follow the shape and “spiral” into madness. As Ito took the spiral in a negative direction, Sockrider respects the power in the brighter interpretation of the shape.

“Even before I even went to Taos. It was the Van Gogh influence, you know. As a designer, we study basic shapes: circles, squares, triangles, and spirals. But, spirals are a good representation for growth.”

Sockrider is particularly invested in ideas pertaining to the cycles of “rebirth,” giving inspiration to Sockrider’s goddess and maidens series: “I have the goddess of marijuana. I have a summer maiden. I have a wolf maiden. I have mother nature.”

For many indigenous cultures, the spiral marked their migration as they searched for their homes.  The spiral suggests movement, called the eye to trace a path. Poetic then that this shape is a favorite of Sockrider’s. The spiral is a calling card, allowing him to leave his mark as he passes along his travels.

A.I. – Something All Its Own

Coffee Owl

Considering that Sockrider’s sole avenue for income is painting, one might be surprised to find out that he doesn’t consider AI much of a threat.

“With AI imagery now, that’s not what we do. We paint pictures. I have this discussion with my artist friends because a lot of artists freak out. You can just text-prompt up anything you want. And, I’ve tried it. It definitely has limits, and it’s never going to produce exactly what I want. You don’t have an original painting. It’s all ones and zeros in there.”

To Sockrider’s point, Sora OpenAI sent a brief but powerful shock through the zeitgeist, this past February with its mind-bending ability to use assets to create short videos that have the appearance of something created with a team of people behind a camera. Yet, these images can be created using simple keystrokes.

However, even considering the initial impact, the weaknesses in graphics became apparent. There is also the fact that all of these images are created from existing assets. So far, AI can only produce a flawed recreation of something that already exists which, as Sockrider pointed out, is not what artists do.

From Ward to Taos and Back Again

Who Are You

One of the first signs you’ll see when flying into Albuquerque, New Mexico reads “Land of Enchantment.” It is as kitsch as any other slogan; however, almost anyone who has experienced the area noted that there is an intangible truth to the statement. The Ghost Ranch is just that. The artist collective in Taos is just that. It’s the turquoise-red-yellow dirt of the desert. It’s burros chewing cud, cabins with adobe walls, and pueblos with feast days where they dance until it rains.

O’Keeffe was drawn to land hidden behind a wall of mountains because of its natural beauty — the ranch is mud, and dirt, and snakes, and tumbleweeds all recluse from the modern world. This lack of pretension is another aspect of O’Keeffe’s path that calls to Sockrider:

“I’ve been a web developer for twenty-five years. I was creating websites down in Taos for high-end galleries. But, when it comes down to it, I really want [to] spend my day painting. And if that can pay the bills. I just want to live comfortably and do what I want. This is the path I’ve taken. And, if it requires me living out of a vehicle and doing the best I can, you know, I’m going to learn along the way and try and figure it out.”

Sockrider’s statement lends itself to the poem “For the Traveler” by John Donahue, that listening to silence, along a  “journey can become a sacred thing.”

Sockrider invites you to come out and support his artist dream by attending a showing of his work at Purple Haze in Denver at 15th and Curtis, starting July 5, 2024. Prints of his work can be found at Kind Mountain Collective in Idaho Springs, One Brown Mouse in Ned, and, of course, at Purple Haze, 15th and Curtis, Denver.

Bear Pond

The post The Artists: A Trail Across Oil-slicked Rainbows appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Ascending the bends of Bellevue Drive towards the Glass House up near the reach of the Flatirons, the phrase “big guy upstairs” became a touchstone of my conversation with Matt McMullan, award-winning architect and designer of the Glass House. Having the rare opportunity to see the marvel of a home constructed of stone and glass up against the angled peaks of the Flatirons giving view to all of downtown Boulder was edifying to say the least. One couldn’t help but feel like Batman in the Watchtower of DC’s Justice League or Zeus on Mount Olympus. The sensation was somehow simultaneously empowering and humbling. McMullan’s personal belief is that everyone deserves shelter, a place that is transformative.

You get a chance to understand this perspective if you align yourself from the house of glass nearing Boulder’s highest peak, you could glimpse the Boulder Shelter for the Homeless on the other side of town. Both buildings are of his design, and between these two buildings, we can get the scope of McMullan’s beliefs and how they could help the city stop an incoming crisis before it starts.

Designs for an aging place

Much has been written about the Glass House. It was even covered by Yellow Scene over a decade ago. A testament to its lasting power, the house has been owned by two families. The hope for the next owners is that they share the same feelings of reverence for the space. According to McMullan, everyone involved wants to make sure the space is truly cared for.

Development of the Glass House is rooted in the idea of familial love. McMullan’s drafts laid the groundwork in a web of inspiration emblematic of dichotomy within the idea of livable art. For instance, the house features an elevator not for the sake of having gaudy features, but because McMullan wanted the space to be an aging house, meaning the place is somewhere people can grow old. Using the elevator removes the need to climb stairs and eases the wear on an aged body.Experiencing McMullan’s livable art was most notable standing behind the chunk of stone inside the house set between the kitchen and the dining room. The stone faces an even bigger stone placed above a koi pond just outside the glass walls. Both are aligned with a mountain peak and, if one stands at the correct angle, one can feel the connection to the surroundings almost as if you’re looking at the rock growing into the peaks of the Flatirons themselves. Or, as McMullan puts it, “Baby rock, Mama rock, and Daddy rock.”

Being inside but still connected to the mountain is a unique feature to this particular piece of architecture. As McMullan likens the house to a “glass tent” with much of the design inspired by aspects of nature — the master bedroom referred to as a “quail’s nest” — anyone who visits can feel in harmony with the environment. “You’re a visitor, and yet you’re communing with nature.” McMullan also said about the space, “You can show it off at parties, but if you want to walk around in your jammies and house shoes, you still feel comfortable doing that. Within the overall composition, there are places where you can hunker down. It’s about livability and beauty.”

Shelter from the other side

For about as long as the Glass House has been standing, the Boulder Shelter for the Homeless has been too. With McMullan as the designer of both, the two are connected by divine synchronicity perhaps invoked by the “big guy upstairs.”

When the initial idea for the homeless shelter failed — originally pitched to be located where New Vista High School now stands — McMullan was called upon to resurrect the project. “Both of them were happening at the same time which, to me, was a very strange dichotomy between that house for basically two people, then doing something for 160 people.” He continued the comparison, “overnight sheltering for people who are just coming in off the streets to people who are in their transitional program, which was where you wanted to get clean, sober, get their life back on track, which, to me, was like the big guy upstairs saying, ‘Hey, you’re doing these two completely different things. One is creating this beautiful, livable work of art for these folks who have the means to do it. And another one that will live on beyond you and will touch hundreds, thousands of lives.’ And, yet, both have to be transformative.”

Shelter and dignity. Everyone deserves the right to a home or shelter that promotes dignity and respect, inspires them, and allows them to transform their lives. Especially with the homeless shelter, gives them the ability to transform their lives to get them to where they want to be.”

To that point, the shelter was built with the idea of safe space. There are spaces to sleep and congregate with a great view of the mountains. The windows are tinted to allow for a more colorful view of the world. For those occupants who may be averse to the closeness of the communal spaces, the atrium was designed as a “release of space,” letting those who want to be alone get the distance they need.

McMullan shared a story validating the importance of shelter and timing: “We had the shelter completely finished, and there was supposed to be this brutal snowstorm, and we didn’t have our elevator permit. You can’t get a certificate of occupancy to open the building until you get your elevator permit. I called the inspector, and he said, “I’m not going to be able to make it.” So, I called the public works director for the city of Boulder. After a brief discussion on the situation, she called right back, “The inspector will be there between three and four.”

McMullan was inspecting the shelter that night, ensuring that things were running the way they needed, when he ran into a man whose whole body was lousy with ice and snow: army jacket, long hair, matching beard, everything. McMullan checked in on him and asked, “Hey man. Are you okay?” The man shared that he had heard of the shelter’s opening as he was hitchhiking through western Kansas and eastern Colorado before running into the fortune of a trucker’s grace that allowed him to hitch a ride to town. If the shelter hadn’t been opened that night, the man wouldn’t have had a lot of options.

Navigating the trail

Long before McMullan discovered a love of architecture, he was a runner for University of Colorado Boulder. He still loves running — having full knowledge of the landscape, the bumps and hills, when to push past the congestion on a curve, all while enduring the elements. The bends in a racing trail place the runners into a squeeze. They must navigate the congestion, getting caught in the clutch of runners drags their time down. McMullan’s approach to competitive racing applies to how he approaches life. “You have to figure out the dynamics of that race. Am I going to go hard and burn all the people off me? It’s the same thing here. You have to figure the ultimate goal is to get to the finish line and have it be a success.”

McMullan believes his most special trait is a kind of foresight. He looks at how his gift as an architect will be needed in the future. The next thing he sees coming around the curve is a cause for concern for those with intellectual and developmental disabilities and their caretakers. He believes if nothing is done to help, the issue could become a major point of stress for the housing crisis. He called the solution to this incoming problem his big I/DDea.

The data buttresses the validity of McMullan’s assertion that this is a problem that will grow in the future. Helpers Community, a non-profit that advocates for individuals with developmental disabilities, states that “one in six, or about 17% of children aged 3 to 17 years old have one or more developmental disabilities.”

Further, a report written in 2022 by ECONorthwest indicates: “It is likely that more than 37,000 adults in Washington State are facing housing insecurity,” and that “housing unit production specifically for adults with IDD declined during the 2010s to levels well below those of the 1900s and 2000s.”

The Arc, a 501(c)(3) organization that advocates for people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, also raised concerns about this issue. Between Colorado’s looming housing crisis  and the number of people living with IDD, one can clearly see the housing threat that McMullan hopes to thwart. The big I/DDea aims to provide affordable housing for both those enduring the condition and their caretakers.

“It’s the big I/DDea. So, we’re initially going to start in the Denver metro area, but I’d love for this to become a national thing where I put together a group or template. We can create this in multiple states, become a national network.”

Harnessing the power of the future

One of the tools that McMullan is excited to master is artificial intelligence. He sees AI the same as any rising technological advancement: “You either get with it, or you get crushed by it. Same way that there’s been a technological breakthrough. I still know people who hand draft. I already run AI tools where I can come in what would normally take me six to eight weeks to figure out [the solution], like, in three days.”

He likens the challenge along the path to mastery to the character George Bailey from “It’s a Wonderful Life” and his claim to lasso the moon. McMullan sees tremendous potential in the technology. He plans to use AI to create large language models. These models would essentially create an active database that would aid in the IDD housing project by allowing him a better understanding of a specific issue. He could then use that information to create a space that caters to a person’s needs. When the model is complete, he would no longer need to find the foremost expert on certain developmental conditions, sit them down, and ask them about varying degrees of the condition when creating a space for that person. Instead, he’ll just go to his model which will have access to that person’s work. All the information will be there, and the expert will still receive credit.

The grand design held together

The recent snow reminded me of an anecdote McMullan shared about standing in the center of a storm. The Glass House staircase leads up from the dining room to the floor with the master bedroom encased in glass. The platform where the stairs meet is also made of glass and juts over a koi pond. Everything is completely visible, so when a flurry of snow is pelted and whipped across the sturdy glass, one could stand at the center of the most furious expressions of Mother Nature’s power and admire it safely.

This anecdote about standing in the center of the storm embodies the power of safe and secure refuge. However, considering he also designed the homeless shelter, one can’t help but think of the other side of that glass, being stuck just outside. McMullan revealed it was the death of a veteran caught out in a snowstorm that roused a nun to rally the community around the need for a shelter in the first place. The act is reminiscent of the James Baldwin quote, “The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people. Walk down the street of any city, any afternoon, and look around you. What you’ve got to remember is what you’re looking at is also you. Everyone you’re looking at is also you. You could be that person.”

McMullan’s drive and beliefs may very well make him one of those people: “People will say, ‘Are you retired?’ No, I’m just tired. I work seven days a week, man. And, if I’m not working, I’m thinking about work.” The “big guy upstairs” hit up McMullan with the I/DDea concept at 2 a.m. one night. McMullan answered, forcing himself out of bed to his desk where he began to lay down the bones of the project. With any luck, it will be as successful as his previous ventures. A whole lot of people will be better for it.

The post The Artists: Rocks in the Glass House appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

How illustrator Steve Skelton reignited his passion for art through puzzle making.

Steve Skelton

Completing a puzzle is as close as one can get to completing a work of art without creating it. Having a clear view of a picture in one’s mind and seeing it manifest provides a deep sense of fulfillment, of clarity. So, then, one wonders if the opposite is true. If a complete image begins to fragment into nothing, does that create the want to be made whole again? This is the journey of Steve Skelton, an illustrator who lives in Longmont, Colorado. He has worked in nearly every aspect of commercial visual arts for over 20 years, endured tragedy, lost his passion, and found himself again through puzzles.

Locating the edges of inspiration

The roots of Skelton’s style reach back to painters like Hieronymus Bosch or Pieter Bruegel the Elder, both known for the “Wimmelbilderbuch,” or hidden picture book style, that fills a large landscape with busy, highly detailed images depicting a scene that has the energy of a large event. Bosch’s “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” depicting Eden with bodies upon bodies celebrating in bacchanal fashion, embodies this concept.

Skelton’s work follows the evolution of picture book format by featuring whimsical concepts with a cartoonish influence while keeping the “busy” feel to the image. He described his style as MAD magazine meets “Where’s Waldo?”

“I like silliness and whimsy. I think we can use a bit more of that.” Although he marks Gary Larson, who created “The Far Side,” and Bill Waterson, creator of “Calvin and Hobbes,” among his influences, the bedrock of his inspiration was built upon the work of Don Martin, one of the MADdest of MAD illustrators.

Skelton started out pursuing this world of whimsy by becoming an illustrator for newspapers, which afforded him a chance to work with Hallmark, Playboy, and Time magazine. His most prized work was his own comic strip, “2 Cows and a Chicken,” which won him the FineToon Fellowship from the Washington Post in 2004.

The rise of the internet

As much of Skelton’s success was in the early 2000s, the turn south was sharper than expected when the internet came around. “I grew up wanting to be a syndicated cartoonist in the newspaper. And, so, I was pursuing that for a lot of years. I did a panel. The last one was carried by the Times-Call for over three years. “That had success, but right then newspapers started to really struggle. I think Craigslist pretty much killed the local newspapers.”

The decline in local papers and, by proxy, the space to print illustrated cartoon strips, was just the beginning of closing avenues of income. Skelton’s work with Hallmark would also dry up, a loss that Skelton also attributes to the rise of the internet.

Camping Puzzle

The negative space

An important element of visual art is the ability to manipulate positive and negative space, giving a sense of positioning and shape by what is present within the image as much as what isn’t. Empty space begs to be filled. Understanding how to fill that negative space can be a long and daunting prospect.

Skelton had surgery go sideways on him years back. He didn’t give too many details on the procedure, and I didn’t want to pry. He did admit the most important part: The surgery and the unexpected recovery kept him out of work for almost two years.

This took a toll. When he found enough strength to get back to work, one of his most steady streams of income had unexpectedly closed. Ceaco, an off-brand puzzle-making company, informed Skelton that his “Tooniverse” line of puzzles had run its course. Further, despite all his efforts, his comic strip, “2 Cows and a Chicken,” was discontinued. “For the last 15 years, I’ve been doing whiteboard explainer videos that are business to business or business to consumer or PSAs that are kinda cool. But, I lost my identity in doing that because — it took me like 10 years to realize that my name wasn’t on any of them. I had lost control of my identity, made me kind of sad, doing this kind of work made me unfulfilled.”

In an interesting parallel, Don Martin, a primary influence for Skelton’s work, had to also go through some excruciating hardships as he battled blindness for most of his adult life. One hesitates to mark such events as part of the “journey,” the negative space one must explore in daily life in order to find purpose. But, perhaps Skelton himself would be heartened to know that even his idol suffered great hardships and despite it all, produced memorable art.

Gaining a new perspective

As avenues for income were dwindling, Skelton knew he had to come up with a novel idea. Motivated by his experiences and losses during the 2-year span he couldn’t work, he wanted his next project to be something that was truly his. The project ended up being an extension of his Tooniverse puzzle concept called “Name That Toon.” During this process, he not only reignited his passion for creation but began to learn what it meant to be an independent artist in the internet age.

“The secret to making it as an artist, almost, is that if you can make something that you can sell over and over — it’s called passive income, but it’s not really passive if you’re working your butt off!”

The concept of putting Skelton’s original artwork and making it a puzzle game worked well in concert with one another. His successful Kickstarter campaign proved it.

Noah’s Ark

“When you go to a museum, you may look at the greatest painting in the world for about five minutes then walk away. So, in doing jigsaw puzzles, I don’t know if there’s anything where someone’s going to experience your artwork intensely for that long. I didn’t go into it because of that, but that’s kind of a neat thing that happens,” he pointed out.

Turning his original illustrations into a puzzle makes it tangible, allowing the audience to interact with the work, something that’s also not allowed in museums unless given explicit instruction. In many ways, Skelton’s new venture is a kind of modern art, something that takes the mixed-media approach from the Pop Art movement of the ‘50s and combines those elements with modern technology to create a unique experience.

Whether Skelton intended to or not, by using a mixed-media approach, he may have discovered an evolution of the modern art experience.

The advance of technology, the loss of art

As for artificial intelligence and art, “I think it’s great for science and medicine and stuff like that. Even logistics, I mean, oh my gosh. It’s going to be good for a lot of things, but for art, it will just be troublesome. Whether you’re talking music, writing, photography, illustration, graphic design — all of them will be impacted negatively.”

“AI will be good for mankind, but a lot of people will be displaced by it,” he noted poignantly. An article written by Sarah Shaffi in The Guardian revealed that even the prospective best-case scenarios with AI art come with sizable sacrifices. Among the many issues covered, an idea was proposed that would stop these programs from stealing work they don’t have the rights to use. This would at least stop programs from making money off other people’s works by adding measures for opt-in laws that would allow artists authority and give them say as to what specific AI programs have access to use their art. This would limit the automated aspect of AI. Sadly, this will still negatively influence small artists because the AI program would be used for small, low-paying jobs that are commonly used to build portfolios.

At a certain point the fight with AI feels akin to the folktale of John Henry competing against the drilling machine. One wonders how long the artist fights to keep up. A point that Skelton noted, “I wanted to draw like Don Martin, like Mort Drucker. It took me years to get better with all of it, and with AI all of that time goes away.”

Dog Park

Art needs the human condition

The life of Vincent Van Gogh, the unofficial saint of art and suffering, was the focus of an episode of the BBC’s “Doctor Who.” The episode ends when Van Gogh — famous for his art as his poor mental health and poverty — sees his own artwork on display in a museum. Van Gogh, who had only sold one painting his entire life, weeps as mobs of people clamor to get a glimpse of his work. Watching this version of himself getting to see the impact his art made on the world was sublimely rewarding.

The struggle of the artist’s search for validation, one ventures to assume, isn’t something that is lost on Skelton. However, now that he has reached his 60s, he’s finally found something that is truly his: “It’s always a fight between trying to make something that comes from within you as [opposed to] making something that’s for a client. It’s a different thing. I think we all become writers, artists, and musicians to explore what’s inside of us. And bring it out, nurture it.”

One can’t help but think back to Skelton’s statements describing the loss he felt when he was bedridden, a feeling that compounded later when he wasn’t able to write his name on his animated whiteboards. So much depends on the signature, the human-to-human contact stipulating that the artists will put their all into a piece. Even if that change is a little more whimsy and silliness, without the name, a space is left between the curator and audience, leaving no acknowledgment of the time, sweat, and pain endured to bring the piece of art into the world.

Skelton admits that he still must do work outside of his puzzles to make ends meet. But, he has “Name That Toon” in perpetuity. The project is his. It’s the culmination of all the things in life that he loves while also creating a unique take on modern art. This is the foundation for his legacy — one he can proudly sign his name to.

The post The Artists: A Fit for Found Pieces appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Photo by Luna Wolf

LunaFest 2024 is a helluva concert with over 70 bands playing over seven days in Boulder at DV8 Distillery.

The event runs from April 21st to 29th, 2024. The pre-party is on April 21st, 2024, and is being held at Velvet Elk with the party being kicked off by DJ Drake and Mr. Gettdowne. The post-party is April 29th, 2024, and the location is currently top-secret, but watch for its announcement. The genres run the gamut, but with over 70 bands, how could they not? Headlining acts include: Seckond Chaynce, Flobots, Spyda JC, Biotechnick, and Float Like a Buffalo.  See the full schedule here.

Seckond Chaynce

Float Like A Buffalo

Flobots

Biotechnick

Spyda JC

LunaFest bills itself as an inclusive event welcoming all. Since the founder fled Florida due to the draconian anti-LGBTQIA+ bills passed into law, signed by Governor Ron DeSantis, we decided to sit down with her to hear her back story.

What’s your name?

Luna Rose Wolf. It is both my legal and chosen name.

How long have you been in Colorado?

I have been in Colorado since October 16th 2023.

Where did you come from?

Florida

How did you land in Colorado?

I sold my house, bought a truck and trailer, sold most of my belongings, and packed the rest in the trailer. Once it was ready to go, I drove for three days straight, sleeping in the back seat of the truck in between semis at truck stops whenever I began to feel worn down.

Did you leave Florida because there were problems?

Yes. The political environment of Florida has been getting exponentially worse for the LGBTQIA+ community for a while, and Governor DeSantis was directly responsible for the loss of my job, a decline in mental health, and the loss of both my gender-affirming hormones and antidepressants. I was actually in relapse and battling headaches, brain zaps, and more on my journey to Colorado.

How’s your reception been in Colorado?

I’ve felt much more comfortable in Colorado overall compared to Florida. While there are a few areas in the state that are a little less welcoming, I have become very attached to the Longmont, Lafayette, Erie, and Boulder areas.

Photo by Luna Wolf

What was the inspiration for LunaFest?

Sometime around April of 2023, I was chatting about throwing a celebration for my second year of hormone replacement therapy in May. Bands offered to perform when they heard the news, and I thought that would be a great idea.

I contacted some friends and found a pool hall that welcomed the event. Within a matter of weeks, 3 bands became 52. Food trucks, vendors, sponsors, and more suddenly became part of what became a festival, and the pool hall had to move its tables to accommodate the event.

Once I moved to Colorado, several bands and fans of the first event asked if I was doing it again, to which I replied, “Maybe, but definitely not in Florida.” To my surprise, many offered to come to Colorado, and thus LunaFest ’24 was born. I decided to run LunaFest ’24 under a Colorado non-profit organization I founded in December 2023. 

You told us about your previous experience in Florida. How is this experience compared?

From having to pay out of pocket for all of my medicine and medical needs to having them fully covered by the state of Colorado, from having disgusted stares from most guests of every restaurant I entered to having smiles, some curious expressions, and a very rare judgmental gaze, and from sweat and mosquitoes to refreshing air and a rare fruit fly, I do not have a single regret moving away from Florida.

You’re getting a lot of airplay now. How is that feeling?

It’s extremely validating, and it brings me joy that my efforts to benefit the community are being seen so quickly after only living here for a few months. I am putting just shy of 100 hours a week into the event, so it is wonderful that my dedication has not gone unnoticed.

Photo by Luna Wolf

What do you see or hope the final outcome to be?

While my primary goal is to bring joy, health, entertainment, and safety to the community via our events, my long-term goal is to open a brick-and-mortar photography studio. I would certainly keep the organization and festivals going as well since they are not technically a full-time obligation. If the non-profit grows enough to provide highly affordable or free entry, that is certainly a goal of mine as long as the artists get paid exceptionally well. This will require a large volume of sponsorship, which is something that will take some time to grow.

What is the non-profit for?

The first festival was inclusive, diverse, and exciting for every demographic, and the feeling of community it delivered sparked a special place in my heart to continue to provide that experience. The organization also provides help to those in need, partners with organizations to train people about the dangers of fentanyl and to stop overdoses, and donates to other benevolent organizations with similar missions.

Learn more about Lunafest2024 at https://lunarluxfest.com; we are sure there will be a band that tickles your fancy. Besides, tickets are incredibly affordable, starting at $30 for a day pass and $120 for a full event pass. Since many of the bands are playing for a cut, making this a sell-out event not only makes for a good time for all but it makes sure the bands get their fair share too. Sponsorships are also available.

Photo by Luna Wolf

The post Spotlight on Luna Wolf, producer, founder, and organizer LunaFest 2024 appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Featured mural “Can Women Do A.I?” by A.L. Grime.

Last year Yellow Scene Magazine focused on the many local towns we cover, the ones that have grown from coal mines, farms, and an early university to a thriving hub of arts, outdoor activities, and suburbs via our People’s History series. We turn our gaze in 2024 to the many artists throughout the community who are inspired by the landscape, the culture, and the receptiveness of the people who live here. YS will explore the intersection of art and artificial intelligence, the roles art plays in representation and storytelling, as well as influences and mediums. To kick off our series we present Street Wise Arts and the various artists who make these murals a reality.

Over 130 murals have transformed Boulder and the surrounding area

Representation and Community

“Our mural festivals are geared around art and activism. So highlighting community, social justice, diversity, all kinds of different platforms and also prioritizing representation of diverse artists in the public realm,” Leah Brenner-Clack, executive director of Street Wise Arts, shared. The power of representation has never been more important. In the era of divisive politics and hateful rhetoric, seeing yourself in a beautifully crafted, meaningful art piece can be a silently inspiring sign.

Street Wise Art for YS Magazine 2024 Cover Series: The Artists. Mural “Can Women Do A.I?” by A.L. Grime. Photography by Dustin Doskocil

Murals are what the organization specializes in, and the power of democratizing public art was not lost during our conversation. “You reach people that don’t go to galleries or you know, don’t have access to art and other ways … it doesn’t discriminate, everybody can experience it,” Brenner Clack said.

“There’s a whole different atmosphere. You put work in the gallery people can’t necessarily touch it,” the duo of Aiko Szymczak and Corinne Trujillo, known as Koco Collab, shared. “Sometimes you feel like you’re on display, it’s like anxiety central, [but with] the public, you’re out in the open. It feels more authentic, and people are just stoked you’re out there painting on the street.”

“Public-facing art has always been like a really important tool to either tell history or educate the public or to persuade the public,” Grow Love told us. “Maybe somebody who wouldn’t be interested in going into a gallery has an opportunity to have that interaction.”

There is no gatekeeper, and no cost associated with viewing a mural. They provide an experience completely devoid of a gallery. Viewers are typically not surrounded by critics or others in the art world while taking in the messages and stories conveyed on buildings. Murals place art in its context and help decorate a neighborhood rather than a private home or collection. They provide a sense of place.

Public art also allows visible representation. Street Wise Arts focuses on providing spaces for the voices of women, indigenous, Chicano, and various other communities. “People get to see themselves in a mural that they’re not expecting, or they’re no used to, in a pretty white, upper-class city like this,” Brenner Clack noted.

Street Wise Art for YS Magazine 2024 Cover Series: The Artists. “Can Women Do A.I?” by A.L. Grime. Photography by Dustin Doskocil

Public art can encourage the use of public space

“I’m trying to tell the story of that place,” Grow Love shared, “I utilize endangered plants or threatened species so that we have an opportunity to do something that falls on the viewer’s eyes that could be considered educational.”

Art can be interpreted in many different manners. What may be an extremely personal piece to one person may be representative of something else entirely to someone else. “The mural that we painted for Street Wise is my brother … He passed away from a fentanyl overdose a year and a half ago to about two years ago. We really wanted to bring like awareness to the Boulder community,” Szymczak opened up.

Brenner Clack expanded on the role public art plays in shaping a space. “I really see public art as the personality of a city … I always love to look for public art when I’m visiting somewhere.” Public art can encourage the use of public space, which in turn helps foster a sense of community and break down barriers of isolation and misunderstanding.

There is power in proclaiming space in a public setting. It lays claim to existing, it tells a story without words, it can soften and beautify a space and encourage community interaction and introspection. In a way, murals develop a cultural dialogue at a time when one is so desperately needed. They can foster a conversation without forcing one. They can make someone feel a little more at home. They can help educate a complacent or unaware person.

Street Wise Art for YS Magazine 2024 Cover Series: The Artists. “Can Women Do A.I?” by A.L. Grime. Photography by Dustin Doskocil

Artificial intelligence

For better or worse artificial intelligence is impacting the artist community in dramatic ways, maybe more visibly so than other industries at the moment. Artists across the board must grapple with the emerging technologies that can replicate, or at least imitate, human artistic creations that would normally take an inhuman amount of time.

Artists will be some of the first to directly incorporate the new technologies and determine how they will be used. Opinions range from full rejection of the technology to embracing it as just one more tool in the hands of the creators.

“We have a lot of friends and peers, where it’s directly competing with them and a lot of ways, especially photographers and graphic designers. So it’s tricky because it’s not going away,” Koco Collab said.

“A lot of artists are seeing it as a tool and learn how to use it in a way that helps them in a generative process in their practice. So it seems like it’s split, just like any other thing out there as far as what people’s opinions are about it,” Brenner Clack shared.

The actual creation of a mural will still need to be done by a human hand for the foreseeable future, but generating ideas for the layout, look, and design can all be assisted by A.I. In fact, A.I. can revolutionize pieces like murals, statues, and other physical surfaces in brand-new ways.

“In our mural festival we’ve done augmented reality layers,” Brenner Clark shared. “Augmented reality can add that whole extra layer depending on what the artist wants to use it for, it can be a video, it can be an animation, it can be sound, it can be whatever it is that they envisioned, they want the viewer to take from it.”

Street Wise Art for YS Magazine 2024 Cover Series: The Artists. “Can Women Do A.I?” by A.L. Grime. Photography by Dustin Doskocil

“I think I do think it’s a really powerful tool. And I think it’s a really interesting tool that I’m excited about. There needs to be oversight or ethical, you know, parameters for it getting in the hands of people that want to exploit [it].”

Not everyone sees it as a threat or even revolutionary necessarily. “I think it’s super cool. I don’t really have an opinion about it except that these kinds of things come and go. Nothing can really take away from the artist’s hand,” Grow Love said.

A.I. itself is often built off of stolen intellectual and artistic property to train the program, which will need to be resolved in the legal realm. “I feel bad for the artists who have a lot of work on the internet and they feel like they’re being ripped off right now,” Koco Collab said.

“It’s a weird time to be alive. Like we’re making these rules up as we go,” Koco Collab stated. Artists will be the first to work out the implications of new technologies but they will not be the last. Nearly every industry stands to be impacted in some way or another. As for street  art, Koco Collab shared that “AI hasn’t learned how to paint murals efficiently.”  

Artists will be the first to work out the implications of new technologies but they will not be the last.

Mural Tours

Street Wise Arts

Street Wise Arts offers tours of their work across the county. Guided tours are available for walking or biking. Be prepared to enter new worlds as A.I. and murals collide in the augmented reality segments. Donations between $10-50 are encouraged for the tours. 

Street Wise Arts Tours

Babe Wall

Defining a “Babe” as “a person(s) or group of people on an enlightened path, unidentified by gender, that empower and inspire each other by the community they are a part of, surrounding a particular craft or common interest,” Babe Wall is a non-profit that supports and uplifts women and non-binary artists. They create a space for artists to freely exist. Offering gallery shows and art tours.

Babe Wall Tours

Denver Walking Tours

Make your way over to Denver for the public art walking tour. Not just murals but statues and other forms of public art, can be seen along the way. Funded by 1% of capitol investments across the city, this program allows beautification and art appreciation for any major new project. Check out their website for stops along the tour.

Denver Walking Tours

Art Walk Longmont

A huge twice-yearly event, anyone who loves public art and outdoor spaces needs to attend. Including places to eat and drink, families can make a whole day out of the event and leave feeling inspired and connected to the community. 

Artwalk Longmont

The post The Artists: Street Wise Arts appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Eldorado Springs – Portal to the Mountains

Billion-year-old stone rises vertically over the green-tinted waters of a mountain stream. Red-barked ponderosa pines that smell of vanilla drape the steep slopes between the rocky ramparts. As the sun tracks behind the clifftops, the canyon floor often remains shady while the rock walls above illuminate in brilliant sunshine. The texture and contrasting light of this place can be stunning.

This is Eldorado Canyon just to the south of Boulder. Nowhere else in the Front Range features a more abrupt transition between the mountains and the bright white immensity of the high plains, a place the settlers used to call the Great American Desert.

There is a village at the point where South Boulder Creek spills out from the canyon and onto the plains. Some call this place “hippy canyon” for its reputation as an eclectic non-conformist community. Its official name is Eldorado Springs, an unincorporated town of about 560 people.

Over a century ago Eldorado Springs was a much livelier place than it is today. In the early 1900s up to 40,000 people a day would visit to experience the natural mineral springs and the resort that was developed around them, created originally by Frank Fowler. There were three hotels there including the Crags which burned to the ground in 1912. When the original Eldorado Resort opened, its spring-fed swimming pool was said to be the largest in the nation. In 1916 future President Dwight Eisenhower and First Lady Mamie celebrated their honeymoon at Eldorado Resort.

Eldorado Springs attracted adventure seekers from its beginning. From 1906 to 1948 local daredevil Ivy Baldwin walked a high wire that was strung up between the canyon walls. Never using a safety net, Baldwin would walk the wire some 600 feet above the bottom out to the middle, stop and do a headstand on the wire, and then walk the rest of the way to the other side. He performed his last high wire act at the age of 82.

In the 1950s the canyon began to attract a new type of adventurer, the rock climbers. Known then as “marmots,” the climbers soon began to place fixed routes up the sheer walls of the canyon. The now world-renowned climbing destination of Eldorado Canyon features hundreds of known climbing routes with names like The Evictor, The Naked Edge, and Must’ve Been High. The canyon’s rock walls have been scaled by many of the nation’s legendary climbers including Tommy Caldwell, Lynn Hill, and Alex Honnold.

The canyon was designated a Colorado state park in 1978, and it’s not just for climbers. The narrow park road ends at the west end of the canyon where the landscape opens up and the stream flows gently by. It’s a wonderful place for a picnic or a short hike. If you visit the state park, don’t forget to stop and take a stroll through Eldorado Springs itself where you might stumble upon an open-air sculpture garden and other quirky sights. Bring a water jug and a couple bucks to fill it with pure Eldorado Springs water. Then take a dip in the recently renovated historic swimming pool. All of this makes for one of Boulder County’s most rewarding summer afternoons, right on the edge of the mountains.

The now world-renowned climbing destination of Eldorado Canyon features hundreds of known climbing routes with names like The Evictor, The Naked Edge, and Must’ve Been High.

Gunbarrel, Hygiene, and Niwot – The Center of the Universe

On a sunny spring day a very long time ago, a lone scout stood atop a treeless hill. From there she could see for days in every direction except over the high mountains to the west. Those mountains were clothed in rivers of alpine ice above forested foothills. There were real glaciers in those mountains back then — the kind that carve valleys out of rock.

The high plains to the east of these ice-bound mountains were cooler and drier than they are today. It was a well-watered desert. The glacial-melt rivers flowing into this dry land from the mountains were probably much larger than today’s creeks and occasionally brought enormous floods that altered the landscape by moving massive amounts of sediment around.

The scout, standing atop this hill, was looking for a beast large enough to feed her clan for weeks — a mammoth or perhaps a giant land sloth. She was also wary of predators larger and fiercer than anything known to modern man like cats with six-inch fangs and bears twice as large as a grizzly.

This hill is known today as Haystack Mountain, and it was likely a place of high importance for humans in this area for thousands of years because of its unique topography as a solitary vantage point. Many archeological artifacts have been found near Haystack Mountain, including a stunning 13,000-year-old cache unearthed recently from the backyard of a north Boulder home. The 300-foot hill is a geologic remnant of Tabletop Mountain, a broad mesa to its northwest. The St. Vrain River carved away a piece of the mesa. Wind and water shaped the orphaned chunk of land into a cone that now stands like an oddball over the high plains between Boulder and Longmont.

The Arapaho Tribe called the little mountain Nenestce, meaning “the standing alone mountain.” Like our Clovis-era scout who climbed the hill looking for a mammoth, Arapaho hunters in the early 1800s would have used its summit for a bird’s eye view of any nearby bison herds. Given Nenestce’s importance to the Arapaho as a camp, it is possible — though not known — that a future Arapaho chief was born near this mountain around the year 1825. His name would be Niwot, meaning Left Hand.

Niwot had two siblings, a brother named Neva, and an older sister named Mahom who married John Poisal, a white trapper. Poisal and his Arapaho in-laws taught each other their native languages during a brief period of time when peaceful coexistence between the Arapaho and encroaching pioneers may have still seemed attainable. But a series of converging events and an imperialist-oriented young nation would soon smash that fleeting dream. The Arapaho and other Native American tribes of the area would be overrun, treaties would be broken, and their land and livelihoods would be stolen from them.

The massive land grab of the Mexican-American War opened up enormous territory for settlement expansion to the west and southwest. The first settler waves went through or around Colorado. First the Mormons headed to Utah as they fled persecution in the Midwest, then a wave of gold seekers set their sights on California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. But when gold was discovered in Colorado in 1858, a tectonic clash of civilizations began along the Front Range as this wave of settlers intended to stay.

Many archeological artifacts have been found near Haystack Mountain, including a stunning 13,000-year-old cache unearthed recently from the backyard of a north Boulder home.

As the pioneer horde descended on his people’s land, the English-speaking and pacifist Chief Niwot and his brother Neva were pulled into the eye of this storm. They both became reluctant statesmen forced to help their people navigate through a growing catastrophe. While Niwot is the more recognized and historically documented of the two brothers, it was Neva who traveled all the way to Washington, D.C. to meet with President Lincoln in 1863.

Neva and other Native American delegates received a sympathetic ear from the president. But their long journey east yielded little substance as their plight was overshadowed by the nation’s existential struggle in the Civil War. A little more than a year after Neva’s trip to Washington, his brother Niwot would be dead, a victim of a horrific massacre at Sand Creek southeast of Denver, led by a U.S. colonel and supported by Colorado’s territorial governor.

Aggrieved and likely enraged by the massacre and the killing of his brother, Neva finally gave up on the whites and, at least for a time, took up arms to fight alongside his young warriors across the contested plains. There seems to be no known historical record of Neva’s fate after that, but we know that he never accepted reservation life. According to Donlyn Arbuthnot, whose family was among the first whites to settle in the Haystack Mountain area, Arapaho people would return to Haystack Mountain at times well into the 1880s and even the 1890s. It is plausible that Neva, as an elderly man, may have been amongst them. As Arbuthnot told me, Haystack Mountain — Nenestce — “was an important place for them.”

Arbothnot showed me the meticulous family history binders she had compiled as we sat near the fireplace at Lafayette’s East Simpson Coffee Company. There are of course the Arbuthnots, but there are also the Baders, the Coes, and the Hills, all part of Donlyn Arbuthnot’s family lineage, all of them instrumental in the settlement of the area around Haystack Mountain and the emergence of the communities of Niwot, Hygiene, and Gunbarrel. It’s hard to know where to start with this rich background, but I like the story of Donlyn’s great-great grandfather J. George Bader.

One fine day in Iowa in the summer of 1866, Union war veteran J. George Bader, his wife Mary, their daughter, and a son prepared to embark on a life-changing journey westward. Bader marched through Georgia with General Sherman late in 1864. Perhaps even then he dreamt of a future life near the Rocky Mountains for as he marched with the Union Army, he collected some apple seeds along the way.

Back in Iowa the wounded soldier placed those apple seeds carefully in the pockets of his trousers. Together, the Baders climbed into their wagon and set forth to chase the dream that was the American frontier. In addition to his apple seeds, J. George Bader put a live beehive in the wagon, which made it all the way to Colorado. It seems he had an idealistic expectation of apple pie and honey in a new land, as far away as possible from the horrors of a war that still tormented his soul.

After a long overland journey, J. George Bader reunited with a brother in the hills above Boulder. Nicholas Bader had arrived in 1860 looking for gold, and by the time his brother arrived, he was one of the first official landowners in what would become Boulder County. His land was near Haystack Mountain.

Mary Bader
Arbuthnot and children

In the 1880s Mary Bader, J. George Bader’s daughter who traveled with him to the frontier as a child, taught at the school her father built near Haystack Mountain. During good weather Mary would open the schoolhouse windows and leave homemade marshmallows for the Arapaho who would often stop by and listen to her lessons. One morning she found a beautifully beaded pistol sheath that the Arapaho made and left for her at the school as a gift.

Arbuthnot also told me that a group of Arapaho, possibly led by the mysterious Neva although not confirmed, once looked after Mary Bader’s young daughters when she and her older sons became unexpectedly snowbound in the foothills above Boulder.

Relations between the settlers and the Indigenous peoples of this land were far more varied than we often recognize, and instances of compassion and kindness are often overshadowed by the tragic events and trends of history.

To me, these wonderful stories help remind us that the official historical record can create an overly simplistic perspective of a past that was much more nuanced. Relations between the settlers and the Indigenous peoples of this land were far more varied than we often recognize, and instances of compassion and kindness are often overshadowed by the tragic events and trends of history.

The Bader brothers were not the first of Donlyn Arbuthnot’s forbears to arrive in Colorado. In June of 1859 Carson Arbuthnot, also a great-great grandfather of Donlyn’s, arrived from Iowa with his wife and four sons. They, too, set their sights on the land around Haystack Mountain as a home base but spent many weeks at a time in the mountains above Boulder prospecting for gold. Carson Arbuthnot became the first sheriff of Gold Hill, one of Colorado’s first mining settlements and today a national historic landmark.

Donlyn Arbuthnot acknowledges the role her family played in the displacement of Native Americans. But, as we have already seen, history is always more complicated than convenient judgements of right versus wrong and black or white. The story of Carson Arbuthnot and his sons provides a fascinating example of the complexity and nuance of history as well as the range of human nature.

Arbuthnot told me that her great-great grandfather Carson was horrified by the Sand Creek Massacre and did not at all approve of it. But three of his own sons — Donlyn’s great grandfathers — represent the full spectrum of pioneer sentiment at the time. “I call them the good, the bad, and the ugly,” said Arbuthnot. “My great grandfather William was the good because he tried to reason with Nichols — Chivington’s Boulder-based deputy — to not attack the Indians. The bad was Samuel because he supplied the army with horses and food. And James was the ugly because he participated in the massacre.”

Farmers in Niwot

Kinetic clashes like the massacre at Sand Creek were a manifestation of a much more systemic civilizational incompatibility between the pioneers and the Native Americans. “It’s not just things like the Sand Creek Massacre that were deadly to them,” said Arbuthnot. “Fencing was just as much of a problem.” As Arbuthnot explained, the pioneers who wanted to qualify for land ownership would typically use fencing to mark property boundaries. This created, in a few short years, a patchwork of fenced off land that was suddenly restrictive to Native Americans whose way of life depended on overland movement over great distances as they flowed with the free-ranging migration of the bison herds.

Another major disruption was irrigation. Arbuthnot’s forebears were expert ditch diggers who brought an Iowa farming know-how to the parched prairie. In this regard they were quite innovative. By the late 1860s their focus turned from mining towards agricultural expansion, and for that they needed more water than little Left Hand Creek could provide. So, the Arbuthnot brothers — the good, the bad, and the ugly — trekked up into the mountains and managed to find a place where the headwaters of the South St. Vrain River could be diverted into Left Hand Creek. There they dug a diversion and captured the St. Vrain’s waters.

Longmont area settlers woke up one day and noticed that their river had suddenly lost most of its water. So, they went upstream to investigate. When they found the diversion high in the Front Range foothills, they promptly blew it up with dynamite, restoring the St. Vrain to its natural flow. The Arbuthnots, of course, noticed their creek drop back down to prior levels, so off they went back up to the mountains to rebuild the diversion, except this time they left a sentinel as they knew the Longmont folks would be back again. Sure enough, the Longmont people trekked back into the hills. When they encountered the sentinel, a brief gunfight erupted before cooler heads prevailed, and the parties decided to take the matter to court.

The court decided in favor of the Arbuthnots on the basis that the Longmont settlers were not actively using the water in the St. Vrain. As Boulder resident and retired economist for the American Aid Program Joe Stepanek told me, this decision helped set the precedent for “western” water rights law in the entire western part of the U.S. which diverged from the typical “riparian” water rights used in much of the world, including the eastern U.S. With riparian water law “if you own the land, you own the water,” said Stepanek. Western water law is based on the concept of prior appropriation. In the Wild West this allowed settlers to, as Stepanek put it, “take water by gunpoint,” which is precisely what happened at the Arbuthnot’s diversion when their armed sentinel protected it from dynamite-toting Longmont settlers.

More than a century and a half later that diversion is still there, although it has since been reinforced with concrete. It is managed by the Left Hand Ditch Company, a non-profit that provides water to shareholders in the Niwot area.

The steel horse arrived in the 1870s. The settlement of Niwot, like Broomfield to the south, was born as a railroad hub centered around a new train depot on the Colorado Central Railroad from Boulder to Cheyenne. We have Porter T. Hinman and Ambrose S. Murray to thank for the confusing diagonal orientation of Niwot as they platted the community along the direction of the tracks.

The steel horse arrived in the 1870s. The settlement of Niwot, like Broomfield to the south, was born as a railroad hub centered around a new train depot on the Colorado Central Railroad from Boulder to Cheyenne.

By the dawn of the 20th century, the railroad was used to haul a new cash crop, the sugar beet. According to Arbuthnot, the Coe family, also her ancestors, first brought sugar beets to the area to help feed livestock before it later became a commodity for human consumption. The Coe family land was located where IBM eventually built their campus near Gunbarrel. When they sold some of that land before IBM existed, it went for one cent per acre.

As the area’s sugar beet industry grew, an earthen ramp was built near the train tracks in Niwot which was used to dump sugar beets into the cargo cars. This place was referred to as the “beet dump.” If anyone is thinking of opening a dive bar in Niwot, The Beet Dump would be a fantastic name with historical significance!

A few miles north of Haystack Mountain a different kind of settlement was established at a place the original settlers called Pella, or Pella Crossing. This is where Donlyn Arbuthnot finds her mother’s side of her local family history. Arbuthnot’s great grandmother Sarah Virginia Hill had tuberculosis and came west for the clean air and the sanatorium opened here by local Mennonites in 1882. Hill died six months after her arrival. The young, now-orphaned son she brought with her remained in the area, raised by the Hake family on land that would later become Baseline Reservoir near Louisville.

Niwot history storytelling

At some point Pella became known as Hygiene because of the Mennonite sanatorium. “It’s just always been a quaint, nice little town,” said Arbuthnot. Until recently Hygiene was also the home of the official world’s largest plains cottonwood tree. Until it died of old age in 2012, the tree was locally known as “The Gentle Giant,” and it once took a whole class of third graders holding hands to stretch all the way around its 36-foot-circumference trunk.

The Gentle Giant may have been planted by one of Hygiene’s early settlers as the plains cottonwood is a fast-growing and short-lived species that rarely lives more than 150 years. Arbuthnot explained to me how the early settlers would uproot cottonwood saplings from the Platte River watershed to the east on their westward journeys so that they could plant them in their nearly treeless new lands. Today we are accustomed to cottonwood-lined byways and leafy neighborhoods, but in the 1860s there were very few trees in these high plains. Next time you drive the backroads in our area, take note that most of the cottonwood trees you see are likely the progeny of saplings hauled by wagon and planted by the hands of frontier pioneers.

According to Arbuthnot it was one of those rare trees that inspired the peculiar name of the community of Gunbarrel. Local soldiers would train their guns on a lone tree in the distance from their elevated position, and the place became known as Gunbarrel.

Today, Gunbarrel is a quiet community developed in part as a result of the building of IBM’s large campus nearby. Perhaps the finest views of the Front Range are from the elevated land in and around Gunbarrel.

Relations between the settlers and the Indigenous peoples of this land were far more varied than we often recognize, and instances of compassion and kindness are often overshadowed by the tragic events and trends of history.

The 1920s and 1930s were a time of growing pains and social upheaval. The Ku Klux Klan emerged in the 1920s to target Catholics and minorities in a time of diversification as farming and mining labor drew in newcomers from around the world. Arbuthnot said that the Klan once burned a cross on the top of Haystack Mountain, and although I could not verify this in the historical record, it is plausible since cross burnings were common during this time.

Niwot Museum

As the Klan fell out of favor, prohibition arose. It is said that Boulder’s sheriff used to stash bootleg liquor in a cave at White Rocks near Gunbarrel. According to Arbuthnot, the longest-running unsolved murder in Boulder County involves a sheriff deputy who may have been killed by the same sheriff to prevent the do-gooding deputy from exposing his bootlegging operation.

By mid-century these places in between were feeling the growth around them as Boulder and Longmont expanded into small cities, freeways were built, and tech companies moved in, creating a more diverse economy. But, unlike the larger towns and cities around them, the settlements of Eldorado Springs, Niwot, Hygiene, and Gunbarrel have remained the “places in between” that help complete the unique character of our region.

Although it is now less visible due to the cottonwoods descended from pioneer hands and the modern leafy neighborhoods that followed them, Nenestce (Haystack Mountain) still remains. A 105-acre parcel of land that includes the mountain itself is currently on the market for a cool $10.5 million. After learning of the hill’s historical and indigenous significance, it seems that this land would be a good candidate for acquisition as a Boulder County Open Space. It would be wonderful to see it preserved and honored as the unique and sacred landmark that it truly has been for thousands of years — the constant center of the universe in this land of change.

COVER PHOTO: Dustin Doskocil

Photos Provided by the Carnegie Library for Local History, Denver Public Library Special Collections, Greeley History Museum, Longmont Museum, and USGS Historical Mining Photographs

The post The Places in Between appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

PHOTOS PROVIDED BY THE CARNEGIE LIBRARY FOR LOCAL HISTORY, DENVER PUBLIC LIBRARY SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, GREELEY HISTORY MISEUM, LONGMONT MUSEUM, AND USGS HISTORICAL MINING PHOTOGRAPHS

Fruit Orchards, Broomcorn, and 1950s American Boomtowns

In 1945, as American war veterans returned home from the Second World War, Denver was a small and compact agricultural hub. Many of these war veterans had fond memories of training in Colorado before shipping off to fight in Europe or the Pacific. When the Allies won the war, more than a few of the young veterans chose the Queen City to establish the dream of a solid, middle-class American life. The coming boom would soon create a housing shortage.

At that time the north edge of Denver was around 48th Street. Lakeside Amusement Park, near 44th Street and Sheridan Boulevard was on the outskirts of town with neighborhoods to its south and fields to its north. Far away to the northwest was the burgeoning university town of Boulder, where 28th Street was still a gravel road. The Denver-Boulder Turnpike would not open as a toll road for another seven years. Motorists who made the trek to Boulder from Denver — often as tourist daytrippers — would take Highway 287 north up Federal and Old Wadsworth Boulevards and then make a sharp westerly cut over to Boulder on Highway 7 at the World War I Pillars in Lafayette.

By 1945 Lafayette and its immediate neighbors like Louisville and Erie had already existed for many decades as coal mining towns. Between these coal towns in the north and the northern edge of Denver near 48th Street, some 25 miles to the south was mostly a no man’s land of prairie with some large fruit orchards and dryland farms scattered about. There was little natural water in this open expanse and not much to attract development except for wide open space with the Rocky Mountains as backdrop to the west.

1895. Westminster College, now Pillar of Fire Church Harry Rhoads behind steering wheel

But open space is exactly what was needed as the explosive growth of the 1950s approached. A booming metropolitan area required new housing for a rising middle class of people with disposable incomes interested in a two-car garage and a yard for the kids and the dog. Corporate real estate development companies stepped in to fill this demand, not just with houses, but with whole planned communities complete with schools, churches, and shopping.

That is how Northglenn, my home town, and Thornton came into existence. In 1962 Life Magazine named Northglenn America’s “most perfectly planned community” courtesy of the gray-suited businessmen of Perl-Mack Company. The company built its 3,000-home, full-service community called “North Glenn” in 1959, right out of a 280-acre prairie field near what would later become the intersection of Interstate 25 and 104th Avenue.

A few years before “North Glenn” was built, a little to the south was the planned community of Thornton on 400 acres near 88th and Washington Streets. Thornton, named after Colorado’s then governor Daniel Thornton and built by developer Sam Hoffman, emerged from the fields in 1954 and was incorporated as a city in 1956.

19 Jan. 1952. Governor Thornton at Denver-Boulder turnpike ribbon cutting.

Westminster and Broomfield date back to the late 1800s as unincorporated communities with homestead settler roots from the Gold Rush era. But these rural villages also grew into modern Denver suburbs through similar corporate-planned communities in the 1950s. In Westminster and Broomfield the construction of the Denver-Boulder Turnpike and the opening of the nuclear weapons facility Rocky Flats, both in 1952, were major employment and development draws. Such began the long march of suburban sprawl that, by the turn of the century, would ultimately merge the north Denver suburbs with the growing town of Boulder to the northwest.

Before there was a Westminster, there were fields of apple and cherry trees planted by the earliest pioneer settlers to the area. The ocean of spring blossoms in those days must have been a glorious sight against a backdrop of snowy peaks to the west.

To see some evidence of this past, take a little trip next September to the Two Ponds National Wildlife Refuge near 80th and Kipling Streets. It’s a wonderful little oasis of nature in the midst of suburbia. As you walk the gentle gravel trails along the banks of the reed-filled ponds with croaking frogs, you will notice many large apple trees in the adjacent fields. That time of year it’s likely that their branches will sag with thousands of ripe apples, the ground below covered in fallen fruit.

The apple and plum trees at Two Ponds are very old. They are relics of this area’s history as a major fruit-growing center. Today’s Shaw Heights neighborhood in Westminster, for example, used to be a large apple and cherry orchard that operated continuously between the 1890s and 1938. This and other area orchards were large enough to justify a railroad spur in 1881 to haul off the many tons of apples and cherries to grocers all across America.

1963. St. Stephens Lutheran Church being built in Northglenn, Colo

The center of this fruit farming life began in 1870 when homesteader Pleasant DeSpain built a home on 160 acres near present day Lowell Boulevard and 76th Street. DeSpain may have been the first to grow fruit trees in the area, and the operation he and his five sons built attracted a small growing community that became known as DeSpain Junction. DeSpain’s great-great grandson who shares the same name was born in Denver in 1943 and is a renowned author, children’s picture-book storyteller, and world traveler. He earned high accolades for his signature children’s book, “Old Joe and the Carpenter”; wrote an adventure travel memoir titled, “Vagabond Tales, In Search of Light and Life”; and produced a weekly children’s storytelling television show called, “Pleasant Journeys” that ran in Seattle for five years in the 1970s. This earned him the honorary title of “Seattle’s Resident Storyteller.” He is quite an interesting individual.

In 1911 a developer named C.J. Harris bought much of the land in and around DeSpain Junction and subdivided it into smaller fruit orchard lots. The new town was incorporated and named Harris. As locals in the growing community thought about the future of their town, some of them dreamed up a plan to create a university so fine that it would be considered the “Princeton of the West.”

Westminster University was a short-lived venture after each and every one of its male Presbyterian students shipped off to serve in the Great War in 1917. The young university never reopened, but the grand castle-like structure made from Colorado red sandstone remains, now privately owned by the Pillar of Fire Methodist Church.

Although I personally think “Pleasant DeSpain” would have made for a more unique name, “Westminster” is what stuck. Westminster’s population in 1950 at the dawn of its development boom was just 1,686. By 1960, with the Turnpike and Rocky Flats completed, it was home to 14,000 residents. Today more than 111,000 people live in Westminster making it one of Colorado’s ten largest incorporated cities.

It should be recognized that the city of Westminster today sits atop a location where there is strong evidence of a semi-permanent Arapaho Tribe encampment. This is thought to have been near Gregory Hill at present day 80th Street and Federal Boulevard. Human habitation in this area goes back at least 14,000 years. It is thought that the corridor where the High Plains meets the Rocky Mountains was used as an annual migration circuit by archaic peoples who would spend summers hunting in the high country and winters sheltering on the adjacent plains.

More recent Indigenous peoples acquired horses from the Spaniards who ventured into the area from the south. These later tribes roamed far and wide on horseback over the Great Plains following herds of bison on which they depended for food, shelter, and tools.

1886-1901. Adolph Zhang Family

By the time Pleasant DeSpain had settled in present-day Westminster in 1870, the Indigenous peoples of the area had largely and tragically been marginalized and removed. Their populations were greatly diminished, their livelihoods were stripped away, and their homelands were stolen. Survivors of this apocalypse were forced onto reservations far away.

The fruit orchard business extended for miles to the north of present-day Westminster. In 1885 Adolph Zang acquired 4,000 acres at present-day 120th Street and Wadsworth Boulevard to grow fruit trees and breed horses. By the time Mr. Zang arrived in the area, the U.S. Postal Service had already set up a remote post office nearby what they called Broomfield after the broomcorn that grew well in the area. Not a food crop, broomcorn is a stiff-stemmed sorghum that was used for the bristles on brooms. It is still used today as craft material for wreaths and other such decorative items.

1995. Adolph Zhang’s (Orchard Farmer’s) House

From its very beginning Broomfield was a crossroads town for both rail and wheel. The Old Cherokee Trail, the main stagecoach route, passed through it, later to be replaced by Highway 287 up Old Wadsworth. Tracks for the Denver-to-Cheyenne Colorado Central Railroad passed through the location in 1873 before it was even settled, and several other rail lines were added in the late 1800s.

The Denver area’s original “light rail” electric commuter train opened in 1908. Known as the Kite Route, this electric rail line ran between Denver and Boulder, through Broomfield, and then towards the coal towns to the east. At its height the electric Kite Route offered 27 stops. The company that operated the train built a depot with associated community services at the corner of 120th and Wadsworth. This depot still stands today as the preserved Broomfield Depot Museum.

1983 Oct. 15. Nearly 15,000 people encircled the Rocky Flats Nuclear Weapons Plant to protest the nuclear arms race.

By this time the little community of Broomfield had taken root and was even home to the Broomfield Cheese Factory. But the population was stagnant at around 100 residents until the 1950s. Like the other north metro communities, the 1950s brought explosive growth. The Turnpike Land Company bought the Zang property in 1955 to develop a planned community they called the City by the Turnpike. It was a massive undertaking designed for 20,000 residents that ultimately became known as Broomfield Heights.

With the opening of the Denver-Boulder Turnpike and Rocky Flats and the resulting housing boom, Broomfield was on its way from its farming and transportation crossroads roots to becoming the modern suburban city and tech industry hub of 75,000 residents that we know today. The growing city had the unfortunate distinction of being part of four different counties, each with its own laws and regulations. Broomfield solved this challenge at the turn of the century by forming its own county to become the city and county of Broomfield, a unique distinction it shares with the city and county of Denver and just a handful of other city-counties in America.

Growing Together

By 1968 the young cities of Northglenn, Thornton, Westminster, and Broomfield were all well established. But they were still isolated communities surrounded by open space on all sides, even to the south towards Denver. 1968 was the year my parents, Linda and Phil Geiling, moved to Colorado from Florida. Mom was a teacher and Dad a child school psychologist. The retired snowbirds moving down to Florida at the time had little interest in paying more taxes to fund their education system, so my parents went looking for greener pastures and ended up in Colorado. They bought a piece of land in Broomfield, way outside of the city at the time, to build a home. They gave up on that idea within a year, sold the parcel of land, and bought a California-style house on a half acre off of 99th and Huron Streets in Northglenn for $29,000.

I was born in 1974, and this was the house I grew up in until I left for college in 1993. I would learn through researching this article that it must have been among the first houses built in Northglenn, although not part of the original planned community off of 104th.

1908. Men boarding train

My earliest real memories are from around 1980. By then the neighborhood had filled in. When my parents first bought the house in 1969, the neighborhood was only half built, and the view to the west was mostly open space. I asked my mom where she perceived the “edge of the city” was back then. She zeroed in on 84th Avenue, but the edge of the city wasn’t that clear as there was still a lot of undeveloped land even south from there.

“I remember driving along 84th,” she said. “Looking south there were still many open fields between 84th and Denver. There wasn’t much at all to the north of 104th. Huron was a dirt road north from there.” She recalled that the Red Lobster may have been the first business to appear on 104th Avenue to the west of Huron, and then the car dealerships followed in a few years. By around 1980, “The area was pretty much built out,” she said.

Before speaking with my mom for this article, I never realized how quickly my hometown grew in just the decade before I was born. There was literally nothing there but fields in 1959 and by 1979 Northglenn and Thornton were fully developed suburbs.

For me, it was a great place to grow up. On clear days when the notorious Denver brown cloud was cleared by fresh winds, we could see the downtown Denver skyline to the south from the house. The “big city” seemed a world away then, even though it was only nine miles. On my street my older brother and I had many friends our age, and the adults all knew each other well, even becoming long-time friends.

1929-1939. Farming equipment in use.

In speaking with my mom, I recalled the fun all the kids would have sledding down our steep street on snow days or weekends on the old-time runner sleds we had. To my amusement my mom told me that the neighborhood adults would often take their turn on the sleds at night after we kids went to bed. And apparently, unbeknownst to me, when my dad followed behind at a distance while we went trick-or-treating, as a joke, he would knock on the same doors we just left with a mug in his hand for “trick-or-drinking,” ending up with a toxic stew of various beers and liquors in that mug for his loot.

This was 1980s suburban life America, when crime was high but most people didn’t worry too much about it because the news of it wasn’t blasted 24 hours a day. We rode our bikes in the summer up to Webster Lake or Croke Drive Reservoir to catch bluegills or south to the field that was near Thornton Parkway where there were a series of sweet dirt jumps we called the “tip-ups.” Helmets were never worn, and curfew was “dark.” On many summer nights after dark the neighborhood kids would often gather at one house or another for wild games of kick-the-can. I would go to bed mosquito-bitten and exhausted but ready to do it all over again with all my friends the next day.

The innocence of the 1980s passed, and with a new decade I became a Northglenn High School Norseman in 1990. My circle of friends came from a mostly lower middle-class background. We were about half white kids and half Hispanic. My Hispanic friends were all multi-generation Americans who spoke no Spanish whatsoever, which was often the source of good-natured jokes. Mostly we didn’t pay any attention to superficial differences. We were just friends — and still are to this day.

1963. Librarians work in Thornton.

Still, things always change, and the 1990s brought significant cultural shifts. Urban gang culture encroached into the North Metro communities, especially Northglenn and Thornton. High crime rates and drug abuse entered our awareness at a time when new driver’s licenses and beater cars gave us the ultimate freedom to learn our boundaries, sometimes the hard way.

One of my friends had an old Chevy Chevette hatchback that he bought somewhere for $200. He could make it backfire on command, and it finally died one day when the gear shifter broke off in his hand. On snowy nights we would take turns towing each other on snow tubes down Thornton’s residential streets. On other nights we would take joyrides north where most of the roads north of 120th, like Huron, turned to dirt. From there we would sometimes turn off the roads straight into the fields to flush out rabbits just for fun. Many weekend nights were spent cruising “Westy Mall,” not having any clue what we were looking for or how to find it, but somehow wanting to be there with our friends doing nothing in particular but hanging out trying to look cool nonetheless.

1964. HELP (Helpful Extra Library People) volunteers work in the Adams County Library bookmobile, in Northglenn, Colorado

In those days Thornton’s new Horizon High School, built in 1988 way up north off of 136th Avenue, was where the snobs went — “rich” suburban kids with nice new cars living in nice new houses on the edge of the city. Holly Street, near Horizon High, now a busy, four-lane suburban thoroughfare, was a dirt road on which we would gun our engines up to 60 mph, kicking up plumes of dust just because we could.

Things change. My 12-year-old daughter will probably attend Horizon High as she will be a freshman in two short years. By then the school will be 37 years old, 12 years older than Northglenn High was when I entered high school. And, I still think of Horizon as the “new” school!

Reflecting on my research and recollections for this article, I am struck by how recent all of this history is and by how dramatic the changes and growth have been in just a few short decades. As the edge of suburbia continues to push north, now past Lafayette and Erie and into the Tri-Towns of Frederick, Firestone, and Dacono, I wonder what the destiny is of the North Metro suburbs where I grew up.

My mom and dad sold the house in Northglenn in 1998 to follow a retirement dream and move to the mountains, finding a new home outside of Salida. After my dad passed away in 2014, my mom decided to find a second home in the Denver area. She found a quiet little house in Old Town Erie in 2015. I asked her if she felt there were similarities between Erie in 2015 and Northglenn in 1968. Was it a bit of a return to those first days in Colorado when they moved to the edge of the city to a place undergoing rapid growth? “I did notice similarities,” she said. “Moving to Erie in 2015 was a lot like moving to Northglenn in 1968.”

And time marches on.

The post The Model Cities of No Man’s Land appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

HISTORICAL PHOTOS PROVIDED BY THE CARNEGIE LIBRARY FOR LOCAL HISTORY, DENVER PUBLIC LIBRARY SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, GREELEY HISTORY MUSEUM, LONGMONT MUSEUM, AND USGS HISTORICAL MINING PHOTOGRAPHS.

The year 1864 was full of monumental events and circumstances in American history. Most commonly we understand 1864 as the culminating year of the American Civil War. It was the year when Union forces finally broke the back of the Confederacy. It was the year of General Grant’s wilderness campaign in Virginia and General Sherman’s march on Atlanta. It was also the year of President Lincoln’s reelection less than six months before he would become the first American president to be assassinated.

The new Colorado Territory in 1864 must have seemed well removed from these great societal upheavals far to the east. But in nature as well as in history everything is connected. The distraction of the Civil War left the infant territory, crazed with gold fever and inundated with new pioneering settlers, with insufficient direction and leadership. Men like barely literate Colonel John Chivington, who had no business holding positions of influence and leadership, nevertheless rose to prominence within the power vacuum and lawlessness that was Colorado’s frontier.

August 1, 1938. St. Theresa Church in Frederick, Colorado

Gold was discovered in Colorado in 1858, and then the Homestead Act of 1862 gave hordes of primarily white settlers visions of riches and freedoms to be found in the empty West. Except the West was not actually empty when their convoys of horse-covered wagons thundered over the prairies. Various societies of Native Americans had been living and traveling through Colorado’s high plains and mountains for thousands of years.

The Plains Indians relied on the enormous herds of bison for all aspects of their livelihoods: food, shelter, tools, clothing. A single bison herd could be so large that one could not see from one end to another, a heaving sea of undulating fur and thumping hooves on dirt from horizon to horizon.

Native American leaders like Chief Niwot (Left Hand) of the Southern Arapaho understood the tragic mathematics of the situation. His people had already undergone a population collapse. The westward-moving frontier brought an invisible shockwave in the form of infectious diseases that devastated Native populations even before most whites arrived on the scene. With the territory thinned by diseases, the pioneer horde followed, never exhausting, always growing. Masses of gold seekers and homesteaders moved into the area, treaties were broken, land was taken, and the bison the Native Americans depended on were annihilated by the millions — all in a few short years.

By 1864 the Native leaders were losing control of their warriors as the prospect of starvation brought increasing anger and desperation. That year escalating attacks and reprisals erupted between pioneers and Native Americans in what is known today as the Colorado War. This culminated in the Sand Creek Massacre southeast of Denver. There, in late November of 1864, just weeks after the reelection of President Lincoln far to the east, around 200 Arapaho and Cheyenne peoples, mostly children, women, and elderly men, were senselessly slaughtered and mutilated by the ignoramus Chivington and his men. The massacre was carried out with the full support and direction of Colorado’s territorial Governor John Evans who viewed the Native Americans as little more than obstacles in his way to amassing the great fortune that was his life’s goal.

1920-1930. Undated views of Rocky Mountain Fuel Company’s Columbine coal mine showing mine buildings, company houses, an overview of the company town, and railroad tracks washed out by a flood.

Most of the white settlers who arrived in this ancient land were not part of a powerful elite but were instead opportunists with meager means willing to throw their life’s lot into a new and exciting land. It would be unfair and inaccurate, however, to paint all white settlers with the same brush, either positive or negative. Each settler who came west in search of a better life was an individual human being who brought their own values, dreams, and aspirations with them. As in all societies a full spectrum of behaviors could be observed among the settlers, from the violent and lawless to the altruistic and compassionate. But many of them simply found themselves caught up in the whirlwind of greater forces they had little control over.

The McKissick brothers (Thomas, John, and William) were early settlers in what we now call Colorado’s Carbon Valley. In that fateful year of 1864, the brothers joined the ranks of a militia called the St. Vrain Valley Home Guard. The militia constructed a sod fort near present-day St. Vrain State Park called Fort Junction, so named because it was located near the confluence of Boulder Creek and the St. Vrain River. The purpose of the fort was to defend against real or imagined threats of attack from area Native Americans. In August of 1864 word of an impending attack spread throughout the land. and area settlers congregated in the new fort to await a conflict that never materialized.

Two of the McKissick brothers, John and Thomas, would become early Weld County sheriffs (in 1865 and 1867). By that time, it was becoming known that the land they settled was blessed, not with the yellow metal that brought so many to the area, but with a black rock that would power much of the growing Front Range area for decades to come.

The McKissick coal mine opened in 1872, one of the earliest commercial coal mines in the state. The Carbon Valley brackets the eastern end of a vast coal seam that extends in an arc from the base of the Rockies near Superior, through the coal towns of Louisville, Lafayette, and Erie, and ending in what today we call the Tri-Town area of Frederick, Firestone, and Dacono.

2003. Frederick City Hall: Built in 1907, it served as the city hall for several years. In 1974 a new structure was built and the old town hall building was moved to the city park and renovated as the Miner’s Memorial Museum.

Big growth, small towns

On a map the three towns are stacked one atop the other, Dacono at the bottom in the south, then Frederick in the middle, and Firestone, the largest of the three, capping the northern end. All three towns were officially founded in 1907 or 1908.

Firestone, in the north, is named after Ohioan Jacob H. Firestone who founded the Firestone Coal and Land Company but never resided in the town (or anywhere in Colorado for that matter). Frederick, in the middle, was platted by three sisters who named the town for their father,  Frederick A. Clark, who owned the land that became the town. Dacono, in the south, was named by one of its founders, Charles Baum, who used the first two letters of the first names of three women: Daisy, Cora, and Nora (Da-Co-No). Daisy was Baum’s wife, but his relationship to the other two ladies is unconfirmed. It is speculated that they may have been Daisy’s sisters or friends.

Like the town of Louisville to the southwest, many Italian immigrants worked the coal mines of the Carbon Valley. Back then these were small towns built specifically to support the mines. There were five long-standing coal mines in Frederick alone, operating well into the 1940s.

Even in the early 20th century, these three towns were overshadowed by bigger and faster-growing neighbors. To the west and northeast were the colony towns of Longmont and Greeley, and to the south was the growing center of regional commerce, Denver.

There is little in this area to attract large-scale settlement other than resource extraction. Carbon Valley is not actually a valley. This is a flatland as nondescript as any other part of Colorado’s Great Plains. The town centers are near, but not on, the waterways of the St. Vrain River, Boulder Creek, and the South Platte River. While irrigated water could help turn the prairie into crop production, the soil is relatively poor and the climatic conditions somewhat harsh. Here is an open, windy, and stark environment where the lushness of the Rockies is visible to the west but just far enough away to remind of their distance. When the first settlers looked upon this land, few, if any, trees cast shade over the scorching prairie in the summer or provided shelter from wind-driven wintertime storms. These towns came into being for one reason and that reason was coal.

1939. Fort Junction dedication: The monument was erected by the Frederick, Firestone, Dacono Lions Club and the Rinn Community as a memorial to the sod enclosure built by the pioneers of the area during the Indian “troubles.”

New Connections

The coal mining history of the Tri-Towns follows a similar pattern to the other coal mining towns to their southwest. A day in the life of a Tri-Town coal miner was tough and dangerous. Miners often dropped down the shafts before sun-up and emerged after sun-down, six days a week, to toil in an unhealthy underworld of lung-damaging coal dust and creaking support timbers. Gruesome accidents like cave-ins, explosions, or runaway two-ton coal carts were a constant menace weighing on the mind of every miner who descended into the darkness with his pick and a lunch pail.

Labor laws, at least in the early days, were virtually non-existent, and worker strikes demanding better pay and conditions were often put down with brutal indifference by both the mining companies and state authorities. For more than a half-century throughout the Northern Colorado Coal Field, from the Marshall Mesa to Firestone, the coal miner and his family were in a constant struggle with a life where his wage was just enough to put food on the table but never enough to bring his family out of poverty and danger.

This was also seasonal work as the coal mines typically operated in winter. Coal miners who swung their picks at black rocks underground in winter often toiled under a hot prairie sun in sugar beet fields in the summer, the cash crop of the time.

The Northern Colorado Coal Field was typically mined within a few hundred feet of the surface, but far below the coal field in western Weld County, underneath thousands of feet of ancient bedrock, is a massive reserve of oil and natural gas. As the coal mining industry declined by the middle of the 20th century, oil and gas extraction accelerated.

1973. Miners entering the Lincoln Mine

In those days the towns of the Carbon Valley were still tiny, isolated communities. Interstate 25 had yet to be constructed, and no one needed to transit through the Tri-Towns to get anywhere else. Oil and gas exploration and extraction was relatively far removed from the views and homes of Front Range citizens who, at the time, typically resided much farther south or west.

The construction of Interstate 25 began to change that situation. In 1958 the first stretch of the new interstate, called the Valley Highway (still a favorite term used by old school traffic reporters), was constructed through Denver. It ran for 11 miles between Evans Avenue in the south and 48th Avenue in the north. More sections were added from there. Next came the stretch through Pueblo, then Colorado Springs. In 1961 the arrow-straight 14-mile section called the “Longmont Area” was completed between Highway 7 to the south and Highway 66 to the north.

This brought the new interstate highway within about two miles to the west of the Tri-Towns and set the stage for the future explosive growth to come. In the early 1960s these towns were still far removed from the encroachment of the Denver metropolitan area to the south or Longmont to the west. It would have been difficult for locals at the time to imagine that within 50 years their small towns would become bedroom communities of a city expanding like an amoeba to envelop them into its vast array of quiet suburbs.

One of the early business establishments that capitalized on the new interstate highway was a biker bar and beer garden opened in 1985 called Jerry D’s, named after its original owner Jerry Denovellis. Jerry D’s achieved local iconic status as a biker stop and local hangout before temporarily closing under new ownership. The restaurant is being revived, however, as new owner Brad Linkus, who also owns IMI Motorsports in Dacono, seeks to restore and re-launch it soon as Jerry D’s 2.0.

1966. Ceremonies marking completion of paving of Frederick, Colorado’s entire 4.5 mile street system

Developing lands

The growth boom finally hit the Tri-Towns at the turn of the century, now among the fastest growing communities in Colorado. In 1990 the three towns had a combined population of just over 4,500 residents. Today almost 44,000 people call these towns home with Firestone and Frederick each at over 18,000 and Dacono nearly 7,000. The growth will continue as new housing developments merge with other new developments in Erie to the south and Longmont to the west.

What was once an out-of-the-way location on the way to nowhere is now prime real estate for commuters in all directions. Downtown Denver is a reasonable 25 miles south, a straight shot down I-25, while Longmont is a 12-mile jaunt to the west, and Greeley is a 30-mile, lightly trafficked drive through the prairie to the northeast. While soaring real estate has priced many middle-class buyers out of locations to the south and west, the Tri-Towns has become a haven for those wanting the peace and quiet of the suburbs within an affordable price range.

The new housing developments have brought new controversy as well. Oil and natural gas wells that were once far removed from the backyard grills and trampolines of suburbanites far to the south and west are now located within and near residential areas. The wells did not move nor did the long-standing extraction ownership rights to them —  the housing developments moved in around them. Simultaneous to the growth in housing, increased pressure to extract domestic fossil fuels and generally favorable economic conditions to do so created a clash between the interests of new residents and old industry as new fracking operations popped up just when real estate agents planned open houses for the new homes within eyesight and earshot of the fracking rigs. The controversy came to a head tragically in April 2017 when a residential home exploded, taking the lives of two residents. The explosion was caused by leakage from gas lines from a nearby well that were cut during home construction.

2008. An oil pump sits in a field as a thunderstorm blows through the town of Dacono.

These opposing interests continue with relentless growth. Like Erie just to the southwest, the Frederick, Firestone, and Dacono now seek a renewed focus to maintain their small-town identities while managing explosive suburban housing growth. It all hinges on the small downtown districts of each of them. The town of Frederick, for example, recently rebranded its image, choosing the perhaps somewhat vague slogan, “Built on what matters.” And, in Firestone, residents celebrated the town’s centennial in 2009 with the unveiling of its Centennial Clock and time capsule, containing mementos that will be revealed in 2059.

Time marches on as they say, and by 2059 there will have been many more changes and events, some foreseen while others will be surprises. It is likely that, by that time, the entire area will have been swallowed up by the Denver-Boulder-Longmont-Greeley amoeba with suburban houses stretching far and wide, interspersed with the green spaces that will exist only by design. The overtaking of the once vast and windswept prairie by a relentlessly advancing human population will have been mostly complete by then, at least in this area. Perhaps by then the oil and gas extraction will have followed the decline of the coal industry a century before it as we continue a century-plus transition from dirty to clean energy.

But growth in this area is inevitable, and our look back at history can help us focus on how that growth can be managed well, with thoughtfulness and respect for those who came before us and who built these towns on what matters.

The post Frederick, Firestone, and Dacono: Building on what matters appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Historical photos provided by the Carnegie Library for Local History & Boulder Historic Society

Landscape shaped by water

There is a certain clarity of sound early in the morning. Each step I take brings a satisfying crunch as my foot strikes the dirt trail. It’s dawn, and I’m hiking up the hill at Rabbit Mountain Open Space on the edge of Lyons, Colorado.

The National Weather Service has issued a flash flood watch today. Tropical Storm Harold has tossed his remnants all the way up into the Colorado Rockies from the Gulf of Mexico. The expected rain has yet to arrive, but the cloud deck is building.

A curious deer watches me pass on the trail in the Rabbit Mountain Open Space near Lyons. Photo by Doug Geiling

Summer mornings in the Front Range are usually clear and sharp. The approaching weather gives the landscape a softer look. It is beautiful, nevertheless. But the coming rain brings worry. Almost ten years ago to the day a massive flood hammered Colorado’s Front Range and foothills communities, including beautiful Lyons. No one here likes seeing a flash flood watch in their weather forecast.

As I climb higher the trail leads me through an open prairie slope into a forest of stunted ponderosa pines amongst mountain mahogany and gamma grass. A deer watches me pass, and a cottontail rabbit scurries under a bush.

Upon reaching the crest of the ridge, I stand on a topographical anomaly. An ancient fault line has created an east-west angled ridge here that juts out into the plains from the predominantly north-south orientation of the Rocky Mountains. The resulting views up and down the Front Range are second to none. To the south I can make out the graceful outline of Pikes Peak, a crow’s flight of over 100 miles away. To the north is a sweeping view up the edge of the northern Front Range clear into the open rangelands of Wyoming. The mountains seem to crash onto the plains like waves on a beach, and I’m a spectator from the shore.

An interpretive sign along the trail tells of the ancient use of this location by those who came before us. Many stone artifacts have been found in the area. Hundreds of generations of people over thousands of years have traveled here, camped here, and lived here. An indigenous hunter standing atop this ridge on a clear day 300 years ago could spot a bison herd or an unwelcome raiding party anywhere within a three-day’s ride to the north, east, and south. Countless communities have likely sheltered or wintered here for millennia as the south-facing slope blocked the northeasterly winds driving the stinging snows of Front Range blizzards.

The landscape around Lyons can resemble the western slope of Colorado with its dry mesas and slanted bands of colorful sandstone rock layers. That sandstone is what makes the history of Lyons unique amongst Colorado communities. While other towns in the area were formed from gold, silver, and coal mining, Lyons was, and still is, a sandstone quarry town. In fact, the geologic “Lyons formation,” is named after the town, not the other way around.

A quarter of a billion years ago, at the dawn of the dinosaur age, there were quartz sand dunes here. This sand was compressed and solidified by subsequent sediment deposition. Millions of years of mountain building then exposed the layer as it was pushed up and then eroded by wind and water. These processes formed a stone with natural fracture points resulting in flat layers with varying thickness called flagstone.

The first humans to make use of the flagstone were archaic Native Americans who used it for building material as early as 6,500 years ago. In more recent times immigrants from the east, mostly European in origin, industrialized the extraction of the stone starting in the late 1800s. The beautiful rose-colored Lyons sandstone, said to be the hardest sandstone in the world, has been used all over the planet including in historic buildings in the town of Lyons itself and many of the University of Colorado Boulder’s iconic stone structures. Some of New York City’s famous brownstone row houses are built of Lyons sandstone, shipped there by rail on the Denver, Utah, and Pacific Railroad.

Lyons, true locals

Back in Lyons from my morning hike, I venture into the Barking Dog Café on Main Street for a coffee and a Wi-Fi connection. They are busy, and it seems most of the customers know each other. A group of about eight sit around a large table in the middle. They look like a made-for-TV version of small town neighbors.

A quarry near Lyons, some with men at work cutting stone. Photographer: Mabel Downer Durning

The group chats a bit nervously about the weather forecast. “It’s supposed to rain a lot today,” says one. “No, last I checked it was only a thirty percent chance now,” an older man replies hopefully. They laugh a bit when another of them playfully points out the rain drops already appearing on the storefront window. Then there is a bit of silent contemplation before the topic of conversation shifts to recent wildlife sightings. The flood of 2013 is most certainly on their minds, but no one speaks directly of it. This is a town that has fully rebuilt from that devastating event and surely does not want a repeat.

“Lyons feels like the anti-Estes Park.” This is how I introduce myself to the owner of the Barking Dog working behind the counter when the crowd thins. “It’s more of a locals’ town, isn’t it?” I ask. He seems to agree with my observations. When I mention the large group that had since left, he says, “We agree on almost nothing, but we all make it work.” I get the sense that he knows them all as friends.

Indeed, Lyons is a locals’ town through and through. It is the proudly overlooked foothills gateway to the two canyons that lead to America’s fourth most visited national park and the internationally known mountain resort community of Estes Park. In fact, in the early days of Rocky Mountain National Park, Lyons was known specifically as the “Double Gateway to the Rockies.” There was even a giant arch over the road proclaiming it as such right about where the Barking Dog Café is located.

The arch is gone now, but the town still serves as a gateway to the northern Front Range high country. In my youth I passed through Lyons many times on my way to trout fishing spots on one of the forks of the St. Vrain River. At the west end of town, Main Street splits. Go left on Highway 7 for the South St. Vrain or turn right up Highway 36 for the river’s north fork. Either way gets you to Estes Park. Either way takes you through those canyons that flooded in 2013 exactly ten years ago.

1894 or 1895. Views of Lyons taken after a flood

The flood

The 2013 flood was caused by a 1,000-year rain event as up to 18 inches of rain fell over a couple of days in the foothills. That’s a full year’s precipitation for this area. All that water had to flow downhill, and in the mountains the downhills are steep, and the valleys are narrow. This created a funneling effect as the sheets of rainwater careened down the mountain sides too quickly for the ground to absorb. The water flowed from all directions into the constriction of the canyons. Inside the canyons, walls of accelerating water and debris roared out to the plains carrying trees, boulders, pieces of roadway, and houses.

The double gateway from Lyons into the Rockies turned into a double-barreled water cannon. The flood roared into the town from two directions like converging tsunamis. Stream flows are measured in cubic feet per second (cfs). At the peak of the 2013 flood, the St. Vrain in Lyons reached a historical record 24,000 cfs. For perspective, its normal flow in mid-September is about 50 cfs. Nearly 500 times the normal volume of water and its accompanying debris unloaded on Lyons. Massive cottonwood trees were thrust down the canyon like toothpicks. Truck-sized boulders were dislodged from the earth and rolled around like the bowling balls of the gods. 

The town was devastated. The National Guard evacuated residents on September 12, and many of those living in the canyons above town were plucked away to safety in Chinook helicopters. Shortly after the flood I tried to visit Lyons, but the National Guard was only allowing residents in, for good reason. All the town’s services and utilities were wiped out, many people’s homes were lost, and the town was a disaster area.

At the peak of the 2013 flood, the St. Vrain in Lyons reached a historical record 24,000 cfs. For perspective, its normal flow in mid-September is about 50 cfs.

Weeks after the flood I was able to make it to the mountain hamlet of Glen Haven, near Estes Park, after temporary road repairs were made to one of the canyons. Glen Haven looked destroyed, but what I remember most was a car perched in a tree about 15 feet off the ground. It was hard to believe that the tiny little brook that flowed through Glen Haven had exploded into the roiling whitewater deluge that pushed a car up into a tree.

To the people of Lyons and surrounding flood-damaged communities, the flood of 2013 must have seemed like a biblical event. Even the very courses of these streams were permanently altered by the flood, dramatically so in some areas. But when considered through the long lens of geologic time, floods like these, and much bigger ones, are commonplace in those canyons. They have happened many thousands of times over millions of years.

These types of floods are, in fact, the reason those canyons even exist. It takes massive volumes of fast-moving water to carve them, to dislodge those truck-sized boulders from one place and deposit them in another, to scour an inch or two at a time from sandstone ledges, and to push tons of debris and sediment downriver and into the plains like a behemoth excavator. These floods are, indeed, the reason why the Lyons sandstone formation is exposed on those canyon walls and therefore the reason why the town of Lyons came to be. All things in nature are connected.

1939. Lyons to Estes Park North St. Vrain Highway dedication

Founding Lyons

It’s mid-morning now, and I walk out of the Barking Dog Café into light rainfall. The sky is darker, the clouds are lower. The air has an unusual humidity and thickness to it, betraying its Gulf of Mexico origins. Harold’s final haymaker is arriving as expected. Will he conjure up more floods?

I walk into the Lyons Redstone Museum situated a block north of the Barking Dog on High Street. This was the original one-room schoolhouse built in 1881 using locally quarried sandstone of course. A second floor was added in 1895 and an addition to the ground floor in 1902. The Lyons School held classes for nearly a century until finally closing its doors to students in 1977 when construction of a larger school was completed.

The school’s — now museum’s — second story is a wood frame structure that sits atop the sturdy sandstone-based first floor. This created a bit of a shaky experience during the notorious winds that can crash down into Lyons from the mountains to the west. The swaying of the building could be so bad that school was sometimes canceled because of wind. While many Colorado kids hope for a “snow day,” the kids of Lyons enjoyed “wind days” off from school! The museum stands today as one of the oldest surviving original buildings in Lyons.

2013. Lyons Redstone Museum, formerly the Lyons School. Photo: Doug Geiling

Inside the museum is a surprisingly extensive collection of historical books and exhibits. It operates on voluntary donations, and it’s well worth a visit. The land for the original Lyon’s school was provided by the town’s founders, Edward and Adeline Lyon of Connecticut. Like many arrivals from the east during that era, the Lyons came west on the advice of a doctor as it was thought that the clean air of the Rockies was an elixir for various health ailments caused by “bad air” in eastern U.S. cities at the time.

There were earlier European-American settlers to the land that would become Lyons. They arrived in the early 1860s as either disappointed gold prospectors or homesteaders. But even before them there was the occasional mountain man who ventured into the canyons above Lyons to trap beaver in the early 1800s.

One such adventurer was the son of a French aristocrat who became a Mexican citizen named Ceran St. Vrain. St. Vrain formed the “St. Vrain” half of the Bent-St. Vrain Company that established and ran the famous Bent’s Fort in eastern Colorado. Their northern trading outpost, Fort St. Vrain, was located on the South Platte River in northeast Colorado at the confluence of a large tributary flowing in from the west. The tributary would later be named the St. Vrain River.

By the time the town of Lyons was founded in 1881, the fur trapping days were long gone, and America was well into its Gilded Age of early heavy industry and railroad barons. But, around this time, Lyons became known as a tourist destination as Denverites and others boarded shiny new trains to the Double Gateway to the Rockies to spend a day or a week in leisure. Through the early 1900s several health resorts sprang up in the St. Vrain Canyons. And the picturesque mountain enclave of Estes Park beckoned to the west, made globally famous by the blockbuster memoir of Englishwoman adventure travel writer Isabella Bird — A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains.

Old Stone Congregational Church. Photo by Dustin Doskocil

1977. Frank Weaver, Lyons historian, standing in front of the Old Stone Congregational Church; now on the National Register of Historic Places.

Constructing and rebuilding

The cement industry arrived in 1910 and, for a time, destroyed the sandstone quarry business. But sandstone was soon revived, focusing more on the decorative landscaping material that it remains famous for to this day. Since the middle of the 20th century, Lyons has been overshadowed by its larger Front Range neighbors, Boulder and Longmont and its more touristy cousin to the west, Estes Park. But perhaps that is all for the better as it seems to be comfortable in this role. As a Front Range native, I’ve always appreciated the mere existence of Lyons. It is unique among Front Range towns and cities for its history, its low-key character, and its geology.

I step out of the Lyons Redstone Museum into a driving rain. Harold has landed his punch. The wind has picked up, and the rain soaks me in sheets. This is not like the typical brief afternoon summer storm in the Rockies. The rain is hard but not accompanied by lightning bolts and thunder booms. I worry about this weather as I drive east away from town. Will there really be a repeat of 2013 almost ten years to the day?

No. Like an over-the-hill boxer, Harold’s haymaker turned out to be a glancing blow. The heaviest of the rain stayed well east of the mountains, and the anticipated floods did not materialize.

In 2013, as the people of Lyons surveyed a devastated town, they knew their town would never be the same. They knew it would come back better. And it has. On the one-year anniversary of the 2013 floods, the town of Lyons held a series of celebrations. At that time, they still faced several more years of recovery efforts. But the celebrations were for their resilience, hope, and optimism. It was for their determination to build the town back, not to what it was, but to what it could be — something even better, even stronger. And, ten years on, they’ve done just that. Lyons may have been knocked backwards by a wall of water, but the town’s residents have proven they are as rock solid as Lyons sandstone.

The Muffler Man

The giant cowboy with a pitchfork on the cover of this issue is a piece of kitschy Americana from the 1960s. He is one of a few dozen original “muffler men” still standing around the country and one of only two in Colorado, with the other in Greeley. Muffler men were made by the International Fiberglass Company out of California and were commissioned by roadside businesses wanting to draw the attention of curious passersby. They are known generically as “muffler men” because some were built for muffler and tire companies. But the first one, a “Paul Bunyan” held an ax and promoted the Paul Bunyan Café along Route 66 in Flagstaff, Arizona. Others held, or still hold, giant hot dogs, burgers, frosty beer mugs, or simply stand with outstretched forearms like the one in Greeley. The one just outside of Lyons holding the pitchfork, located on a private residence, is colloquially known as “Ranch Cowboy.”

The post Lyons: Rock Solid appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Historical photos provided by the Carnegie Library for Local History, Denver Public Library, and Louisville History Museum

Forged by fire and stone

There is a place where the wind eats the snow. The air is pressurized over the top of a colossal mountain range we call the Rockies before it is released down the other side. Wind gusts violently careen through the pine-forested foothills and crash out onto a land ocean we know as the Great Plains.

It’s the Chinook. This warm winter wind can bring the force of a hurricane down onto the flatlands. It uproots trees, stirs up dust storms, and sends backyard trampolines flying. It can also snap live power lines and breathe life into the dimmest of embers.

On December 30, 2021 the conditions aligned in this environment to create an almost unthinkable catastrophe. An exceptionally dry early winter had turned the grasses of Colorado’s High Plains into brittle tinder. On that late December day, wind gusts were clocked at up to 115 mph at the edge of the Rockies. Multiple ignition points were activated by the winds. Spot fires lit up like blinking Christmas lights and then erupted into wind-driven hell vortexes. Fire crews had no chance to stop the blaze, which seemed to erupt everywhere all at once.

As the winds gusted and shifted, embers darted to new targets, jumping over some homes and businesses only to set others ablaze. Heroic first responders frantically evacuated citizens with only minutes to spare. Some residents took to driving through fields ahead of approaching walls of flame and smoke.

When snow finally blanketed the smoldering neighborhoods the next day, over a thousand homes and seven businesses were burned to the ground. Two people lost their lives. The Marshall Fire was the most destructive in the history of Colorado. Almost all the losses were sustained in the beautiful Colorado towns of Louisville and Superior.

Both Boulder County towns are routinely ranked as among the best places to live in America by various media outlets. In fact, Louisville is a two-time No. 1 best place to live by Money Magazine and has made the top 10 list multiple times.

December 30, 2021. Louisville. Photo: Patrick Kramer of the Longmont Fire Department

But these towns have not always been the serene suburban havens they’ve become. When the aftermath of the Marshall Fire was still smoldering, some residents speculated that coal was to blame. After all, it was known that there was another fire burning in the area at the time — an underground cauldron continuously smoldering for over 100 years. Near Superior, under the Marshall Mesa, ground temperatures have been measured at over 200 degrees Fahrenheit from the simmering coal underneath the surface. The underground fire is a relic of why these towns even exist.

Seventy million years ago the land where Louisville and Superior sit today was not the semi-arid high plain beautifully situated at the base of a big mountain range. Back then dinosaurs waded through the waters of a giant tropical swamp. Over the eons all that plant matter had to go somewhere, and it ended up pressurized into a layer of soft black rock. This formed the Northern Colorado Coal Field.

The first prospectors to arrive in Colorado were seeking gold in the late 1850s. But, as they moved through the area looking for the yellow metal or related business opportunities, some of the keener observers noticed outcroppings of black rock, surface coal, on the plains north of Denver and east of Boulder. In an arc that roughly follows the course of the aptly named Coal Creek, a series of coal mining towns sprang up. Near the edge of the mountains was Superior, and just east of Superior would be Louisville.

Coal mining provided the catalyst for railroad construction in the area, which in turn accelerated the volume of coal extraction as the railroads not only ran on coal but were used to haul massive quantities of the black rock to wherever it was needed. Indeed, these new Boulder County coal towns, like Louisville and Superior, would for a time provide the growing Denver area with most of its power.

Fifteen miners with their lunch buckets. Third from left in second row is Peter Johnson. (Donor: Ralph Johnson, of Louisville)

But the human history of this area does not start with coal. Nor does it start with gold, or even with the first white explorers who traversed these plains and mountains from the east in the early 1800s, or the Spaniards who ventured into the area from the south with their horses two centuries earlier. People had already been here for hundreds of generations, the earliest of which hunted the woolly mammoth and feared the sabre toothed tiger. The area that is Louisville and Superior today was likely inhabited for at least thousands of years during the winter because the proximity to the mountains provided a slightly milder and more sheltered micro-climate compared to places farther east or west.

More recent Indigenous peoples include the Ute, Arapaho, and Cheyenne. While the Utes and their direct ancestors had been in the area for centuries, the Arapaho and Cheyenne were newcomers in the early 1800s having previously been displaced from their Upper Midwest homelands by the westward expansion of European Americans from the east.

The horde of pioneers and fortune seekers from the east did not just settle a land already occupied, they transformed it as if terraforming a new planet. In 1820 Colorado’s high plain was part of a vast American Serengeti teeming with millions of bison upon which the Plains Indians depended. The landscape was a vast rolling ocean of grasses crisscrossed by precious prairie riverways lined with cottonwoods. The enormous prairie was backdropped in the west by the rampart of a vast mountain range, its glacial valleys, and high peaks known only to its indigenous inhabitants.

1912. Native American (Ute) men and children ride on horseback as part of the marking ceremony for Ute Pass Trail, El Paso County, Colorado.

By 1870, just a half century later, the bison were rapidly disappearing, felled by the hundreds of thousands by pioneers seeking fortune rather than sustenance from the land. Rivers were diverted, damned, and irrigated. Great fields were cultivated. Domesticated herbivores were a poor replacement for the depleted bison — the newcomers mowed down prairie grass like thousand-pound locusts. The mountains and prairies were hollowed out by people obsessed with finding black, yellow, and silver stones. The horse-drawn wagon was replaced by the steel horse belching its black smoke and bringing ever more people from the east. The Native Americans were forced from their suddenly defiled range into reservations to the north and south.

When seen through the eyes of the Plains Indian, the period from 1820 to 1870 was an apocalypse. For the newcomers, the West meant opportunity and not just for Americans. Titans of the Gilded Age industry needed bodies to extract their fortunes for them, and they often looked abroad for their labor. Many of Louisville’s early coal miners came from Italy, eventually forming large prominent immigrant families.

I spoke with Ron Buffo, a Louisville native and retired high school social studies teacher born in 1953. Buffo spun a fascinating family history for me that begins with his great grandfather Michele — pronounced MeeKAYla — Buffo. A Colorado coal mine offered him and his brother Giacomo jobs and a paid trip across an ocean a continent away from home. After the long journey Michele hopped off the train and looked around at a foreign land that bore little resemblance to his northern Italian homeland. As someone with mining experience, he knew the work would be hard and the pay little, but he also knew it was better than anything he could get in Italy at the time.

Michele Buffo worked in the Louisville mines for five years before he was able to bring his wife to Colorado to join him. They had two sons, Dominic and Baptiste. Dominic dropped out of school at the age of thirteen to work in the mine with his father. In those days the mining companies paid the miner by the ton, not the hour, and an able-bodied son could increase the load and the income for the family. School was of lesser importance than the chance to get ahead financially.

1909. Photo of the Miners Trading Company building which was demolished due to coal mining subsidence, and once stood on the site of 701 Main Street.

Dominic Buffo’s coal mining career ended after 31 years with a gruesome accident in 1944. While working the conveyor belt on the tipple of Erie’s Columbine Mine, his right glove was snagged in the machinery, violently yanking his body forward. Dominic threw his weight back to avoid getting pulled over the top to an almost certain death, but the force of the conveyor belt ripped his right arm off at the shoulder.

Dominic was loaded into a basket and taken on a grueling 45-minute ride to the nearest full-service hospital in Boulder, nearly bleeding to death en route. His life was saved, but a blood clot formed in his head causing him to lose his ability to speak for the rest of his life. He also developed black lung disease from his years of breathing in coal dust almost every day since age thirteen. Dominic lived in Louisville for another 31 years after the accident, passing away in 1975 at age 75.  “I tell you what,” said his grandson Ron, “he was a strong old man.”

Before the accident Dominic was a lifelong member of the United Mine Workers of America fighting, like many coal miners of his day, for better pay and working conditions. He followed in the footsteps of his father Michele, an ardent union man himself. In fact, Michele and his other son Baptiste, Ron’s great uncle, participated in the Hecla Mine conflict of 1914 when gunfire erupted between the union men and state government forces. 

The striking miners, according to Buffo, were fearful of a repeat of the Ludlow Massacre in Southern Colorado — they knew it was the same Third Colorado Cavalry that attacked Ludlow that was headed up to Hecla. The union handed out hundreds of rifles to the striking miners. Hours of gunfire ensued with remarkably few injuries. Ron Buffo still has the rifle that his great uncle used at Hecla.

Dominic Buffo. Photo provided by Ron Buffo

It was during this time that, according to Buffo, the state government placed a trigger-happy machine gunner at Hecla who had a habit of randomly firing into the town of Louisville. One night Buffo’s great grandfather Michele went to use the outhouse when a bullet zipped through and grazed the top of his hand. When I asked if they reported the incident to the police, I knew the answer before it came. What would have been the point? “The government supported that kind of thing back then,” said Buffo.

Just before dawn on January 20th 1936 an underground explosion rocked Monarch Mine #2 just south of Louisville. Something ignited the combustible air and uncovered coal dust, eight coal miners perished. The body of Joe Jaramillo was never recovered and he rests to this day somewhere directly beneath the Flatiron Crossing Mall. The loss of Jaramillo compelled his fourteen-year-old son, Joe Jr., to go to work in the mines at age 14 to support his family. Joe Jr. would live the rest of his life as a coal miner with an interlude as a soldier and prisoner of war in World War II. He was among the final shift of miners to close down Erie’s Eagle Mine for good in 1978. Joe Jr.,  like so many coal miners, suffered from black lung disease. He died of a heart attack just three months after his retirement.

Ron Buffo reflected on the dangerous work and labor violence of those years experienced by his family and others. “Thank goodness I didn’t have to work in a damned coal mine,” said Buffo.

After his grandfather’s accident in 1944, Buffo’s grandmother was forced to find work and became one of the first people hired at Rocky Flats. Coal mining was in decline by that time and many out-of-work miners found jobs there as well. As if the risk of black lung disease weren’t enough, now they would face cancer-causing radiation, unbeknownst to them at the time. “My father and brother both died of cancer as a result of radioactive exposure from Rocky Flats,” said Buffo.

1909. Two barbers with chairs ready for customers. The photographer’s image is reflected in the mirror.

With a strong Italian heritage comes the rumors and stereotypes of organized crime, but there seems to be little evidence of much of this in Louisville. According to Buffo, there was a small Italian Mafia presence operating out of North Denver. Buffo recalls “during the 60s and 70s if you drove down Main Street (Louisville) you’d sometimes see five or six brand new Cadillacs parked out front of a pool hall. Those weren’t people from Louisville,” said Buffo. 

Legends of bootlegging tunnels underneath Old Town Louisville from the Prohibition era have mostly been either debunked or unproven. However, according to Gigi Young at the Louisville Historical Museum, the Prohibition era did produce some interesting bootlegging schemes in Louisville including a giant hidden underground still.

The nature of Louisville and Superior continued to evolve in the post World War era as coal mining was replaced by a more diversified economy in a growing Denver-Boulder metropolitan area. Buffo graduated from Louisville High in 1971. When I asked him about those days, I could feel the sense of excitement and nostalgia come through the phone. This was Louisville’s classic Americana era when homecoming and football games against Lafayette High School were the big thing.

It took the Louisville kids weeks to collect enough scrap wood for the homecoming bonfire, a tradition that would never fly today. Reflecting on this, Buffo said, “They once took Old Man Ferrari’s outhouse and put it on top of the pyre.” During football games, “a couple thousand people would show up,” said Buffo. “It was a lot of fun.”

Superior? It’s a strange name for a town. Located a little to the southwest of Louisville, the town of Superior was originated by a farmer, Charles Hake, who settled on the land around 1860. He knew of the exposed coal seam on his land, but it wasn’t until 1892 that he partnered with Jim Hood to drop the first coal mine shaft. The resulting mine called The Industrial would operate for the next 53 years and extract four million tons of coal from the earth.

1923-1925: Photographs of the Industrial Coal Mine coal camp near Superior, showing among other things the company housing and the company casino; also members of the Morgan and Gibby families.

Although the town of Superior was incorporated in 1904 only a few hundred residents called Superior home for almost the next century. Then the 1990s came and Superior exploded like a coal mine blast, booming to over 12,000 residents by the turn of the Millenium.

Chandy Ghosh and her husband were one of the early residents of Superior’s beautiful Rock Creek subdivision. Originally hailing from Calcutta, India, Ghosh came to New Mexico on a full ride scholarship in 1987, got a job in Denver at US West, and moved to Superior for the “superior schools” in the late 1990s.

Ghosh described for me a real life American dream. She became a successful telecommunications executive and found the perfect home with her husband in Superior with an unobstructed view of the mountains and a friendly community. “Twenty-five years later, I still feel blessed that we got this spot,” said Ghosh.

I asked Ghosh what she thinks about Superior’s growth. She remembered in the early years how the city lights would end on her commute home from downtown Denver near Westminster Mall and then it was pitch black. “Now, you can’t tell where Denver ends and Superior starts,” said Ghosh.

Ghosh is more than okay with the growth. “The schools and the views brought us here,” she said. “But, I’m really more of a city girl.” Ghosh believes that Superior is growing into an independent town with its own identity. “I’m loving Superior right now,” she said.

But on December 30, 2021 they nearly lost their dream home. In fact, it’s almost a miracle that they didn’t. “We smelled the smoke before we saw the fire,” she said. “Then I looked up and saw huge flames across the street, and at that moment someone started banging on our front door.” It was the fire marshall and they needed to go immediately.

Harper’s Lake. Photo: Dustin Doskocil

They only had time to grab passports before racing out the door. “We thought there was no way the house would survive,” said Ghosh. “But the next morning some friends snuck into the neighborhood and told us ‘your house is still standing!’” Somehow the flames parted. It burned the houses one block over on both sides of their street, but not theirs. Such was the erratic nature of the Marshall Fire.

The Marshall Fire did not break these communities. Not even close. They are quietly rebuilding. These towns were forged by hardy families. They had men (and often boys) who swung pick axes at black rocks six days a week and paid the price for their toil to build better lives for their descendants. They had women who endured the low income and constant worry about their mining husbands and sons.  

I know from speaking with Ron Buffo that he takes great pride in the example that his forebears set, and in the communities they helped build. Like Buffo said, we all should be glad that we don’t have to work in a damned coal mine.

Despite the Marshall Fire, Louisville and Superior remain among the best places in America to live. It is not just the great views and great schools. There’s something particularly wonderful about this area that we can’t quite put our finger on. Perhaps it’s simply superior.

The post Louisville and Superior: Surviving the Elements appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Historic Photography: Boulder Public Library, Carnegie Library for Local History, Donald C. Kemp Collection

Four historic mining towns on the edge of the Rockies survive booms, busts, blizzards, and tourists.

Nederland: From miners to frozen grandfathers

In 1864 young pioneer Sam Conger was hunting in the high country above the new settlement of Boulder when he spotted a strange rock. Conger took the stone home to Central City where it sat in a friend’s barn until someone told him in 1869 that it was silver ore. He immediately staked his claim and named it Caribou. It would be the largest silver ore deposit ever to be found in Colorado.

Within five years Caribou exploded to 3,000 residents. At 10,000 feet high and tucked up against the easternmost extent of the Continental Divide, it was one of the coldest and windiest mining towns in America. Despite the conditions the hardy prospectors built a real town there with a school, hotels, and even a roller skating rink.

The glory of Caribou was short-lived. Silver crashed in the 1890s, and a series of fires swept through the town in the early 1900s. In the ensuing decades the winter wind and snow took what was left and not even a ghost town remains of it.

But a tiny stage stop far down the hill would outlast Caribou by more than a century. Today we call it Nederland. With a population of about 1,500 people, “Ned” is now the big city of the four remaining Boulder County mountain towns.

Photo: Dustin Doskocil

On a recent sunny day in May my friend Lisa and I took a road trip through the four towns of Nederland, Ward, Gold Hill, and Jamestown. We descended into Nederland from the south on one of Colorado’s most scenic roads, the Peak to Peak Highway.

After stopping at Blue Owl Books on the edge of town for ice cream, we headed across the road to a place of whimsical joy — the Carousel of Happiness. The story of the carousel begins in a war. An American soldier in Vietnam carried with him a music box to sooth his nerves. The tinny tunes emanating from that box took the soldier’s mind away from the bombs and guns of war and brought to him a vision of laughing children riding a carousel in a mountain meadow.

After the war the soldier, Scott Harrison, brought his vision to life when he found an old 1910 carousel frame and mechanism in a Utah warehouse and moved it to Nederland in 1986. For the next 26 years Harrison personally carved all the wooden animals, many of which are time capsules containing old mementos. Around the carousel, if you look carefully, you might see the little fairies that watch from above. There is also the “somewhere else wall” and its portal to another dimension. A ticket to ride is just $3.

Near the Carousel of Happiness, a dirt trail follows Middle Boulder Creek through Chipeta Park and down to Barker Reservoir. Chipeta was the wife of the Ute Chief Ouray and herself a tribal leader. The land that Nederland rests on today is thought to have been a crossroads of successive ancient cultures, including Chipeta’s Utes. The meadow now at the bottom of Barker Reservoir was likely used for thousands of years as a base for hunting, trade, and transit between the plains and the mountains.

Nederland’s first non-indigenous settler was Nathan Brown who built his cabin in that same meadow in 1864. From that foothold came Brown’s Mountain House, an inn for hunters and prospectors. As the small settlement grew it became known variously as Brown’s Crossing, Brownsville, and Middle Boulder. The tiny town was renamed Nederland in 1874.

Nederland, 1898

After Caribou collapsed and a brief gold mining run at nearby Eldora came and went, a third boom would launch Nederland into its true mining heyday. This time it was tungsten, discovered by the same Sam Conger who first found silver in the area decades earlier. Tungsten is a metal used to harden steel which was needed in World War I. In 1916, Nederland’s population shot up to 3,000, double its current size.

As the war wound down, the bust cycle returned, and by 1920 only 200 Nederland residents remained. Nederland would hang on as a sleepy ranching and tourist town until the next boom cycle in the 1960s. This time it wasn’t miners but hippies who brought the town back to life.

In the late 1960s Boulder, Colorado had become one of America’s counterculture havens. Inevitably this brought “longhairs” up into the nearby mountains where they clashed with residents, many of whom viewed them as unwelcome invaders. Longtime Nederland area resident Holly Widdowfield told me, “We hippies were moving in, and there was a lot of tension between us and the older residents. The 1970s was a lot rougher in Nederland than it is today.”

A subset of these newcomers was the so-called Serenity, Tranquility, and Peace (STP) Family. The historical narrative describes them as a hygienically challenged cult of troublemakers. One STP member, Guy “Deputy Dawg” Gaughnor, was murdered by Nederland police marshal Renner Forbes, a crime that remained unsolved until Forbes’ confession in 1997. Former STP member David “Midget Jesse” Ansberry tried to avenge the murder of his friend by attempting, and failing, to blow up the Nederland police station in 2015.

In the early 1970s, music producer James Guercio purchased the 4,000-acre Caribou Ranch in the hills above town and turned its barn into one of America’s finest recording studios. With his music industry connections, Guercio attracted top singers and bands to the ranch starting with Colorado resident Joe Walsh.

Caribou Ranch Recording Studio: Music producer James Guercio turned Caribou Ranch barn into one of America’s finest recording studios.

The list of big names who recorded at Caribou during its 12-year run is incredible. Elton John recorded three full albums there, including, of course, “Caribou.” There was Dan Fogelberg, who also lived in Nederland for a time. Steven Stills recorded there and had a home in Gold Hill. There was Chicago; Earth, Wind & Fire; John Denver; U2; Stevie Nicks; Stevie Wonder; Jerry Lee Lewis; Tom Petty; Amy Grant; Billy Joel; Michael Jackson; and many others. Even John Lennon stopped by to record backing vocals for Elton John’s cover of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

Local Nederland residents often enjoyed impromptu encounters with the era’s biggest rock stars at the Pioneer Inn. Old timer and current Rollinsville resident Geno Kennedy, author of Welcome to the Mountains – Now Behave!, told me of times sitting next to Robert Plant at the inn. He also proclaimed the truth in the urban legend that Steven Stills once got tossed through the front window. A fire severely damaged the recording studio’s control room in 1984. By that time the heyday of the Caribou Ranch studio had passed. It was never reopened as a recording studio, and ownership of the ranch passed to new hands.

Nederland would soon return to fame in an unexpected way. In 1995 a big stir broke loose in town when local resident and Norwegian citizen Aud Bauge, upon being evicted from her home, expressed her concern that the frozen body on her property might thaw. A frenzy ensued, and it was revealed that Aud’s son and former Nederland resident Trygve, a cryogenics and life extension fanatic, had been keeping his frozen grandfather, Bredo Morstoel, on dry ice in a shed.

After much deliberation, the town passed a law against storing frozen bodies on private property. But Grandpa, as Bredo became known, was “grandfathered” in. He could stay, but someone would have to keep him on ice. Opinions on the matter shifted, and the people of Nederland accepted the frozen dead guy and created an annual festival in his honor.

Frozen Dead Guy Days exploded in popularity over the years with its frozen turkey bowling, coffin races, and polar bear plunges. Having outgrown Nederland’s capacity, the festival moved to Estes Park in 2023 after a run of twenty years. Bredo Morstoel’s frozen body remains in his Tuff Shed in the hills above Nederland.

Frozen Dead Guy Days: The festival moved to Estes Park in 2023 after a run of twenty years.

Welcome to Ward! Now get out!

Some people say that if you’re too strange for Boulder, you end up in Nederland, and if Nederland isn’t weird enough for you, there’s always Ward. This town is a mystery to many people. There’s a vague understanding that it’s a different kind of place — reclusive, perhaps even hostile, to outsiders. Despite dozens of visits to Nederland over the years as a Colorado native, I had never been to Ward.

After driving north from Nederland a few miles and a thousand feet higher in elevation, we turned off the highway to Ward and dropped steeply into a slice of Appalachia. Most of Ward sits in a sort of bowl that looks a bit like a West Virginia holler. The numerous junk cars strategically placed along the main road act as tourist repellant. It’s clearly a deliberate strategy.

Not sufficiently repelled, we parked the car below a wood carving of a demon with red eyes and walked up to some sort of general store. Stepping over a lazy unleashed dog, I tepidly opened the door. Behind the counter was a man wearing a beaver pelt hat who greeted us with no words and a narrow-eyed stare. We bought two coffees from his co-worker, a slightly more chipper fellow, as a peace offering.

Damian Strider Stevens. Photo by Doug Geiling.

The beaver pelt-hatted man was Damian Strider Stevens, and I felt fortunate to have met him as he claimed he was probably the only person in Ward who would be willing to speak on the record. He spun many tales of a different kind of life in Ward. Stevens is a coppersmith, sword fighting instructor, and children’s book author. He told us there’s a leash law in Ward, but only for pigs, and it’s illegal to own a billiard hall if your name is Steve.

Ward’s population has hovered around 125 residents, give or take, for the last half century, but it was once one of Colorado’s most successful and long-lasting mining districts. During most of its first half century it was home to more than a thousand people with a full-service business district. Founded in 1861 Ward also predates both Nederland, and the now vanished Caribou, by several years.

In a story all too common in these mining towns, a devastating wind-whipped fire swirled through the “Ward bowl” in January of 1900, and the town never recovered. Mining dwindled leaving residents with little reason to stay in this harsh and high locale. One notable visitor during this era was famed artist Georgia O’Keefe, who took the scenic Switzerland Trail to the town in 1917 and painted several landscapes, including the surviving oil painting “Church Bell, Ward.”

Downtown Ward. Photo by Doug Geiling.

During World War II, Ward’s population dropped to just four people. A few hardy loners hung around and kept Ward from becoming a ghost town until it was rediscovered in the 1960s by some of the same hippies who came to Nederland.

Stevens spent part of his early childhood in Ward and then returned as a young man almost thirty years ago. When I asked why he returned to Ward he said, “There’s this weird word people don’t understand. It’s called freedom. That’s why we chose Ward.”

The freedom of Ward is defined by its resistance to the societal mores of the world. It’s a last bastion of counterculture utopian dreams. The people of Ward seem to understand that to hold on to that dream, however watered down it may become over time, requires a certain open hostility to the influences of outsiders. Those junk cars lining the road, dogs wandering around off leash, and lack of attractions are all part of a deliberate strategy to make Ward seem like an unappealing place.

Ward residents do not like publicity, and yet here I am putting them on the printed page. But no story on Boulder County’s mountain communities would be complete without including Ward. Its story must be told, but the interests of the people of Ward must also be respected. Ward is not a tourist attraction. There is no place to stay in town, nothing to do, and it’s not very scenic in its Appalachian-like bowl with streets full of junk cars. Ward’s beauty is in the knowledge that a place like this still exists in a homogenizing world.

Watermelon propane. Photo by Doug Geiling.

Gold Hill and Jamestown: The fires and the floods of time

Just south of Ward we turned east off the Peak to Peak Highway onto the gravel Gold Hill Road. It’s a lovely backcountry drive through pine, aspen, and mountain meadows. In a few minutes we arrived at the west end of Gold Hill.

With no paved roads in or out and its historic log structures, Gold Hill looks the part of a western mining town. It is the oldest mining town in Colorado, founded in 1859 after gold was discovered nearby. Gold Hill generally follows the same boom-and-bust history of other Colorado mining towns. At its peak in the late 1800s it housed around 1,500 residents. Just under 200 people call it home today.

The town was sustained during the quiet days of the first half of the 20th century in part as a retreat. The Bluebird Lodge, originally built in 1872, was acquired by a group of women in 1920 who called themselves the Bluebirds. They built the Gold Hill Inn next door in 1924, and for the next three decades the “by and for women” retreat thrived.

The Gold Hill Inn is now owned by brothers Brian and Chris Finn who took over the business from their parents, Barbara and Frank, in the early 1980s. According to Brian Finn, his “crazy adventurous” parents borrowed $12,000 in 1962, purchased the inn, and opened the restaurant that still operates today.

“Since the inn was so unique, it got a lot of press,” said Finn. Before long it became a favorite haunt for visitors from IBM and the University of Colorado. Around the time that Brian and Chris Finn took over the inn, the family owned a free range donkey named Twinkles who would greet visitors on arrival. One such visitor was Second Lady Joan Mondale. Town residents doubled over in laughter as Mondale’s secret service men were visibly nervous over the approaching donkey. But Mondale was delighted, gave Twinkles a scratch behind the ears, and all was good. Twinkles now has a signature drink at the inn.

Lynn Walker, owner of the Colorado Mountain Ranch kids’ day camp, has been a Gold Hill resident since 1970. The camp, originally a homestead potato farm, has been in operation since 1947 when Walker’s parents-in-law acquired the property. Every summer, kids are bussed up from the flatlands for horseback riding, roping, animal care, western art, and many other activities in the idyllic mountain setting.

In the early days of Gold Hill the original town site was mostly destroyed by a wildfire. It nearly happened again in 2011. As Finn described it, “That day was not looking good. But then the winds kind of shifted, and this huge plane came in and dropped a slurry line on the south end of Gold Hill.” It was a very close call. According to Finn, the flames came so close to some of the homes that their windows melted. Although Gold Hill was saved, Walker’s camp lost a number of structures. “It was a team of guys from Ward (volunteer firefighters) who got us up and running again,” said Walker.

One of the guests at the Gold Hill Inn was Second Lady Joan Mondale.

“Is it me, or is this road surprisingly steep?” I asked Lisa while downshifting. One mile and 750 vertical feet later Lickskillet Road spit us out onto the paved Left Hand Canyon Drive. Lickskillet is a backdoor route between Gold Hill and Jamestown. According to Walker, the miner who lived at the bottom had a mule that would lick his skillet, hence the name. I learned later that it is the steepest county road in America with grades approaching 20%.

A bear on a sign greeted us at the edge of Jamestown, established in 1883, population 254. The story is, by now, familiar. Gold was discovered here, and a mining town was started, originally known as “Jimtown.” There was the boom and the bust. The settlement somehow hung onto existence and remains today as a quaint, secluded mountain hamlet a fraction of its peak size from over 100 years prior.

The lowest of the four towns at just under 7,000 feet, Jamestown offers the pleasantness of a lower foothills environment. The historic Jamestown Mercantile, right off the sleepy main road, is the perfect place to stop for a meal and, if you’re lucky, some live music.

In its lower streamside location Jamestown has been subject to several catastrophic flash floods. Much of the town was destroyed by a flood in 1894 and again in 1969 when residents were stranded for ten days. The most recent of the floods was in 2013, a well-known disaster to many current Coloradans.

The pursuit of authenticity

Forces of nature often clash in the mountain towns of Boulder County where the Great Plains meet the Rockies. Extraordinary weather events, both awe-inspiring and dangerous, dot the historical record. The world record 24-hour snowfall was recorded near Ward in April 1921 when over six feet of snow fell in one day. A 2003 blizzard dumped between five and eight feet of snow on these towns. The Ward bowl in the dead of winter may as well be the Arctic on some days as sub-zero air is whipped around by biting winter winds. Warmer Chinook winds commonly exceed 100 miles per hour as they crash down from the Great Divide. The lost town of Caribou was said to be the birthplace of the wind. Summer forest fires and flash floods are a seasonal threat, as the residents of Gold Hill and Jamestown know all too well.

The world record 24-hour snowfall was recorded near Ward in April 1921 when over six feet of snow fell in one day.

Full-time residents of these towns accept and embrace these hardships. It’s part of the price to pay for living a mountain life. For visitors, a summer day along the dirt streets in Gold Hill or in Ned’s Chipeta Park can be heaven. But a February spent in the Ward bowl is a different beast. It’s understandable that long-time residents demand they be the ones to determine how life should be lived at 9,000 feet.

As Geno Kennedy told me, “We want to be heard, but we don’t want a lot of attention.” There’s an important message in that statement. It represents the pursuit of authenticity, the preservation of a lifestyle uncontrolled by planning commissions, homeowners associations, and tacky tourist attractions. The Boulder County mountain towns are places not to be changed or made better but simply to be acknowledged for their uniqueness and character.

Each generation of mountain towners will establish their own authenticity, but it must be theirs to create.

The post The Mountain Towns appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Historic photography provided by Colorado University Digital Library (CUDL) from the Joseph Sturtevant, James F. Willard and Charles F. Snow galleries.

The people of the sky

Around 1825, on the vast expanse of plains east of the Rocky Mountains, a baby boy was born. His parents soon noticed his tendency to reach for dried buffalo meat with his left hand, so they named him Niwot, or Left Hand. Left Hand’s people called themselves the Hinono’ei, which means “Our people.” Their allies, the Cheyenne, called them Hitanwo’iv, or “People of the sky.” Today they are called the Arapaho.

Left Hand stood over six feet tall with a muscular build as a young man. He had a gift for learning languages. In addition to several other native languages, Left Hand became a fluent English speaker, learning from the mountain men that his people traded with. His mind was geared towards reason and compromise over conflict. His patience was legendary.

By the mid-1840s Left Hand and his people had entered an apocalypse that threatened their survival. The trickle of lone whites who ventured their way across Arapaho land in the year of Left Hand’s birth had become a horde that grew exponentially. The whites brought with them invisible death in the form of diseases that Left Hand’s people had no immunity against. By 1850 the Southern Arapaho had lost two-thirds of their people to disease.

While the Arapaho dwindled in numbers, so did the bison from which their existence depended. Pioneers and soldiers laid waste to the prairie and its natural bounty, killing the bison by the millions.

When gold was discovered on the edge of Colorado’s mountains in 1858, the whites who flooded into the territory no longer passed through but came to stay. Their numbers exploded. While many of these new settlers were decent people with good intentions, there were also many outlaws, scoundrels, and greedy fortune-seekers who would double-cross any friend or foe to get a leg up in a lawless country.

Sand Creek Massacre. Painting by Robert Lindneaux

Left Hand, now a young chief, understood the power dynamics of the situation. He knew his people lacked the numbers to expel the white horde by force. Many of his young warriors failed to understand this or didn’t care. Left Hand worked as hard to keep his warriors at bay as he did in his tireless efforts to negotiate with his white counterparts.

By 1858 Left Hand knew his people’s survival depended on transformation. It was far from his desired choice, but he was a realist who knew that the white man was here to stay.

Two Days in November

After a long journey east to investigate if farming would work for his people, Left Hand and his family, to great dismay, found a group of gold prospectors encamped on his traditional winter grounds at the opening of Boulder Canyon.

After much deliberation among his band, Left Hand allowed the miners to stay that winter so long as they agreed to leave come spring. The miners agreed, but within three months broke their word. When they struck gold in the hills above their camp, they immediately founded the new city of Boulder right on top of the land of Left Hand’s people. Likely disgusted, Left Hand moved his winter lodge north.

Things worsened from there as Left Hand and his compatriots tried to manage a fruitless engagement with a revolving door of white misfits in Denver with varying degrees of competence and inconsistent objectives. The whites in Denver suffered from a lack of clear direction as their outpost was a world away from Washington, which would soon become distracted with a bloody civil war.

By 1863 Left Hand’s people began to starve with the bison disappearing rapidly. He briefly lost control of some of his warriors who unleashed a series of attacks on the settlers. They killed and scalped several dozen men and took women and children captive. While their bounty from these raids may have provided some temporary rations, in the long run, as Left Hand feared, it would be their undoing.

Camp Weld Conference

These attacks gave Colorado Territorial Governor John Evans and his lead military man, Colonel John Chivington, the pretext they wanted to, as they put it, “chastise” the Indians. Evans was a smart but corrupt businessman who viewed the Indians as nothing more than obstacles in his path to greater wealth. Chivington was a complete ignoramus, but what he lacked in brains and humanity he made up for with brute force.

While Evans continued to deceive and confuse the chiefs, Chivington raised a local militia including “Company D” from Boulder. In the fall of 1864, the Cheyenne and Arapaho were essentially tricked into congregating many of their people into a camp at Sand Creek where they were told they would receive much needed government annuities before winter set in. The chiefs really had little choice but to show up if they wanted to save many of their people from starvation that winter.

As the Indians arrived by the hundreds in late November, Chivington marched his nearly thousand-strong militia out of Denver to the southeast. The militia fell upon the Indian camp at dawn on November 29, 1864 with a sickening fury, first firing into the bodies of Cheyenne women who had just risen to prepare the camp for the day.

When gunfire erupted, some of the men frantically emerged waving white and American flags. They must have thought it was a horrible mistake and urgently tried to deescalate the situation. Despite this, Chivington and most of his men — some did refuse to engage — continued to fire. It is said that the legendary Cheyenne Chief White Antelope simply stood with his arms folded in front of him singing the Cheyenne death song.

The slaughter went on for six hours, with soldiers using knives to dispatch anyone their firearms had not killed. When the bodies stopped moving, Chivington and his men were still unsatisfied, so they mutilated them, moving from one to another, cutting off body parts to take back to Denver as trophies.

Records still vary, but between 150 and 250 people would lay dead, many of them children, very few of them warriors. Left Hand was inside the camp with his family when it came under attack. There is no account of his own actions during the massacre, but his wife and children were all killed. It is believed that Left Hand was severely wounded but was carried away from the camp by some of his men in the night only to die a short time later. The great Native American Arapaho chief was only about forty years of age.

Sandstone sculpture of Chief Left Hand at 9th and Canyon. Photo by Doug Geiling

Sand Creek was not in any way a warrior camp, and everyone involved knew it. What happened was a despicable act of deliberate mass murder against the most innocent and helpless of people, those seeking relief from famine, who had already been subject to the slow brutalization of having their very livelihoods stripped away from them.

While Chivington and Evans had their share of supporters, most people in the nation were disgusted and horrified by the massacre. Three separate congressional investigations all concluded the attack to be entirely unjustified and abhorrent. Evans was forced to resign his governorship and Chivington was relieved of military command, but neither of these two were criminally prosecuted despite the protestations of many — native and white alike.

The massacre would finally cause the remaining chiefs to give up on the whites. They would be engaged in a guerilla war for the next two decades, the remainder of their people ultimately pushed into reservations in Oklahoma and Wyoming where many of their descendants remain today.

George Bent and Magpie, a Sand Creek Massacre Survivor

Emergence

Tom Aikens and his group of gold miners who betrayed Left Hand at the mouth of Boulder Canyon in 1859 founded the city of Boulder. That winter, as Left Hand moved his camp north, the miners plotted out 4,000 lots on Left Hand’s land and put them up for sale. Boulder’s growth was slow at first, but it gradually established itself along Pearl Street as a typical western mining town.

The University of Colorado opened to an initial class of 47 students in 1877 with the construction of the iconic Old Main as the first lecture hall. At the time, Old Main was like a lost castle plopped onto the high prairie. In an early sign of Boulder’s coming progressivism, the university hired a woman, Mary Rippon, as one of its first professors.

A group of Texans brought the Chautauqua movement to Boulder in 1898. “Chautauquas” were open forums and speeches on intellectually stimulating ideas, like an early version of a TED Talk. In an alternative history, one could easily imagine an elderly Left Hand holding court there among his white friends after achieving a lasting peace.

During this era, several former Black slaves or their children moved west and settled in Boulder. Oliver Toussant Jackson, son of former slaves from Ohio, bought a nearby farm, built a home, and started two restaurants in Boulder before founding the all-Black Colorado settlement of Dearfield.

By the First World War, Boulder had successfully completed its transformation from gold mining into a blossoming university town mostly characterized by free thinkers and new ideas. The town did have its turn with the Klan in the 1920s. That was an unfortunate episode of Colorado’s history and sadly not unique to Boulder.

The Beautiful Haven

Isabella Bird was a pioneering 19th century adventure travel writer. The Englishwoman came through Boulder at age 42 in 1873, was unimpressed with the infant dusty town at the time, and headed up the hill to Estes Park. There she met and became smitten with one-eyed outlaw Jim Nugent. Together, they climbed to the summit of Longs Peak via the classic Keyhole route.

Bird’s collection of letters from her Colorado trip was published in 1879 as “A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains.” It was an instant best seller. It was also a tourist draw, helping to make Boulder the first gateway to the Colorado Rockies in a new American West.

In the early to mid-1900s tourists would stop on the way up the canyon to gander at the Perfect Spruce, a gigantic tree with a symmetrical shape standing near the far bank of Boulder Creek. Images from a hundred years ago show the enormous tree standing perhaps 200 feet, towering above the less perfect trees around it. It stood until the 1990s. By then it was no longer an attraction as its perfect shape had long deteriorated due to old age before it finally fell.

So fascinated was I with the idea of this tree that I went looking for its fallen husk, wading through the icy April water of Boulder Creek like a madman, stomping over snow covered ground up and down the streamside. I never found it, but I haven’t given up on the idea that its massive carcass may still lay somewhere in the brush.

Athletic Field. Courtesy of the J. Raymond Brackett Photograph Collection

From an early date, the people of Boulder recognized the value of their city’s natural beauty, and they would implement at times controversial policies to maintain a balance between the city’s development and the integrity of its natural surroundings. As locals know well, these policies in recent years have helped make Boulder real estate some of the most expensive in the West.

I discussed this with long-time Boulder resident Tom Fowler, of Fowler Real Estate Group. Fowler moved to Boulder as an infant with his family in 1955. After arriving in town Fowler’s father opened their real estate office on a dirt road that became 28th Street. Fowler described how the flow of traffic on the Boulder-Denver Turnpike has reversed with more commuters now driving into Boulder in the mornings from Denver.

Athletic Field. Courtesy of the J. Raymond Brackett Photograph Collection

The Emerald City

Bob Ditlow and Billy Hoke don’t know each other, but they have remarkably similar stories. Both grew up in military families and, for different reasons, found themselves in Boulder in the late 1960s, a time and place of incredible energy and change. I spoke with Hoke at his business, The Boulder Drum Shop. His easygoing and welcoming vibe seemed nostalgic as a customer tested out a drum set behind me.

Hoke moved to Boulder in 1969 from Aspen and landed in the middle of the city’s music scene. “One of the first things I did when I moved here is I got on the Rolling Stones crew as stage security for a show up in Fort Collins,” he said. “I went up there and Mick (Jagger) took me under his wing and made me smoke hash with him for a couple hours.” Hoke went on to reminisce about playing drums with Todd from Big Head Todd and the Monsters or getting the chance to do some session work at the Caribou Ranch Recording Studio up in Nederland. During our conversation, Hoke rattled off numerous big-name musicians who have, at one time or another, called Boulder home, like Joe Walsh, Stephen Stills, Dan Fogelberg, Michael Clarke of The Byrds, and others.

The Hale Science Building was built from 1890 to 1894 and was one of the first buildings on the Boulder campus. Courtesy of J. Raymond Brackett Photograph Collection

Ditlow first moved to Boulder from Colorado Springs in the fall of 1968 as a freshman music major at the University of Colorado. Arriving on the CU campus was a culture shock for Ditlow who grew up the son of an army sergeant. But Ditlow was, and still claims to be, just a “kid chasing windmills.” The following is how Ditlow described his first day at CU:

“We got past the engineering building, and there was this guy on a literal soap box in a white sheet preaching about the end of times. Then we walked up to Norlin Library, and there must have been a hundred people in a lotus position. Now, my parents were freaking out, but I’m thinking this is the ‘Emerald City.’ Then we walked up to The Hill across Broadway, and we saw all the Hare Krishnas in their orange outfits. I’m lovin’ it! This is a different world. It was amazing. This is where I belong.”

By the start of the 21st century Boulder had fully blossomed into the scientific, technological, media, and cultural hub that it remains today. The city of Boulder’s history is far too robust to attempt to cover in this one article. There are multitudes of historical topics to delve further into, some of which I haven’t even touched on here. For better or worse, the city has come light years from its first days as a rough frontier mining town. But, for all this achievement, generational transformation, and growth, I don’t think these really define the essence of Boulder, Colorado.

Party at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon Fraternity. Courtesy of Charles F. Snow Photographs

In the Spirit of Left Hand

What I keep coming back to is this: The crossing of the people. Perhaps more than any other city in all of Colorado, the uniqueness of Boulder’s history is about its repeated confluence of different groups of people and the ideas that come with them. Whether it be Left Hand and the gold miners, the hippies and the cowboys, rock stars and college students, Boulder is truly a people’s crossing.

Boulder Creek near Left Hand’s winter camp. Photo by Doug Geiling

I recently visited Left Hand’s traditional winter grounds at the mouth of Boulder Creek Canyon, now the People’s Crossing Park. As I walked up the trail over a small rock outcropping, a broad meadow came into view below me, concealed by a ridge of red sandstone spires and cloaked in a ring of ponderosa pines. It would have been an ideal winter camp. As I continued up the path with fresh spring snow on the pine branches, a late afternoon burst of sunshine suddenly broke through the clouds, illuminating the white and red landscape.

I crested the hill and a view down to the entire city of Boulder unfolded before me. I could see the University of Colorado, Broadway and Pearl Streets, and the tree-lined old neighborhoods around town. I went back in time in my mind and envisioned a band of Arapaho riding up towards the edge of the mountains across the open plain. I pictured a few ramshackle miner shops and saloons on a dusty Pearl Street. Then came the early tourists, first in horse-drawn carriages, then in Model T’s, as they headed into the mouth of the canyon to see Boulder Falls. As the town continued to grow in my mind, I saw an isolated dirt road in the distance — old 28th Street. A growing city now, I saw and heard the year 1969, the vibrancy and the cultural change happening in real time.

But somewhere around 1990 the dramatic changes slowed in my mind. Where does it go from here? Standing there looking over the city of Boulder, I recalled earlier that day, reading about the recent name change of this place from Settler’s Park to The People’s Crossing. And in that story, there was an image taken just this past March of white Boulder residents and Native Americans, all standing and smiling together.

And as I recalled that image, it was then that I sensed a Left Hand resting gently on my shoulder.

The post Boulder: Crossroads of the People appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Erie has long been defined by its rural past and as the town grows, will need to draw from its history to maintain its authenticity.

Two Trappers

Charlie Liley had a dangerous job in 1897. He was a trapper in an Erie, Colorado coal mine. For hours on end, day after day, he sat alone in the blackness of an earthen underworld. His job was simple — to open and close big wooden trap doors to let fresh air through the mine when the mules came through with their loads. It was dangerous work. Runaway coal carts were death machines, and cave-ins were a constant threat. But the trapper’s boredom and loneliness were the worst part. Solitary confinement in the pitch black could play cruel games on a man’s mind. Except Charlie was no man. He was just a 10-year-old boy.

This was America’s Gilded Age when barons of heavy industry steamrolled the dignity of the less fortunate. By the time Charlie became a coal mine trapper, Erie was already one of Colorado’s most important coal mining towns. It was a rough place then. If one were to venture up the hill east of town for a birds-eye view in 1897, they would have seen a small dusty town surrounded by coal mine tipples in every direction.

The first coal miner in Erie is said to be fur trapper and mountain man Jim Baker. He was a friend of Kit Carson, John C. “Pathfinder” Frémont, and Jim Bridger, legendary names of the pre-gold rush fur trapping era. Baker once had part of his face chewed off by a grizzly bear he killed.

Coal Miner Memorial: Photo: Doug Geiling

Relations between the mountain men and Native Americans were complicated, and Baker’s life was certainly an example of that. Baker was a part of the vanguard of white explorers from the East who represented unwanted encroachment upon native lands in the West. But he also adopted native ways, learning several Native American languages. Like the tribes he interacted with, he fought both against and with Native Americans depending on his alliances and interests. He once rescued a Shoshone chief’s daughter, named Marina, from Blackfoot captivity and then married her. In marriage he adopted the Shoshone lifestyle and was given the name “Red-Haired Shoshone” by his allied tribe.

As the fur trade withered Baker briefly tried his hand at coal mining. In 1858 Baker’s Bank was a small slope mine on the west bank of Coal Creek near present-day Old Town Erie. The effort proved unprofitable within a year, and Baker moved on to other ventures.

Baker’s Bank notwithstanding, the discovery of coal in Erie was officially documented in 1866. By this time the growing settlement was unofficially known as Coal Park. More settlers arrived near the end of the decade just to the northwest in an area called Canfield. The Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes were known to have camped along Coal Creek in what is now Erie at times. But by 1870 the crushing wave of white settlers and the repressive government policies that supported them had largely forced the Native Americans onto less desirable lands farther south.

In 1874 the town of Erie was founded by a group of men including Richard van Valkenburg. Van Valkenburg named the town after Erie, Pennsylvania, his former home. By 1874 the new town was already well entrenched as an up-and-coming coal mining epicenter in the massive Northern Colorado Coal Field.

Photo courtesy of Erie Historical Society

By this time Erie had already scored a railroad connection. A rail spur from Brighton to Erie called the Boulder Valley Railway greatly accelerated the capacity of coal transportation. With this rail link in place, new coal mines began to sprout like weeds. More rail connections followed quickly including a narrow-gauge line carrying coal and passengers along today’s 119th Street from Canfield to Longmont. This train was nicknamed Longmont’s “Baby Railroad.”

By 1890 the Baby Railroad was replaced with the standard-gauge Burlington and re-routed along Erie’s High Street as part of a line from Denver to Lyons. The Burlington intersected with the Union Pacific near the south end of High Street. A train depot was built near the intersection still known today by some locals as either “the thirteen trees” or “the witching trees.” The depot is no longer in its original location, but it still stands today, having been saved and moved a couple hundred yards to the southwest by a local homeowner. You can see the small white structure directly east and across the road from County Line Lumber.

If you’ve ever wondered why Old Town Erie has that wonderful linear open space along High Street, it’s because that was the old Burlington rail line. The train ran well into the 1980s, and the tracks were finally pulled in 1990, a run of almost a full century.

Trains ran through Erie for nearly a century beginning in the early coal mining days. Photo courtesy of Erie Community Library

Machine Gun on the Tower

Northern Colorado coal mining was dangerous, back-breaking work. In Erie’s early coal mining days mine managers and their wealthy owners and financiers, like the Rockefellers, treated miners and their families like cordwood. Their practices were sometimes called industrial slavery. The coal miner was routinely cheated, brutalized, and dehumanized. Pay was barely a living wage at best, and often they were paid in company-issued currency called scrip that could only be used to buy overpriced goods at the company store. The average coal miner worked 12-14 hours a day and yet could never get ahead. As in the lyrics of the song “Sixteen Tons” by Tennessee Ernie Ford, the coal miner was stuck in a life where each day he loaded sixteen tons only to get “another day older and deeper in debt.”

Company towns sprang up at the larger mines to offer miners and their families affordable housing but in effect turned them into de facto labor camp prisoners. At Erie’s Columbine Mine near today’s landfill, the company town was named Serene. James B. Stull wrote in “A Brief History of Erie Colorado,” “It was a collection of dirty company houses surrounded by a barricade of barbed wire. It was illuminated at night by a large searchlight that was installed on the mine tipple.”

The result of these conditions was predictable. Frequent labor strikes broke out as miners organized to demand a modicum of dignity and fair treatment. Often this resulted in violence. Strikes were put down with brutal force and indifference by an alliance between mining interests and government authorities. State militias and troopers full of men eager to draw blood were often called up to intimidate striking miners and their families.

Company towns sprang up at the larger mines to offer miners and their families affordable housing but in effect turned them into de facto labor camp prisoners.

In November of 1927 the searchlight on the Columbine Mine’s tipple was accompanied by a machine gun. Miners were on strike again throughout the Northern Colorado Coal Field, and tensions were rising daily as a coal shortage loomed at the start of winter. Striking miners had children who attended the company school at Serene inside the gates. They would protest and agitate while taking their kids to and from school. These daily marches were often led by Elizabeth Baranek, the 5-foot-two-inch, 44-year-old wife of miner Joe Baranek, and mother of 16 kids with a 17th on the way.

The powder keg finally exploded at dawn on November 21, 1927. On that morning plain-clothed militia men, armed to the teeth, refused to let striking miners inside the gates of Serene. Strike leader Adam Bell, a “wobbly” from the International Workers of the World (IWW), was pulled over the top of the fence and beaten. Mrs. Baranek, carrying her unborn 17th child, broke through the gate and tried to shield Bell with an American flag only to be beaten herself.

When the protesters then surged, gunfire erupted into the crowd of several hundred. The massacre left six dead and 60 wounded. Erie’s doctor, James Bixler, is credited with saving the lives of many of the injured.

From left to right, the Erie “old timers” are Linette Ballew, Shavonne Blades, Dan Wendzel, Lois Joyce, Barry “Wildman” Snyder, Sherri Bond, Dan Hoback

Time Vortex

After the Columbine Mine massacre, progress was made in the labor movement under the leadership of Josephine Roche, a mining company insider who was sympathetic to the plight of the miner. By this time, however, Erie was reaching its coal mining peak. 

As the Great Depression settled over the land, Erie coal mining began its long decline, gradually replaced by oil and gas drilling. During the Depression some down-and-out families took to residing in caves and dugouts on the banks of Coal Creek. But coal mining work continued through the industry’s long decline, and for those fortunate enough to maintain employment, labor conditions improved.

Ralph Castro, a coal miner’s son, was born in Erie in 1938 and still lives in his childhood Old Town home on Holbrook Street. “My dad worked at several different mines and wound up at the Eagle.” Castro’s father, Mike, was active in the United Mine Workers Union. In those later years “wages got better and better.” According to Castro, his father was able to make a respectable living as a miner during and after the Second World War.

Castro graduated high school in 1957 in a class of eight kids. He remembers childhood in Erie as an easy going time. “We never thought about getting into trouble,” he said. “We all kept our noses clean.”

“We never thought about getting into trouble. We all kept our noses clean.”

Castro and long-time Erie resident Dan Wendzel are neighbors. Wendzel’s father, Joe, was also a coal miner. For thirty years Joe worked the mines in and around town, developing black lung disease later in life. Wendzel graduated from high school in Erie in a class of just 14 kids in 1964. As surrounding towns like Longmont began to attract new industries that spawned growth and new housing developments, Erie became a lost town in the middle of nothing on the way to nowhere. Groceries and supplies required trips north to Longmont. Water was trucked in from Lyons because Erie’s water was so terrible, nobody would drink it.

Many people still heated their homes with coal in those years. As a teenager Wendzel would drive a pickup truck to the still-operating Eagle Mine and purchase coal by weight. Pollution from coal burning was terrible at times. Wendzel told me that, on some winter days, the coal smoke would settle over town so thickly that he couldn’t see the houses through the smoke while driving into town from the hills to the east.

While Erie offered bad water, bad air, and not much for kids to do, life back then, as Wendzel described it, was authentic and simple. There was little league baseball and bike rides on dirt roads with fishing poles in hand to Erie Lake for bluegills and the occasional bass. There was also the pastime of watching the trains come and go right through town.

As a kid Wendzel lived right on the Burlington line on High Street. “You could feel the house shake when the train passed,” he said. In those days the train was still powered by steam engine. Because the Burlington and the Union Pacific crossed tracks just south of town, the train conductor was required to stop the entire train right in town on each passing to avoid collisions. “The train would head north early in the morning and come back about dusk, hauling coal one way and sugar beets the other,” said Wendzel.

“You could feel the house shake when the train passed. The train would head north early in the morning and come back about dusk, hauling coal one way and sugar beets the other.”

Lois Joyce moved to Erie in 1978, the same year the last coal load came out of the Eagle Mine ending Erie’s remarkable 120-year coal mining run starting with Baker’s Bank. She, too, remembers her house on High Street shaking when that train rolled by. “If I stood in my kitchen when that train came, it looked like it would slice the house down,” she said.

Joyce had many great stories about Erie’s small town cops. She recalled being neighbors with one of the officers whose cruiser frequently broke down. She would often hear him banging around under the hood to get it running again before his shift started. Joyce also remembers the neighborhood kids roaming free at age 6 or 7. If they didn’t come home on time, all the neighbors knew they would be down by the creek getting muddy and catching crawdads.

Both Joyce and long-time Erie resident Eva Kalemenis told me that Erie still had an operator-assisted telephone system until almost 1990, and they both reminisced about how bad the mud and dust could get in Old Town before the streets were finally paved in 1999. Kalemenis first moved to Old Town Erie in 1986, purchasing one of Erie’s oldest historic homes built in 1884. “The place was really a wreck,” she said, “but we loved it.”

Shavonne Blades, owner of Yellow Scene Magazine, moved to town in 1992 and worked as a bartender at the divey Erie Inn, now award-winning 24 Carrot Bistro, for several years. Over coffees at Fox Dog on Briggs, Blades described a 1990s Erie as a town caught in a time vortex. Except for Briggs and Cheeseman, all the streets were still dirt, and Briggs Street bars served professional drunks and locals with nicknames like “Crazy Glenn,” “Kentucky Bob,” and still current Erie resident Barry “Wildman” Snyder. Then there was “Old Grumpy Floyd” who used to ride his horse, not just to the bar, but into it. Floyd’s horse would hang out on the dance floor until Floyd was ready to leave and ride back home.

Barry “Wildman” Snyder is known as “Big Wheel Barry”. He used to lead the homecoming parade on an old-time penny farthing bicycle.

Barry “Wildman” Snyder still lives in Erie. He is also known as “Big Wheel Barry” because he used to lead the homecoming parade on an old-time penny farthing bicycle. “Barry was always the hit of the parade on that penny farthing,” said Blades.

From Fox Dog I walked with Blades the block-and-a-half to go visit with Snyder at his home. We walked through a yard decorated with old Studebakers that he likes to work on. Stepping inside the door, a man with a ZZ Top beard greeted us, and I was transported into a fascinating home full of model cars and fruit sticker art. Besides the big wheel bicycle, Snyder is also known for his works of art made from the little stickers they put on fruit. After the tour of his house and artwork, as we were leaving, Snyder remarked that he “tends to like stuff that isn’t normal.” But the twinkle in his eye said so much more as he showed me the rare British motorcycle he’s working on.

Linette Ballew was five years old in 1976 when her family moved to a piece of land over an old coal mine just northeast of Erie. She graduated high school in a class of 54 kids in 1989, moved away, and then came back home in 1997.

Through her words, Ballew painted a beautiful picture of the Erie of her youth — one where all the main roads to and from Erie were still dirt and the tall blinking weather tower always pointed the way back home. Times were certainly different then. “I had friends who would jump the train to Longmont and hitchhike back to Erie,” said Ballew. Erie residents today often identify where they live by the name of their neighborhood. When Ballew was growing up in Erie there were no neighborhood names. Instead, there was Beer Can Hill, Chicken City, and Dead Man’s Curve. Everyone in town knew where these places were.

Sherry Bond shared similar sentiments from her short time in Erie’s Airpark subdivision in the mid-1980s. Like Ballew, she too moved away only to come back many years later. She remembers the drive into Erie on a gravel Highway 7 from I-25. With the mountains as backdrop, she said you could see only three things down that westbound gravel road: Old Town Lafayette, Old Town Erie, and the Erie Airport in between. In recalling life in the Erie Airpark neighborhood, Bond remembered the airplane that was converted into the beloved Strawberries restaurant, now gone.

Perhaps the most fitting story from 1980s and 1990s Erie is the one about Jake: Jake was a grumpy Yellow Lab who ran for mayor in 1994. He enjoyed a shot or two of butterscotch schnapps from the bar.

That town that was caught in a time vortex in the 1990s with its dirt streets, horses in bars, and dogs running for mayor suddenly exploded on the scene.

From Podunk to Little Big Town

If you live in Erie today, you likely know the basics of the rest of the story. That town that was caught in a time vortex in the 1990s with its dirt streets, horses in bars, and dogs running for mayor suddenly exploded on the scene. A location that was once a Front Range void, a forgotten backwater from the heyday of coal mining, became prime real estate as the Denver metropolitan area grew north.

In the 2000s growth hit Erie like a bomb and hasn’t slowed since. After taking more than 100 years for Erie’s population to go from 600 to 1,200 around 1990, it rocketed to 6,600 by 2000; 18,000 in 2010; and over 30,000 in 2020.

This growth is not slowing down anytime soon. Erie Trustee Dan Hoback told me that Erie’s population will double again to more than 60,000 residents in the next 10 to 15 years. Open land in Erie from I-25 to Highway 287 and from Highway 52 down to Highway 7 is filling up with row upon row of suburban houses and supporting retail and business development. Erie High School’s student population of about 1,800 seems almost absurd considering Linette Ballew’s 1989 graduating class of just 54 kids was not that long ago.

Mount Pleasant cemetery with vistas of the mountains is the oldest existing historic place in Erie. Photo by Doug Geiling

According to Hoback the availability of large amounts of land with easy access to Boulder and Denver has made Erie the bullseye for North Metro housing development. Prior to about 2000 Erie was perhaps a bit too far away and off the beaten path to attract much development. But, as the Denver metropolitan area expanded northward and expensive housing in and near Boulder priced the average home buyer out of that market, Erie transitioned from small town to boomtown.

And yet, Erie remains a great place to live by most accounts. As does Longmont, which experienced similar expansion forty years ago and has grown into an admirable small Front Range city. We do lose the innocence of our small old towns when they grow into small cities, but we can also gain much through the process.

I asked each of the Erie “old timers” I interviewed how Erie can maintain its core appeal through its explosive growth. The answers were basically all the same: Old Town. Keep the historic character of Erie’s Old Town, and the town will maintain its tether to its historic roots.

Kalemenis hopes that Erie doesn’t try to change too much of the quirkiness and character of Old Town. “I don’t want everything to look like eye candy,” she said. When I asked Ballew how Erie can maintain its character she quickly said, “I hope they never take the Erie Town Fair from Old Town.” Blades is advocating for the new Town Center to be developed with the look and feel of Old Town in mind. “I really hope it looks like this,” she said gesturing out the window of Fox Dog Coffee out to Briggs Street.

For a town that, until the 2000s was a tiny, dirt-street, coal mining relic that even many Denver area natives like me never even knew existed, Erie has a remarkably rich and interesting history. There is so much more that could not fit into this brief journey through time: the Erie Raceway, the junkyard with all the VW Beetles, the hot air balloons, Biscuit Days, the history of the Airpark, the Wise Homestead, the fracking controversy, the multiple Coal Creek floods, and so much more.

Can it be done? Can Erie continue to grow like this and simultaneously maintain its historical character? Can it be the little big town we all want it to be? We think so. But it hinges on one thing: Old Town.

History of Erie

The post Erie – Little Big Town appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Immigrant groups converge in the high plains to build an American legacy in the shadow of an ancient culture.

The mountain, the ancients, and the colony

The best views of Longs Peak are unquestionably from in and around the city of Longmont. The prominent mountain is like a snowflake in that it never looks the same twice. It can glow pink from a rising summer sun or shine in bright white under a fresh snowfall and a cobalt March sky.

Most of the mountain that is visible from Longmont is not Longs Peak at all but its slightly shorter and less-appreciated twin Mount Meeker. Meeker, just 84 feet short of “fourteener” fame, is like a jealous little sister. She stands in front of Longs as if trying to capture the spotlight from her more striking sibling. But the prominent summit of Longs is always there with its dramatic Diamond Face peaking just over Meeker’s broad left shoulder.

The mountain is named after Stephen Harriman Long who led one of America’s first scientific expeditions into Colorado’s high plains and mountains in 1820. Before Long’s expedition the Arapaho Tribe called the twin summits Neníisótoyóú’u, which means “The Two Guides.” As one travels north or south along the base of the Front Range, the shifting orientation of the twin summits of Neníisótoyóú’u can provide the traveler with a reliable navigational reference, like a terrestrial North Star.

Sometime before 14,000 BC: First human presence in the Colorado area.

According to Elliott West, author of “The Contested Plains,” Native Americans traveled from south to north along the Front Range corridor for thousands of years, likely using The Two Guides for navigation. In a great counterclockwise annual migration, people traveled towards the north along the face of the Rockies each spring before turning west into high elevation summer hunting grounds. With summer’s bounty in tow the people would descend back down into the sheltered valleys along the base of the mountains each fall where they would wait out the winter and do it all over again come spring.

900 – 1350 AD: Pueblo culture in four corners region reaches its zenith.

This annual circuit likely began long before the rise of the great first civilizations half a world away and persisted as Near East empires rose and fell and Chinese dynasties came and went. After hundreds of generations this way of life was finally disrupted with the arrival of Europeans.

When this new European way of life crashed upon these plains and mountains like an avalanche, The Two Guides continued to provide a navigational and inspirational beacon for newcomers arriving from the east by horse and carriage.

About 1500 AD: Migrations across North America caused by European colonial intrusion.

1864 AD: U.S. Army commits the Sand Creek massacre, killing about 200 Cheyenne and Arapaho people.

Longmont, which combines the name Long with the French word for mountain, mont, was founded as a pseudo-utopian colony in 1871. The Chicago-Colorado Colony was more pragmatic than utopian. Participants purchased ownership shares in the colony, and the funds were used to purchase 60,000 acres of fertile soil along the St. Vrain River just a few miles east of the Rockies. The founding members, according to Longmont Museum curator Erik Mason, were early progressives and philanthropists. While the colony venture itself went bankrupt, the settlement was established, and the town of Longmont had begun as an agricultural center in the growing Front Range area.

1871 AD: Longmont founded by the Chicago-Colorado Colony.

From the Russian steppe to the high plains

Unbeknownst to the town’s founders, the seeds of much of Longmont’s future heritage were planted in another colony a century earlier on the other side of the planet. This earlier colony was in Russia’s Volga Steppe, a land that shares a similar climate and landscape to Colorado’s High Plains. It is a semi-arid prairie with cold winters and warm summers.

Russia’s ruler, Catherine the Great, a Prussian, was scheming to bring Russia into the European fold — her empire offered enormous lands to be exploited. In the mid-18th century the German states were ravaged by relentless war and religious conflict. Many Germans sought to escape this for opportunities elsewhere, and Catherine the Great made them an offer that was hard to refuse — a new land full of opportunity and freedom. Catherine the Great issued two manifestos that opened Russia’s doors to anyone who wanted to settle there. Thirty thousand people, many of them German, took her up on the offer, and the first Volga German colony was established in 1764.

1880 AD: Approximate arrival of the first Volga Germans to the Longmont area.

This eastward migration of people seeking land, opportunity, and freedom has undeniable parallels to westward expansion in America one century later. But, in the case of the Volga Germans, the good times did not last. Gradual Russification eroded away the freedoms that were promised to the settlers. By the second half of the 19th century a new promised land emerged, this time in the other direction, all the way across an ocean: America.

Longmont must have reminded the Volga Germans of home — a treeless high plain with fertile soil in the shadow of the mountains. The Volga Germans brought large families and a strong work ethic that was forged through generations of hard living on the Russian steppe. They were the perfect labor pool for a burgeoning sugar beet industry. To the Anglo-American farmers before them, the Volga Germans were of lower class, at least in the beginning, as were the Japanese and Latino laborers who would come to work alongside them.

Tree removal in 1911. Courtesy of Longmont Museum.

Over time, though, the Volga Germans assimilated into American society, no doubt helped by their physical resemblance to their Anglo forebearers. They gradually gained land ownership and diversified their involvement into a growing community. The Volga Germans were looked upon with suspicion during World War I, but by World War II they had assimilated into American ways so thoroughly that they were no longer viewed as German immigrants but simply as Americans.

During World War II German (and Italian) prisoners of war were brought to Longmont to work the farms as labor was short due to the war effort. These prisoners were housed in a barracks on Third Avenue and Kimbark Street. According to Mason, the Volga Germans of Longmont brought the prisoners ethnic German food, perhaps recognizing from their own history how ordinary people can be swept up into the war games of egotistical rulers.

1943 AD: German POW camp opens.

It is said that the Volga Germans adopted the slogan “arbeit macht das Leben süß,” which means “work makes life sweet.” That saying was more literal than its intention, as their labor not only helped make life sweet for themselves but literally brought sweetness into the cupboards of American households as they helped build the sugar beet industry in Longmont.

Towering compassion

In south Longmont’s Kanemoto Park there stands a towering structure that might seem a bit unusual. A five-story Japanese pagoda rises over the peaceful park. Each of its five levels has a meaning and taken together, they form the essence of compassion.

A plaque near the base of the tower explains the meaning of each of the five levels. The first is love, the foundation of all compassion. The second level signifies empathy. The plaque reads: “Your happiness is my happiness. Your sadness is my sadness. I feel your pain. I feel your joy.” The third level is understanding, and here we find our collective responsibility to understand the interconnectedness of humanity. We are all as one. The fourth is gratitude for all things. At the top level is the virtue of giving selflessly of oneself: “As I give myself to others,” the plaque reads, “strangely enough, I find myself and I find real happiness.”

The Tower of Compassion was built 50 years ago as a wonderful gift to the Longmont community by the Kanemoto family. Theirs is a remarkable story of the American Dream and an example and reminder of what true patriotism really means. Their story is also one of gratitude for a community that never wavered in its support for their family, even, and perhaps especially, during World War II.

The Kanemoto family. The adults in the picture are Goroku and Setsuno, Ken’s grandparents and 1st generation immigrants. The kids are siblings Jim (Ken’s father), George, and Faith from left to right.

Ken Kanemoto welcomed me into his real estate business office in south Longmont. “The family farm was right here where we are sitting right now,” beamed Kanemoto. “And that house right over there is where I grew up,” he said pointing through his office window.

Ken is the grandson of Hiroshima native Goroku Kanemoto. Goroku first immigrated from Japan to Mexico and worked in railroads there, but he jumped off a northbound train in Denver in 1908 to try his hand at farm work. He decided to stick around. An arranged marriage with a young lady named Setsuno, also from Hiroshima, led to a family. As was common for the time, the young couple gave their three children western names: Jim, George, and Faith. 

Goroku died in a car accident in 1935, but the three siblings took what he started and built a proud legacy. Jim was Ken’s father. “Dad was kind of the ideas guy,” he said. “He was active in a lot of different things.” This included serving as the president of the Buddhist Church of America and traveling to Japan with the governor for the dedication of Colorado’s Japanese sister state, Yamagata.

We looked through some of his collection of old newspaper clippings on a cluttered desk. A large-framed article about the Tower of Compassion hung prominently on the wall. “You know, I think the Tower was the only Japanese pagoda in America outside of San Francisco when it was built,” he said.

1972 AD: Tower of Compassion constructed.

Kanemoto discussed his family history with pride and reminiscence. The family farm ultimately became the Southmoor Park neighborhood. When the Kanemotos donated some of the land to Longmont, it was made into Kanemoto Park. In 1973 the Tower of Compassion was commissioned by Jim, a gift of gratitude to the people of Longmont for their support and friendship over the years. The cherry trees near the tower were donated from Japan.

There were other Japanese families in and around Longmont in the early 1900s. By World War II the area was something of a refuge for Japanese Americans avoiding internment in other parts of the country. Colorado’s governor at the time, Ralph Carr, was the only Western governor to oppose Japanese internment. As a result, Colorado’s Japanese residents were spared that inhumane treatment.

The Tanakas arrived in the area in the 1920s, first near Canfield in Erie and then expanding towards Longmont. Longmont residents of the 1960s through the 1980s will likely remember Tanaka Farms. I listened to Carol Bowman Tanaka and her cousin Nancy Tanaka discuss old times and family stories. “We were the largest family-owned irrigated farm in the nation,” said Nancy. “Twenty semi-loads of veggies went out every day,” added Carol. “We had nationwide distribution.”

Their fondest memories, however, seemed to focus more on the local life and the community they grew up with. All the kids, as many as twelve at one point, worked the produce stand near Lookout Road and Highway 287. The two cousins laughed as they remembered the “cabbage wagons.” These were trucks loaded high with cabbages just picked from their fields. Locals learned that, if they came out and followed the cabbage wagon down the road, a few heads of free cabbage would tumble down into the street.

Like the Kanemoto Family, the Tanakas always felt supported by the community. They remember the small town of old Longmont. “I miss the neighborly sense of community,” said Carol.

A five-story Japanese pagoda rises over the peaceful park. Each of its five levels has a meaning and taken together, they form the essence of compassion.

Earning the stripes

When Goroku Kanemoto stepped off that northbound train onto Colorado soil in 1908, he would have likely been accompanied by Latino migrants with the same idea. By 1909 Colorado was the largest sugar-producing state in the U.S., and the Great Western Sugar Company was dominant in Northeast Colorado.

World War I accelerated Latino migration into Colorado. They filled a void left by the slowdown in European immigration while simultaneously fulfilling labor demand in an industrializing western U.S.

1903 AD: First sugar factory opens, creating new industry.

The Great Western Sugar Company actively recruited Latino Americans from New Mexico and Mexicans during this time to fuel their growing enterprise. World War I, therefore, represents the shift from primarily European to Hispanic agricultural labor in the Longmont area.

This was not always a smooth transition. A diversifying community was met in the 1920s by the rise of the Ku Klux Klan in eastern Colorado — including Longmont. The Klan’s influence may have been in part a violently racist reaction to changing demographics — their support did not last. In 1927 Longmont’s Klan-dominated city council was entirely voted out of office. A Klan-supported scheme to construct the Chimney Rock Dam on the North Fork of the St. Vrain River was scrapped, and, according to Mason, 7,000 sacks of cement that were procured to build the dam were put to good use: They were used in the first paving of Longmont’s Main Street!

1925 AD: Klu Klux Klan takes over Longmont City Council, voted out in 1927.

During the Great Depression many of the Latino migrants who came to work the fields during the agricultural boom of the 1910s and 1920s were pressured to move “back to Mexico” including U.S.-born, Spanish-speaking citizens from the Southwest. By this time, however, most of these community members had put roots down and made Longmont and its surroundings their home despite the overt racism they experienced.

When the Second World War commenced, many Latino citizens signed up to fight for America. “That was a big change then,” said Mason. “They would come back from the war and, instead of accepting discrimination, started to form groups to demand their rights.” In 1945 Alex Gonzales opened Longmont’s first Latino-owned restaurant, City Café. By the 1960s, some overt racial discrimination faded away, but implicit and structural racism remained an issue that Longmont’s Latino residents would continue to grapple with.

In 1980 a Longmont police officer shot and killed two Latino men in an event that shook this still small community. The details of the shooting are for another story, but the outcome may be an example of how a community and a police force can work together to create something positive out of a tragedy. Soon after the shooting, community members formed an organization called El Comité (The Committee), which continues to do good work today nearly 43 years later. “It was not perfect,” said Mason, “but there was a willingness on the part of the police and city leadership to build bridges.”

El Comité’s executive director, Donna Lovato, agrees with Mason’s perspective. “El Comité was formed out of tragedy but grew out of opportunity,” she said. El Comité was created to work in partnership with both the Latino community and the Longmont Police Department. “Every new police officer is required to set up a meeting with El Comité,” said Lovato. “They have to meet with me.”

1980 AD: Two young Latinos shot and killed by Longmont police officer, El Comité founded.

Over the years El Comité has expanded its community involvement and now offers services like citizenship processing and organizes community events. “It has become a trusted agency in the community,” said Lovato. “People come to El Comité before they go to the police.”

El Comité published a book in the 1970s titled “We Came to Stay” that was recently revised into a second edition called “We, Too, Came to Stay.” The book is available at El Comité’s office at 55 Kimbark Str. and at some local book stores in town. On Aug. 14, 2020 Governor Jared Polis formally recognized the valuable work and positive example that El Comité has provided for Longmont and the state of Colorado.

From serving proudly in the Second World War to setting a strong leadership example for the city through tragedy, Longmont’s Latino community has more than “earned their stripes.”

Longmont Main Street from 300 block looking south (1900 to 1920). Courtesy of Longmont Museum.

From sugar beets to airplanes and tech geeks

In 1962 Longmont was awarded the location of the Federal Aviation Administration’s Denver Air Route Traffic Control Center. However it was a few years prior when an aviation disaster briefly put Longmont in the national spotlight.

At 7:03 pm on Nov. 1, 1955, a commercial airplane exploded over east Longmont, killing all 44 people on board. It was no accident. FBI investigators soon determined that one Jack Gilbert Graham had taken out a life insurance policy on his mother, Daisie E. King. He placed 25 sticks of dynamite attached to a battery and a timer in her checked luggage. He was executed in the gas chamber in 1957.

1955 AD: United Airlines Flight 629 bombing occurs over the city.

In 1965 Big Blue entered the picture. IBM built its large plant halfway between Longmont and Boulder, drawing simultaneously from the research and educational center of the University of Colorado at Boulder and a growing and relatively cheap labor pool in Longmont. Longmont’s population doubled from 1960 to 1970 and then nearly doubled again from 1970 to 1980 to a population of over 42,000. In a sign of changing times, the Great Western Sugar Factory finally shut down in 1977.

I spoke with Longmont native Pam Maestas, a descendent of the Volga German Schlagal family. Maestas was born in Longmont in 1957 and remembers it as a small town where “we were able to walk to school from the first grade.”

“Mom met Dad dragging Main in Longmont,” said Maestas. Cruising Main Street is an American pastime best suited for small towns, and by the turn of the millennium Longmont would outgrow this as well. Downtown Longmont, according to Maestas, has “become more artsy now.”

Despite the changes and growth, Maestas is still proud of her hometown. “I’m just proud of my heritage,” she said, “and in spite of everything I’m still loyal to Longmont.”

In 2021 Longmont celebrated its 150th anniversary and reached 100,000 residents. It is certainly no longer a small town. It must now learn how to become a small city. Although many might nostalgically hold on to its commendable past, Longmont’s more recent history has proven that its diverse community can flourish in changing times.

2021 AD: 150th anniversary.

Kathy Partridge grew up at the Lykens Gulch Farm Commune just to the west of town. She remembers when Longmont was a small town and misses the days when Longmont life was slower and quieter. But, even with the growth and change, she is proud of her town. “I think Longmont is the best city in the county in so many ways,” said Partridge.

It’s hard to argue with that sentiment given Longmont’s rich and unique history and legacy. This town that is now growing into a small city is still surrounded by farmland, at least for now. Those stunning views of The Two Guides are still there. And the Tower of Compassion, now celebrating its 50th year, still stands as a reminder that Longmont, Colorado is a community to be proud of.

The post Longmont – Life Made Sweet appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Beginnings

A blanket of January snow buries many of the small gravestones. The taller memorials stand over the snow in gray or black marble. Thick evergreen tree trunks rise like pillars throughout the cemetery. The names reveal perhaps a surprising diversity in the town’s early residents. Hispanic, Eastern European, English, Greek, Japanese.

A prominent memorial commands attention, so I walk carefully between the graves, the snow crunching under my feet, until I stand before it to read the inscription:

“Lest we forget. At dawn on November 21, 1927, six union miners were killed at the Columbine Mine fighting for a living wage and a measure of human dignity. Five are buried here.”

Photo courtesy of Doug Geiling

Coal. It is the reason Lafayette exists. Seventy million years ago the land on which the Lafayette Cemetery was built, where I stand, was under a shallow inland sea. A great swamp formed. Tropical plants grew and died in the swamp, sending their remains drifting down to the bottom over eons to form a thick black muck. Under pressure, as the Rockies lifted, the muck hardened to become the Northern Colorado Coal Field. This energy reserve powered most of the Denver area for decades, and Lafayette was the epicenter of northern Colorado’s coal industry.

Those who exploited these coal deposits beginning in the late 1800s were preceded by hundreds of generations of others who used this land. Imagine a twelve-foot length of rope laid out in a straight line. Each foot of the rope represents one thousand years. The coal miners show up only about an inch from the end. Indigenous peoples account for the other eleven feet and eleven inches of the timeline. One of the earliest of these, the Clovis culture, took down massive beasts. A railroad crew in 1932 unearthed a pile of hunted mammoth bones near Greeley carbon dated to nearly 13 thousand years ago. A site near Rock Creek on the south edge of Lafayette was occupied six thousand years ago.

The Native Americans that the white man first met here were Cheyenne and Arapahoe. But they, too, were relative newcomers to the Front Range. The Cheyenne and Arapahoe had reinvented their way of life to suit the high plains environment after being forced to move west from their Great Lakes homeland due to European settlement in the previous century. Just as they arrived in the Front Range area, from points north and east, the first European fur trappers also appeared. Chief Niwot (which means Left Hand) already spoke English when he encountered the first gold prospectors at the mouth of Boulder Canyon in 1858.

The common story is that the Indians and the mountain men coexisted relatively well. Both survived off the land, were in tune with natural cues, and were reliant on reading the mercurial seasons. These interactions are romanticized by Americans but seen very differently by the tribes whose land they were encroaching on. Many tribes were relative newcomers to this area as well, surviving as hunter-gatherers due to necessity rather than choice.

Other interpretations see the mountain men as the first wave of colonizers, paving the way for further American expansion into lands already occupied. Agriculturalists from successful societies suddenly forced into a nomadic lifestyle by disease and disruption differ drastically from the early tendrils of entrepreneurial colonialism that were mountain men.

Everything changed drastically when gold brought hordes of prospectors and their hangers-on to the area in the late 1850s. By 1864 the mostly white settlers outnumbered the Cheyenne and Arapahoe by at least three-to-one. What happened during that time was disgraceful. It started with broken promises, progressed into coercing the Cheyenne and Arapahoe into ever smaller and less desirable territory, and culminated in wanton slaughter at Sand Creek where approximately 200 Native Americans, mostly women and children, were murdered by a 700-strong militia out of Denver. Among the dead was the ever conciliatory Left Hand.

Photo courtesy of Doug Geiling

As I walk through the cemetery, I try to imagine this place in 1864. There would have been no gravestones or structures and probably no trees. I envision an expanse of dry grass with low rolling hills extending for miles in every direction — high prairie. To the west is a clear view of the Rockies. In the foreground is a wagon road where 111th Street is today. This is the Cherokee Trail, and it passed right through what would later become Lafayette.

I imagine the earthy thumps of hooves on dirt, faint at first, building into a rumble as a six-horse team rides up from the south pulling a Wells Fargo coach. The party is headed north to Cheyenne. They would have recently passed through one of two stage stops not far to the south. I head that way from the cemetery.

From the Centaur Village neighborhood, I walk east on ice and mud along the beautiful Coal Creek Greenway. Just before the wide path reaches Highway 287 a spur trail breaks off to the right and crosses the creek on a footbridge. Here I find a historical marker for the “Old Laramie Trail Crossing.” I walk down to the snow-covered bank, leafless winter cottonwoods all around. The unfrozen creek pools into a dark swirl at my feet. I imagine in 1864 a group of tired and dirty travelers bent over the creekside at this very spot to wash sweat-stained clothing. By the time they arrive here they have already come a great distance for many weeks across a monstrous prairie wilderness under nothing but horse and foot power.

Photo courtesy of Doug Geiling

Photo courtesy of Doug Geiling

Just up the hill from the crossing is another historical marker near three big cottonwoods. It’s the old Waneka Stage Stop. Before moving his operation to the stage stop, Adolf (sometimes spelled Adolph) Waneka built a small cabin in 1861 near the bank of Coal Creek in what is now south Louisville. Although records are conflicting, some historical information suggests that he may have lived in a small cave near the creek until his cabin was ready. Waneka’s descendants are still in the area to this day, and every July 4th Lafayette residents celebrate their independence at Lafayette’s Waneka Lake.

In 1864, the future founder of the town of Lafayette would have been just a couple miles to the south at Rock Creek. Lafayette and Mary Miller, young twenty-somethings and pioneers from Iowa, set up a stage stop and tavern there. Unlike most of the other Lafayettes, Fayettevilles, and Fayettes scattered around the country, Lafayette, Colorado is not named after the French fellow who helped Washington win the American Revolution. The town is named for Lafayette Miller, or just “Lafe” to his friends and family.

Lafe, however, did not found the town of Lafayette. He drank himself to death (most likely) in 1878 at the age of 38. The real dynamo of that partnership in marriage was his wife, Mary. She was just nineteen years old when she ventured into the vast western wilderness of the Colorado Territory, chasing a dream born out of the 1862 Homestead Act.

When Lafe died, he left Mary with their six kids. Along with her brother, James Foote, Mary started many local ventures. In 1888 Mary subdivided her land, sold off the lots, often directly to other women at deep discounts versus the men, and the town of Lafayette was formed. Learning of massive coal deposits under her land, she worked smart deals with coal mining interests creating the passive income of royalties on the extracted coal. She became the first woman in America to head up a bank. She started Lafayette’s first school and hired its first teacher. Likely because of her husband’s alcohol addiction, Mary was a prohibitionist and made Lafayette a dry town everywhere east of Public Road, a rule that remarkably stood until the early 1980s.

The First 40 Years

Coal mining began in Lafayette in 1888 with the opening of the Simpson Mine in the southeast part of present-day Old Town Lafayette. The various coal mines in the area excavated a massive honeycomb of shafts, passages, and underground rooms. Walk around Old Town Lafayette, and you will be walking over places where, just a few decades ago, subterranean men in canvas hats and oil headlamps moved about like moles through a dangerous underworld of creaking mine timbers and wafting coal dust.

The life of a coal miner in those days was often brutal. The companies that owned the mines cared little for the wellbeing of the miners. In those days the predominant perspective of the mine owners was that, if a miner didn’t like the job, he was free to quit. The problem with this is that swinging a coal miner’s pick was often the only game around for a roughneck with a family of mouths to feed and few marketable skills. The mining companies knew this and put the miners into a de facto state of slavery, often paying them in scrip (fake money) that could only be spent at the company store. They offered them housing in the company town (The one at the Columbine Mine was ironically named “Serene.”) for which the miners became indebted to pay the rent.

Photo courtesy of Lafayette Library

The working conditions were dangerous — inhumane even. Since most coal mining was done in the winter, Sunday was truly “sun day” for miners. On all other days of the week, they would drop underground before sun-up and not emerge until after sun-down, never feeling the sun on their faces until Sunday just to do it all over again week after week. The miners also only got paid for actual mining work. If they needed to secure a bulging beam so their skull wouldn’t get crushed in a collapse, they were not paid for that work. This led to horrible accidents in the mines as desperate miners were loath to spend time on unpaid labor, called “dead work.”

These conditions inevitably led to revolt. Strikes broke out regularly which were often suppressed with brutal indifference to the miners by both the mining companies and the local and state authorities.

I learned a lot about Lafayette’s nationally instrumental coal mining labor movement from two great local historians and published authors, Nicholas Bernhard and Dr. Leigh Campbell-Hale. Bernhard wrote the historical novel “November in America,” and Dr. Campbell-Hale is the author of the 2023 book “Remembering Ludlow but Forgetting the Columbine: The Colorado Coal Strike of 1927-1928.”

Dr. Campbell-Hale is a coal miner’s daughter from the mines of Arkansas. Unlike in Arkansas, according to Dr. Campbell-Hale, Lafayette coal mining depended largely on immigrant miners. First, they came primarily from England and Wales. Then, in the 1910s and 1920s, a second wave arrived, often as strike-breakers, from all over the world — Eastern Europe, Mexico, Greece, Japan, and many other places.

Photo courtesy of Lafayette Library

In the 1910s and 1920s the town of Lafayette was filled with tension during strikes as clashes erupted between strikers and strike breakers (called scabs). In one such account, described in Doug Conorroe’s book “Lost Lafayette,” a great gun fight erupted between the two groups in east Lafayette in 1913. Apparently, while miners may be good with a pickaxe, they are terrible shots. Over one thousand rounds were fired, and the only fatality was a single horse.

It was during this time that Lafayette was also put on the map, literally. Before Eisenhower’s Interstate Highways, and even before Route 66, there was the Lincoln Highway. It was the first transcontinental automobile route. Thanks to the then recent designation of Rocky Mountain National Park in 1915, local lobbyists convinced the Feds to route a south-to-north spur of the highway from Denver to Cheyenne right through Lafayette. It followed the same general route as the Old Cherokee Trail, right up 111th St. past the Lafayette Cemetery.

The combination of World War I and the route of the old Lincoln Highway resulted in the construction of the World War I pillars at Nine Mile Corner in 1928. It was part patriotic remembrance and part marketing scheme by the citizens of Boulder to encourage more traffic to turn left at this gateway and go to Boulder instead of Longmont. The pillars are a historical site, and they are under threat from development. They will likely need to be moved soon, and the Boulder Rotary Club is leading an effort to organize that work. At a recent town forum on the project it was confirmed that there is a time capsule in the south pillar. Legend has it that a live toad was placed in it. When the pillars are moved and restored, the contents of the time capsule will be revealed. Hopefully, it will not be a mummified toad.

Photo courtesy of Doug Geiling

As the World War I pillars went up, so did the burning crosses. Throughout much of the 1920s and into the 1930s the Ku Klux Klan menaced minorities and Catholics in Lafayette and the state of Colorado. On July 4, 1923, the fireworks show in town was a burning cross on a hill just east of Lafayette. Extensive local Klan membership included William Lafayette Miller, Mary Miller’s grandson, who once led a Klan parade from the saddle of a white horse through downtown Lafayette. In the mid-1920s most of Lafayette’s city council, volunteer firefighters, teachers, school board members, and Mayor Lee Baker were members of the Klan, as was Colorado governor Clarence Morley.

On November 21, 1927, six miners on strike were killed by gunfire from state rangers in plain clothes as violence erupted at the gates of Erie’s Columbine Mine. Dozens of others were injured. But out of this tragedy came progress. Shortly after the massacre, Josephine Roche took over majority ownership of the mine and implemented some of the most progressive labor policies of the time. This set an example for other heavy industries to follow. After running for Colorado governor in 1934 Roche served in Franklin Roosevelt’s cabinet as the second woman in American history to hold a cabinet level position.

The Last 100 Years

By the 1930s, coal was in decline with natural gas taking its place. The Great Depression and then World War II did not allow the town to relax from the trauma of its coal mining heyday. Coal mining continued into the 1950s before petering out completely. By then Lafayette had become a sleepy hub for local agriculture and a bedroom community for a growing Denver-Boulder metropolitan area.

Jerry Morrell, founder and owner of long-time local business Morrell Printing and President of the Lafayette Historical Society remembers what Lafayette was like when he first moved to town in the mid-1960s. In those days, if you lived in Lafayette, you did your business there. You got your groceries, did your banking, and bought your appliances right in town. High school kids cruised up and down Public Road on weekends. “It was American Graffiti,” said Morrell. Instead of a Mel’s Diner there was an A&W. It was classic mid-20th-Century Americana.

By then Lafayette had become a sleepy hub for local agriculture and a bedroom community for a growing Denver-Boulder metropolitan area.

One of the culminating local events of this era was the epic rivalry between Lafayette and Louisville High Schools. As Morrell described it, they had to stop football games between the two schools due to the fights, not between the students, but between the parents. In 1968 some kids from Lafayette prematurely burned down the bonfire pyre at Louisville High School. Louisville kids retaliated by setting fire to the press tower at Lafayette High.

Then things changed. Malls and big grocery stores went up in surrounding communities, and local stores closed up shop. Centaurus High School was built in 1973, mixing the student population and ending the rivalry. Downtown Lafayette became a place that you drove through to get somewhere else. “Nobody walked up and down Public Road in the 1980s,” said Morrell. “No one had any reason to.”

Morrell recognizes the similarities between the new vitality of today’s Lafayette and that of the 1960s, although the nature of it is different. Back then Lafayette was a town of necessity. You went to town because that’s just where business was done and where local life happened. Now it’s a town of choice. We go to Old Town for the atmosphere and a sense of nostalgia, choosing that local, small-town experience over the suburban big-box sprawl down the highway.

Long-time resident Bill Gougler moved to town in 1979, recruited by Storage Tech which was building offices on Lafayette’s west side. I learned from Gougler that, in the 1980s, the west side of Lafayette was a boomtown. People were moving in to fill new jobs in the burgeoning tech scene of the 1980s and housing developments like Indian Peaks were going up. But the boom was bypassing downtown Lafayette as Louisville arguably benefited more from Lafayette’s west side growth.

As I was speaking with the very enthusiastic Mr. Gougler, his wife Barb jumped on the phone to tell me about the origins of what became the world’s largest annual oatmeal festival. Started in 1996, the Lafayette Oatmeal Festival was just a crazy idea to get people back into downtown Lafayette, and it arguably worked.

Back then Lafayette was a town of necessity. You went to town because that’s just where business was done and where local life happened.

In the 1990s there was concern in the town that the Highway 287 bypass would hurt the town’s economy by directing thru-traffic away from Public Road. According to Gougler the bypass was a blessing because it allowed downtown Lafayette to become a bonafide destination. Before the bypass, Public Road was just an exhaust-choked thoroughfare as motorists squeezed through town to get somewhere else but never having any reason to consider stopping in Lafayette.

Lafayette’s current mayor and Angevine Middle School teacher, J.D. Mangat, was born in Lafayette just twenty-seven years ago, the son of Indian immigrants. Mangat told me that, despite popular belief, Lafayette is not currently experiencing high levels of population growth like it did in the 1990s through the early 2000s. Now it is growing inwardly, figuring out what it really wants to become.

Mayor Mangat was proud to point out that “Lafayette currently has the most diverse city council in the history of Boulder County.” Reflecting on that comment I thought it to be a perfect closing to this brief journey through the town’s history. Lafayette is originally a town of immigrants who came here to find a life, but through their struggles, they built a legacy. Like the high school kids who used to cruise down Public Road, Lafayette is a town that is now coming of age. Like the mayor said, it’s time for the town to grow internally, to leverage its rich legacy, and finally come into its own.

The post Lafayette: Out of the Coal Dust appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

From left to right: John Roberts, Sunflower Farm; Liz Napp, Sunflower Farm; Wyatt Barnes, Red Wagon Farm; Sharon Perdue, YaYa Farm; Mark Ollin, Ollin Farms; Catherine Long Gates, Long’s Gardens; and Kena Ollin, Ollin Farms. Photo by Paul Wedlake

The mighty seed. It represents all that is life. A seed becomes sustenance, shelter, and beauty. Each seed when nurtured with care, when cultivated with backbreaking work, can make such an impact on our world. Unfortunately, so much of America’s farming has been taken over by monolithic corporations. In the final Yellow Scene Magazine Heroes Series we talk to the hands still working the land – the farmers that are nurturing our soil, our bodies and even our minds.

We spoke to representatives from eight farms and gardens in Boulder County about the most important issues facing farming today, the effect of technology on the industry, their favorite crops, and more. Many of the farms we spoke with are Community Supported Agriculture farms. A CSA farm has a number of community members who buy shares of the season’s harvest in advance to help support the farmer and share the risk. In return, they receive produce, often organic, directly from the CSA on a regular basis during the harvest season.

Kayam Short runs Stonebridge Farm with her partner, John Martin. Opened 31 years ago, they have 75 CSA members, meaning that they are one of the smaller farms we spoke with. This means that they face some of the biggest issues that every farm does, but more acutely. Short told me that the two biggest issues today are climate change and land availability. She told me, “Land is just becoming so very expensive, even in the Midwest. People buy up land and not necessarily for farming. It’s hard for younger farmers.” She went on to say, “The other thing is just climate change. We have really seen it in our 31 years, a shift in climate, and of course it’s always been hard for farmers. You can’t control that one thing: weather.” She says that climate change has given rise to more extreme weather. She referenced the drought of 2002 and the flood of 2014. Despite these hardships, Kayam speaks of her work with sunshine pouring out between her words. She told me she “just really love[s] growing tomatoes,” and it warmed my heart when she did.

Jason Griffith founded Aspen Moon Farm with his wife, Erin, in 2009. Aspen Moon has around 600 CSA members and is a unique biodynamic farm, which Griffith describes as “tying spiritual science together with farming.” This allows them to take a more holistic approach. Griffith said, “[We are] looking at the zodiac sign, and where the moon and moon phases are, and where different stars are aligning to figure out if this is a good day to plant a root crop or a fruit crop or break a new field.” As a result of this approach, Aspen Moon has moved away from some of the more modern approaches to farming such as measuring pH levels in the soil. Griffith said, “Instead of doing a bunch of soil tests and adding fertilizer to the field to get our numbers right, we’re going to plant a cover crop there, and the cover crop and the weeds that grow in that field are going to tell me a better story than any test can.” All the soil used at Aspen Moon was created there, the result of past crops then feeding the next generation.

Similarly to Aspen Moon, Kena and Mark Ollin of Ollin Farms take a very holistic approach to their work. Mark grew up on the farm, and both Ollins made allusions to the idea of personal evolution, growing as the farm does. The Ollins believe in the principle of “food is medicine.” They are dedicated to “regenerative, climate-smart agriculture.” Mark elaborated on this, saying, “We’re trying to figure out how to better grow healthy food but at the same time, sequester carbon, and increase biodiversity, and pollinator habitat.”

Mark and Kena’s passion is immense — too big not to share. They hold youth education courses on the land and have raised their four daughters on the farm, hoping to instill the idea of responsible growth in them and, in doing so, teach them to value life itself. We are all growing. We are always evolving.

Mike Munson runs Munson Farms with his brother, Chris. The farm has been in their family since 1976. Munson and his brother grew up helping on the farm but left Colorado to pursue other interests. Mike actually pursued a baseball career playing overseas in Japan before returning. In 2001, the brothers returned to help out with the farm as their parents aged. Munson was able to witness the evolution of farming from the ’70s to now. One of the biggest changes? “It’s the quality of seeds, different hybrids. I’m not talking GMO. This hybrid technique, crossbreeding certain things. The seed and the varieties lend themselves to be more robust, a little bit more drought tolerant, better yields. Sweet corn is what we’re really famous for in that particular area.” He also spoke about the improvement of equipment, saying, “We’re not a small farm, obviously, with 80 acres. We rely on big tractors. [Until 10 years ago] we were working with this old John Deere planter since the late ’70s.”

Wyatt Barnes, the owner of Red Wagon Farm, one of the largest CSAs we talked to with 550 members, spoke about the difficulties inherent to modern farming. He mentioned the idealized version of farming: The calm and peaceful nature of planting and growth, working under the vast blue sky in the fresh air. But the reality is that it is hard work. He spoke about the challenges of finding good workers for short periods of time. “We go pretty far for the winter and keep a few key people employed, which is our goal, but we cannot keep the whole staff on. So you’re retraining an insane number of people every year, and you can only get to a certain size because it’s really limited to what I can do,” he explained.

YaYa Farm and Orchard, Sunflower Farm, and Long’s Gardens are unique among the farms we spoke with. YaYa focuses mostly on their orchard, rather than the more traditional crops. I spoke with Sharon Perdue, owner of YaYa. They have 1000 trees on their property. Most of them are apples, but Perdue told me there are 128 varieties, including some plum trees, cherries, and pears. They operate on a “U-Pick It” system. This means that customers come to the orchard and pick what they want. Perdue told me this is one of her favorite aspects of what she does as she gets to meet a wide variety of people and families. She spoke to me about the ever-changing nature of farming, “Every season has a set of activities. I don’t have something that I do 365 days of the year. That is really cool. That is very engaging to me, and I don’t get bored. If there is a season or a job that is not my favorite, I know it’s going to end, and I just gotta get down the path.”

Sunflower Farm is an educational demonstration rather than a production farm. Owned by Farmer John Roberts, I spoke with Liz Napp, who runs most of the activities on the farm. She told me that an educational demonstration farm teaches young people about growing their own food in a hands-on way, allowing them to learn where food comes from. Sunflower is also completely tech-free, preferring to teach in the open air. Napp told me with a chuckle, “We have beautiful, licensed school buildings. We try not to use them … unless it’s super, super cold.” As the lessons in growing food occur, the kids are also taught philosophy, music, and other subjects meant to get the students thinking about their place in the world and mindfulness. They are an incredible asset to Boulder County.

Finally, I spoke with Catherine Long Gates, of Long’s Gardens. Founded in 1905, they are the oldest farm that we spoke with and are actually a garden renowned for their irises. They are also the only urban farm we spoke with, located right in the middle of Boulder. She reminisced, “My sister and I kept horses. When we were in school, after I got home, I could get on my horse and ride over to my friend’s. You don’t do that anymore.” She went on to say, “Just having the type of neighborhoods around change. Big mansions get built, and people don’t have much of a yard. Also, not that Boulder had a lot of diversity ever, but it’s less all the time. It seems like our income disparity is growing. So I’m one of the lucky ones that get to stay here and live here. But it’s hard for people.”

These people are reminders that each of us begins as a seed and is now sprouting, growing gloriously out into the sky, arms stretching out towards the sun, the wind flowing through us. We grow beautifully, a little bent, sometimes broken, but persisting nevertheless. Each day we are nourished by those who cultivate life each day, our farmers. Although the days have grown shorter and colder as the year turns into the next, the sun is still there behind those clouds, waiting for us. It won’t be long now.

From left to right: Liz Napp, Sunflower Farm; Kena and Mark Ollin, Ollin Farms; Catherine Long Gates, Long’s Gardens; Wyatt Barnes, Red Wagon Farm; Sharon Perdue, YaYa Farm; and John Roberts, Sunflower Farm. Photo by Paul Wedlake

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Taking on the most important issues facing our country

From left to right: Tom Mauser, Eileen McCarron, Tim Rakow, Lark Rambo, Gina, Maione-Earles, Cathryn Folkestad, Peter Hoy. Photo by Paul Wedlake

For our penultimate installment in our monthly “Heroes” series, we look to our nonprofits. The year’s end brings a time to reflect: This year has been a daunting one. Massive issues have risen before us like great and terrible mountains, nearly unfathomable in their scale. Innocent people continue to die senselessly to gun violence. A war on women and those able to give birth has been declared. People are still hungry. Rent is going up leading to an increase in homelessness. These are some of the most important yet daunting issues our country, our species, has ever faced. Our nonprofits are the ones that stare down the darkness without flinching. They understand the pain, the fear, the anger that arises from such heavy topics. Yet, they fight on because they know that someone has to, that nothing will change without direct action.

I spoke with representatives from six very different organizations. In spite of the very powerful issues they deal with everyday, each person I spoke with was tender and sincere, their compassion flowing from them like rivers, the kind that, with enough patience and determination, can erode mountains.

I had the opportunity to speak with Tom Mauser and Eileen McCarron of Colorado Ceasefire, the longest-serving grassroots gun violence prevention organization in Colorado. They seek to reduce gun violence through legislation, outreach, and education. Mauser has a tragically personal connection to the issue. He is the father of Daniel Mauser, one of the 13 victims in the Columbine High School shooting that took place in 1999. Mauser speaks about this plainly, the sorrow in his voice tinged with conviction. He told me that his work with Colorado Ceasefire is “how [he] honor[s] his son.” With a background in lobbying, he pivoted to the fight against gun violence in the wake of the tragedy. He highlighted the fact that the conversation against gun violence has been extremely politicized to such an extreme degree that it impedes progress, saying that both sides of the aisle must work together or else innocent citizens will continue to die. He said, “Society and the media too often makes this a pro-gun/anti-gun issue. We’re not anti-gun. We’re anti-gun violence.” Mauser now speaks to the public as the self-described “face of the organization.” He hopes in doing so, in sharing his story, he can touch the hearts of those out there and remind the gun lobby of the brutal toll their inaction continues to take.

“Society and the media too often makes this a pro-gun/anti-gun issue. We’re not anti-gun. We’re anti-gun violence.”

While McCarron hasn’t been affected by gun violence in such a directly personal manner as Mauser, she has been fighting against it since before the Columbine tragedy. Shortly after Columbine, Colorado became something of a hub for the fight, and McCarron wanted to go where she could make the biggest impact. She moved the work against gun violence she’d already been doing in Texas to this state and has been fighting the good fight ever since, beginning with a now-defunct organization called Safe Colorado. Throughout our conversation, she made an incredibly interesting point that also made me quite sad for the people dedicating their lives to the issue: If they are successful, the general public won’t hear about it. Laws can reduce gun violence, which in turn, will reduce reported incidents. We will stop seeing yet another shooting, more dead kids on the news nearly every night, and that is what victory looks like, even if those who worked to achieve it might never quite get the recognition they deserve.

Gina Maione Earles is the executive director of Blue Sky Bridge, an organization dedicated to child abuse intervention and education. Celebrating her 10th year with the organization, Maione Earles breathed passion with each word she spoke. She spoke to me about how Blue Sky Bridge’s main goal is to help these kids come to terms with what has happened to them, empowering them to do what is necessary to move beyond it and live healthy lives. She said, “If [kids] do experience [sexual abuse], they are incredibly resilient, and they have an opportunity to heal and move forward and live their full potential in life. The problem is that most children who experience physical and sexual abuse do not disclose the abuse until they’re adults, if ever. It’s only about 10% of kids that experienced sexual abuse that actually say so.” She went on to say, “Our job here at Blue Sky Bridge is really profound. It’s not just to help kids to stop experiencing abuse, and it’s not just to help prevent this from happening in the first place, though we do a lot of things about that as well. It’s helping these kids tell their story, talk about their experience, move through that process, move on to healing, get the help and recovery they need to reduce their post traumatic symptoms.”

“Our job here at Blue Sky Bridge is really profound. It’s not just to help kids to stop experiencing abuse, and it’s not just to help prevent this from happening in the first place, though we do a lot of things about that as well. It’s helping these kids tell their story, talk about their experience, move through that process, move on to healing, get the help and recovery they need to reduce their post traumatic symptoms.”

Native American Rights Fund is the largest and most visible Indian law firm in the country. Founded in 1970 by John Echohawk, NARF provides legal counsel to Native American individuals, groups, and tribes. Deputy Director Matthew Campbell spoke to me with candor and intelligence, his voice clear and resilient. Many of the issues NARF deals with are not new. Campbell spoke about the importance of the organization and what it is like facing the daunting weight of history saying, “The reason the work is so important is because of the unique history and the unique legal relationship between the United States and tribal nations. There are hundreds of treaties that the United States signed with tribal nations. There is an entire chapter of the United States Code dedicated to Indian law and Native issues. For Native people, it really is one of the most heavily legal-based and regulated fields in the United States, and so much of who we are is tied up into that history and that relationship.” He went on to say, “We’ve worked here at NARF to fight to uphold the treaties, uphold access to sacred places and a right to be able to have religious freedom, to be able to vote in state and federal elections. It’s critical that NARF is here to be able to provide that type of resource for tribal nations and individuals that don’t have the capacity or the resources to afford a private attorney.”

“The reason the work is so important is because of the unique history and the unique legal relationship between the United States and tribal nations. There are hundreds of treaties that the United States signed with tribal nations. There is an entire chapter of the United States Code dedicated to Indian law and Native issues. For Native people, it really is one of the most heavily legal-based and regulated fields in the United States, and so much of who we are is tied up into that history and that relationship.”

I next spoke with Cathryn Folkestad and Peter Hoy, operations director and senior program manager for Conscious Alliance, respectively. These are two deeply passionate and vibrant people, quick with a joke and willing to let their laughter ring loud, yet utterly serious when it comes to their work and the impact they make. Conscious Alliance is an organization dedicated to using art to feed communities that don’t have ready access to food. This includes communities like Pine Ridge Native American Reservation, underprivileged schools, and areas in Boulder County devastated by the Marshall Fire. In addition to partnering with a variety of food makers and distributors, they partner with musicians and artists to run food drives at venues such as Red Rocks, Mission Ballroom, Fox Theater, and hundreds of others across the country. Hoy spoke to the importance of cooperation between organizations in order to accomplish their goals, especially when operating on such a large scale. He said, “We work with any and all food brands that want to work with us. Let’s get food out together. Our No. 1 mission is to feed kids. Same thing goes with food pantries, food banks, and food distribution centers. We’re trying to support as many organizations as we can.” He went on to stress the importance of partners who work within the communities they serve, especially when nearing the holiday season. He said, “We know that we can come and execute a great meal giveaway, but it’s really the partners on the ground that can drive the traffic of people to come there and find the folks that need a hot meal for Thanksgiving and get them out to the site.”

“We work with any and all food brands that want to work with us. Let’s get food out together. Our No. 1 mission is to feed kids. Same thing goes with food pantries, food banks, and food distribution centers. We’re trying to support as many organizations as we can.”

In addition to working with a vast network of partners throughout the country, Folkestad spoke to a smaller but no less important aspect of her and the organization’s work — kindling the little sparks that light fires in the hearts of the young and helping them realize that they can affect this world in a positive way. She said, “We can inspire these people to do something beyond themselves and help these people that are going to the shows realize that they can make an impact on the lives of people in need. We can help them open their minds to the world and their ability to give back and support their communities.”

The Inn Between addresses one of Boulder County’s most compelling and discussed issues: providing affordable housing for the ever-growing unhoused population. I spoke with executive director Tim Rakow, a kind and funny man that understands that, while involvement in nonprofit work begins ideologically, issues must be approached with logic and realism in order to actually accomplish anything. He explained that The Inn Between isn’t merely a place to stay but a program designed to get the unhoused off the streets and employed — and remain that way. As such, residents in their communities must adhere to a certain degree of decorum. They must take the opportunity seriously as there are many others who would gladly take their place. In setting these guidelines, they are able to focus on actual work with a great many other organizations to accomplish their goals. He also described the three focuses of The Inn Between’s work as being “first and foremost, safe support or affordable housing.” He then said, “case management, meaning life skills training — essentially areas for growth.” The third he mentioned was “education and career development to really key in on those who have that potential to move into a different career.”

The Inn Between isn’t merely a place to stay but a program designed to get the unhoused off the streets and employed — and remain that way.

Speaking with Lark Rambo, executive director of Coal Creek Meals on Wheels, through Zoom was interesting in that she radiated such kindness that it felt akin to a warm sunbeam shining through a window on a cold day. Meals on Wheels is a national organization that delivers food to the homes of those who can no longer acquire it without assistance due to disability, lack of transportation, and other factors. Rambo, who told me that she’s “always worked in the nonprofit space,” spoke about how they don’t just provide food to their clients but also, many times, a sort of companion, a way to remind people what being a part of the world is like. She said, “We’re also helping to combat isolation. During the pandemic, that was a huge part of it. Folks were so isolated, especially those that lack transportation and mobility. That’s the biggest part of our program, in addition to getting those meals in the home, making sure that they feel connected to their community.”

“We’re also helping to combat isolation. During the pandemic, that was a huge part of it. Folks were so isolated, especially those that lack transportation and mobility. That’s the biggest part of our program, in addition to getting those meals in the home, making sure that they feel connected to their community.”

Each of these lovely, hard-eyed, yet soft-hearted people are working to better this world. They embody the drive, the dedication, the teeth-gritting, muscle-straining, heart-rending determination it takes to affect real change in our communities and our world as a whole. Let’s hear it for them.

From left to right: Gina Maione-Earles, Lark Rambo, Tim Rakow, Cathryn Folkestad, Peter Hoy, Eileen McCarron. Photo by Paul Wedlake

The post The Heroes: Nonprofits appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

From left: David Weingarden, Ian Steele, Daniela Acosta, Marc Gitlin, Stacy Gitlin, Rita Valente-Quinn, Steve Long, Kenzie Rosen-Stone, Armando Peniche, Mark Oberholzer. Photo credit: Paul Wedlake

Keeping performance and music alive in our communities

As we continue our Heroes series, we turn this month to our stages. These rooms are sacred places, the places we go to get lost in a crowd, to share a story, to learn and love and dance and cry. These are rooms bathed in cool light, filled with exalted souls, the hearts of strangers intertwined and filled with moments that will never again exist in quite the same way but live on because they were shared. They are the places we spend nights with our friends and lovers. They exist for us, the audience, clapping hands, raised voices, full hearts. No matter how heavy life can get, we have our stages to go to to let the worries of the rest of the world fall away for a few hours so we can breathe and laugh and remember what it is to be weightless. The people that run these venues do so for that reason, because they themselves know the power of performance and how important it is for people to have places to go to get a little lost. 

We spoke to 9 representatives from vastly different kinds of venues. Some are solely for music, some for theater and opera, some for comedy, some a mix of it all. While the purposes of these spaces might be quite disparate, each person we spoke with truly believes in the importance of music and performance in their communities.

David Weingarden spoke to this idea quite beautifully. Weingarden is the booking manager for z2 Entertainment, Colorado’s largest independent music promotion company which is responsible for the management of Boulder’s Fox Theater and Boulder Theater as well as Fort Collins’ historic Aggie Theater, among many others. Also a member of the Colorado Independent Venue Association, Weingarden told me, “Art, music and culture, that’s the most important thing to a community. I think that not only because it just makes it different and less homogenized, but it really brings communities together. There’s not much better than hanging out with your friends and going to see live music, especially with a band that you love.” He went on to highlight the importance of venues from an economic perspective, describing a study done in Chicago that found that, for every dollar spent on concert tickets, 12 dollars are given to the community. Before a concert, people tend to get drinks and food. We take Ubers and hire babysitters. This all serves to support the community as a whole.

“Art, music and culture, that’s the most important thing to a community. I think that not only because it just makes it different and less homogenized, but it really brings communities together. There’s not much better than hanging out with your friends and going to see live music, especially with a band that you love.”

Grace Barrett, the communications director for Planet Bluegrass in Lyons, echoed this idea. She told me, “Planet Bluegrass is somewhere that people can come and escape and be their best selves. Philosophically, it is so important for people to have that outlet.” She also spoke about how the venue brings in attention and business for Lyons, feeding the soul of the community while also supporting it financially.

“Planet Bluegrass is somewhere that people can come and escape and be their best selves. Philosophically, it is so important for people to have that outlet.”

This theme of community support recurred throughout all of the conversations I had. Kenny Vasko, who runs the practice and recording studio Dog House Music in Lafayette with his wife, Liz, recently threw the first ever Lafayette Music Festival. This was a massive boon for the town as it took place across 6 different venues and featured local acts, shining a light on the incredible musicians that call Boulder County home. This was the culmination of years of work for the Vaskos. Kenny told me, “I always want to be in the business of making people happy” before telling me how Liz, who has a degree in community development, was the first to truly recognize Dog House’s potential. Kenny told me, “When she first saw Dog House, the first thing she thought was ‘wow, this is a community.’” They then put their efforts into using their business to support their home and the musicians they share it with as much as possible.

“I always want to be in the business of making people happy.”

Boulder’s Roots Music Project is a non-profit that dedicates itself to this idea. Run by musicians and music lovers from Boulder County, Roots is a music incubator that advocates for social justice while providing a platform for local musicians. I spoke with Ian Steele, the sound and stage manager for the organization. A life-long musician himself and a truly cool guy, he told me:

“Our philosophy is to foster and grow the music community in Boulder and the whole Front Range. To do that is to connect fans to artists and music professionals, and venues to clients. We are very lucky to have the family that we do and the connections that we have.”

Motus Theater is another group that combines performance with social issues. I had the opportunity to speak with producing director Rita Valente-Quinn and program director and performer Armando Peniche. Both immigrants and incredibly warm people, they told me about Motus’s mission. Valente-Quinn said, “Our mission is to create original theater, conversation about critical issues of our time, and build alliances across segments of our community and country.” Motus uses monologues to tell the stories of immigrants and the effects of colonialism in America. Peniche discovered Motus by participating in a currently ongoing series titled “UndocuAmerica,” an autobiographical monologue project in which young leaders with DACA status collaborate with Motus’ Artistic Director, Kirsten Wilson, to write and perform their stories. Motus and visual artist Edica Pacha collaborated in a mural project that featured the “UndocuAmerica” monologists in murals put up around Denver and Boulder in the summer of 2022.

“Our mission is to create original theater, conversation about critical issues of our time, and build alliances across segments of our community and country.”

This sense of liberation through performance was another recurring theme in these conversations. Melissa McGowan, executive director of Lafayette’s multimedia space the Arts Hub, described having performance in her blood, saying “[her] family started a summer theater for children” that she worked at as a youth. Since, she’s worked in performance spaces from a young age and has brushed with just about every type of performance there is in her career, including haunted houses and renaissance fairs. McGowan incorporates her extensive experience into the Arts Hub as it is home to dance troupes, community plays, educational shows for kids, and much more.

Faye Lamb, president of the Longmont Theater, and Daniela Acosta, founder of the Boulder Opera Company, also hold performance deep in their souls and have for quite some time. Each of them spoke about their illustrious careers with humility and a kind of reverence. Lamb told me she has “a tremendous passion for the creation of art. I look at these as art. I don’t use the word entertainment, but people need a place to go and then tap their toe or be happy.”

“I look at these as art. I don’t use the word entertainment, but people need a place to go and then tap their toe or be happy.”

Acosta grew up in Spain where she discovered her love of opera but didn’t start performing professionally until moving to New York. She now uses her company to share that love with people who otherwise may not have been exposed to the art form, striving to make it accessible for the curious but not fully sold. She told me:

“I love to tell a story through singing and acting and emceeing and moving people in a way that no other art can do.”

Steve Long, who owns Louisville Underground, and Marc Gitlin, owner of Nissi’s in Lafayette, understand a simple truth about owning venues: they are places for people to go and just have a good time. Louisville Underground features a wide variety of acts. They host comedy nights, open mics, improv, local bands, Halloween silent discos, and much more. Long told me:

“We’re a small intimate venue. How many friendships and connections are made through people attending events?”

Gitlin furthered this sentiment. Nissi’s just moved from it’s previous location to a new one and revamped itself in the process. A big room ready to be filled with music, Nissi’s features local music acts, comedians, as well as speakers and activists that raise money for social causes. Gitlin spoke to me about the need for variety in a more suburban place such as Lafayette, saying:

“I have to be eclectic, because we’re not in an urban area. I reach different demographics that enjoy different things. I noticed venues that were mostly rock bars would be limited to 50 or 60 people. I found early on about a location that you can’t depend on one kind of thing.” 

These people keep light alive when things get dark. They provide us joy and inspiration, stories and music, that which defines a person, that shapes character. Give it up for them.

STANDING (from left): Kenzie Rosen-Stone, Mark Oberholzer, Rita Valente-Quinn, Armando Peniche, Daniela Acosta, Marc Gitlin, Stacy Gitlin. KNEELING (from left): Ian Steele, Steve Long, David Weingarden. Photo credit: Paul Wedlake

The post The Heroes: Stages of Boulder County appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Left to right: Wira Babiak, Brian Hedden, Edica Pacha, Jamal Page, Ben Shores, Marley Kinkead, Paul Wedlake, Leah Brenner Clack. Photo credit: Paul Wedlake

For the next entry in our ongoing Heroes series, we spoke with 10 local artists who work in a variety of mediums. These are lovers, renegades, activists, people who use their craft to better the world. Each is a storyteller that has figured out their own way to reach up into the cosmos and grab a piece of the universe, bring it in close and whisper to it messages of resilience and compassion and then let it go free to spread throughout our world. Let’s hear it for them. 

Ben Shores

Ben Shores calls his work “speculative illustration,” a term he appropriated from science fiction and fantasy writer Ursula K. Le Guin, author of the beloved Earthsea series. The term refers to the idea of pushing the boundaries of what’s possible, what actually exists at this time in our collective human history. It takes a basis of what does exist and expands it to what could, what, for now, exists only in our wildest imaginings, the things we dream about when staring out car windows on rainy afternoons and wondering what it would be like to live in a world filled with a bit more magic than our own. This idea comes through powerfully in Shores’ work. Using traditional painting techniques at times and more street art-inspired methods utilizing spray paint at others, Shores creates pieces simultaneously familiar and fantastical with a healthy dose of humor mixed in as well. The places his pieces hang are like sites of power, places of magic to draw from, fill yourself with, carry with you like a secret. 

Shores calls himself “nuts,” but I found him to be quite easygoing, funny, and insightful. He said he was creative since he could remember, telling me, “I was the kid in grade school and middle school who would turn in their homework assignments with a bunch of drawings on it and none of the actual answers.” He described multiple times a lifelong interest in science fiction and fantasy, taking influence from some of the genres’ most important writers and artists, saying that he “will fight anybody who claims to say that everybody does not love Frank Frazetta.” He also mentioned Ralph Bakshi’s work on Wizards and Kurt Vonnegut’s classic novel, Slaughterhouse 5. As we spoke about his own creative development, he made a point about how artists’ work develops as the artist does. He said, “When I was 19, I didn’t really have anything to say. What good is a voice to somebody who doesn’t have anything to say? A few decades of living on the planet will actually put you in contact with people and experiences that’ll actually give you something you could put a voice to.” 

When asked for a final message, Shores left me with this:

“Imagine, build, then explore.” 

Shores currently has a pop-up called Sharp Noise and Loud Edges running at Spectra Art Space in Denver. He can be found on Instagram: @b.shores.artwork

Jamal Page

Jamal Page is a filmmaker, owner, and founder of Black Sparrow Media, and he wants to show you something you’ve never seen before. He wants awe, shock, spectacle, the big screen experience. Popcorn shared between people in love, nails bitten to the nub, the edge of the seat approaching rapidly. The movie theater is a sacred place, a temple to intelligence, imagination, beauty, horror, all of it. It is a place meant to be safe, peaceful, where you can get a little lost for a little while. This is what Page wishes to create and preserve. For him, filmmaking is a way to simply make people happy and safe and entertained and comfortable. He told me:

“The act of making films is secondary to what my larger goal is. I would say that my goal is to essentially make people happy, put smiles on people’s faces, and give people a place to enjoy themselves.”

Through his production company, Page produces music videos, videos for businesses, short films, features, and also photography. His most recent project called “Welcome to Hollywood” is about to enter the film festival circuit. In our conversation, he spoke about “steering the ship” in the sense that he has an incredibly dedicated and talented team that follows his creative direction. He’s influenced by his love of blockbusters, the big movies. When I asked him what some of his biggest influences are, he spoke of movies like Independence Day, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, and the first few Pirates of the Caribbean films. These are all big spectacle films, escapism. It pertains to the idea of the viewer slipping out of reality for a few hours and getting lost in these imagined worlds where anyone can be a hero, anyone can find greatness within themselves and use it to change the world, or at the very least, save it. 

For more information on Black Sparrow Media, visit their website: blacksparrowmedia.org

Paul Wedlake

Paul Wedlake is unique among the artists we are featuring in this piece as he has been one of Yellow Scene’s main photographers for years and has shot every one of the covers in the Heroes series, including this one. From what he told me, it sounds like he has photography in his blood, like he was born to do it. His father was a photographer, but Wedlake never wished to follow in his footsteps at first. He described a lot of hard times, hard living growing up in Detroit that made him wish to avoid his father’s profession. But once he got to high school, he learned that the camera can be a sort of key, a way to unlock a life of freedom. He started using his camera as sort of a “hall pass,” as he calls it, skipping class to go on shoots. When he got to college, he tried to go a more standard business or marketing path but became disillusioned, missing the excitement he got from being behind the camera. He soon left the more traditional path and returned to photography full time. Twenty-five years later, he’s still shooting. 

Wedlake has enjoyed a large variety of work over the course of his career but enjoys projects that focus on people and their stories. When we spoke, he was preparing for a shoot featuring a 9/11 survivor. He’s worked with farmers, models, teachers, businessmen, journalists, among many, many others. He also shoots landscapes and architecture, applying an artistic eye to shoots that could turn out to be rather straightforward in someone else’s hands. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed working with him and hope to continue to do so. 

For more information on Paul and his work go to his website: wedlakephoto.com

Marley Kinkead

Marley Kinkead loves a lot. Her work is a warm celebration of quiet beauty, like dancing to your favorite song when home alone. It is those moments in which we are alone, in which we are naked, our pure selves in all our glory that Kinkead hopes to capture in paint, “the minute moments of beauty,” she calls them. In doing so, she hopes that those of us who see her art will open our eyes more to those small, fleeting moments that slip through our fingers to be lost to the ether of time so easily and to learn to love ourselves, to find the beauty of ourselves both external and internal and hold it tightly. 

This is captured most powerfully by her “Bathroom Series,” which Kinkead says is her favorite of the work she’s done. The “Bathroom Series” is what it sounds like: she photographs people she’s met throughout her life and her extensive travels around the world using the bathroom for its various purposes and recreates the photographs in watercolor or acrylic in order to capture people at their most vulnerable. She told me:

“I’ve always been really intrigued and kind of obsessed with bathrooms. I think they’re a very undervalued space that are super nuanced and beautiful. You can look at it from gender, you can look at it from any sort of sociological aspect, you can look at it socioeconomically, culturally, anything. I think it’s one of these underrated mundane beauties where we’re very raw and humbled and secluded and isolated. It gives the opportunity for these super mundane moments to be these poignantly beautiful meditations or these fleeting moments that might otherwise get breathed over.” 

Kinkead also laughs a lot, this rich ringing sound that reminds me of birds and freedom. Throughout our conversation, she would quietly expound on the virtues of human nature and beauty and then the next moment make some dirty, deeply clever joke that would catch me off guard and crack me up. A light of a human being. 

Find her on Instagram and her website: marleykinkead.com | @marleykinkead

Brian Hedden

“Community service has always been a part of my upbringing.”

Brian Hedden is more than a documentarian. He’s an activist, a journalist, a badass. His most recent work is still in the editing stage but is a film called Fracking the System: Colorado’s Oil and Gas War. Produced by Hedden’s company, Earth Dog Films, the film is about the devastation the oil and gas industry causes in our beautiful state and the brave souls fighting against it. I was granted the opportunity to see the film and was truly blown away by its power, its rage, its small moments of beauty captured amongst the chaos. It comes off like a ‘70s conspiracy thriller like The French Connection or All the President’s Men in that it is filled with such extreme tension and paranoia that it can be easy to forget that this is a very real, very true story happening in our home. 

In watching the film, I first was struck by the sheer tenacity of Hedden. I don’t want to give any of the film’s surprises away, but he himself becomes a subject in his own documentary in an incredibly intense way. The sheer bravery it takes to stand up to such a massive, powerful, ruthless industry really impressed me. 

Hedden describes himself as an activist from an early age, saying, “Community service has always been a part of my upbringing.” This is evident in the way he speaks and carries himself with a sort of easy confidence that comes with one who has an awareness of all the darkness in the world yet chooses to keep fighting in the light. 

There is a shot in the movie that sticks with me. The shot itself was taken by Hedden’s creative partner Lisa Gross. It’s a shot of a stuffed Lorax next to a withered picket sign. The shot evokes such melancholy and power, saying so much about the film’s subject in just one second. I don’t want to give the context away, but it shows the creators’ eye for symbolism and ability to use art to make a real difference. 

For more information on Hedden and the film, check out his websites: frackingthesystem.com | brianhedden.com/earthdogfilms

Wira Babiak

Wira Babiak’s laughter stuck with me well after our conversation. A very kind, joyous woman, she has this way about her that calms, comforts, makes one think of easy winds blowing through an open field as you stand in the middle and let it tousle your hair. This feeling is reflected in her work. She works in many mediums, telling me, “I do everything. I do oils, acrylics, Ukrainian Easter egg designs, photography, manipulated photography,” though she describes oils and acrylics as her primary focus. Out of all the people we spoke with, Babiak is easily the most prolific, telling me she completes multiple pieces a day, depending on which medium she’s working in. Her work varies quite a lot as well. She does many landscapes, the mountains and trees and says that oil is her favorite medium because it is the most “forgiving” as she put it. 

Babiak was originally born in Toronto before moving to Boulder in her teens, around the age at which she started exploring her creative endeavors. The daughter of Ukrainian immigrants, the current situation in her family’s home country has greatly affected her, and she is not one to sit idle. She instead uses her craft to benefit Ukraine, creating oil paintings of traditional Ukrainian headdresses in order to benefit Ukrainian wildlife and ambulance drivers living and helping people in the midst of the chaos.

In addition to her warmth, she also was quite insightful about the nature of being an artist. She told me:

“Some people think I’m an artist, so I will work as an artist. I don’t work that way. I don’t force myself to be an artist. Just happens.”

You can find more about Babiak and her work at her website: wirababiakartwork.weebly.com

P.J. Rosen

If you have ever worried about the future of art, what it’ll look like years from now in this ever changing, gradually darkening world of ours, take heart that there are those like P.J. Rosen out there to keep the light shining. Rosen is a teenage artist who has become incredibly accomplished in a short amount of time. They told me that they’ve been creative since the womb, telling me they’ve had a pencil in their hand for as long as they can remember. They told me:

“It started out as a hobby that a toddler takes on. But my drawing, I guess, began to become more progressively detailed and a little more advanced than people around me. I guess around fourth grade, I realized I really want to pursue this because this is something I’m really interested in. And I started working a little harder, making more pieces, and improving.”

Rosen loves the control that painting with acrylics affords them, the whole world in their hands to shape as they see fit. This allows them to experiment, to let a piece form itself from the ether. They don’t usually go into a new piece with much of a plan. They let the art emerge on its own. This creates a unique style that begins in realism and becomes more and more abstract as the piece develops, creating these beautifully complex pieces that are striking in color and composition. The pieces are confident. They have something to say, and the world should listen. 

While they still have a ways to go until the college years, they aren’t fully sure what the future holds for them. They said, “I’m honestly not sure. But it is definitely something that I’m interested in. If I don’t do it as a major or minor, if I don’t study it in school, I definitely want to keep it up. It’s been such a big part of my life, to drop it would be terrible.”

Check out their instagram: @justsomeartsystuff08

Carter Wilson

Carter Wilson has the distinction of being the only novelist we’re featuring in this piece. For Wilson, writing wasn’t always the plan. He originally studied hotel administration before he ever picked up the proverbial pen. He actually still retains a full-time job in the hospitality space, which makes his work even more impressive. “I kind of just fell into writing in my 30s,” he told me. “Just, literally, one day, I started writing, and I kind of haven’t stopped.” 

The journey was not an easy one for Wilson. Having no previous background in writing, he basically had to teach himself, had to develop a voice, build the skill. We spoke about writing as a muscle that needs to be exercised, that, through exercise, can be built, grow stronger. It just takes time and effort and passion to do so. For Wilson, this exercise manifested in three novels that never sold. But he didn’t let that slow him down. He spoke about the love of the craft, how if you truly love it, there’s no prying that pen from your hand. He kept at it and now has published eight thrillers that have allowed him to become a USA Today bestseller. 

For final messages, Wilson gave advice anyone with any modicum of interest in writing should take to heart:

“Write every day. Do it every day. Even if it’s just 15 minutes. You have to have it become a habit, and habit has to become a routine. When that routine is established, you can get a book done in a year no problem. But if you just wait for the muse, you’re going to keep waiting.” 

Check out his new novel The New Neighbor and his other works on Amazon and his website: carterwilson.com/works

Leah Brenner Clack 

If you’ve been to Boulder, there’s a strong chance you’ve seen Leah Brenner Clack’s work. She is the founder of Street Wise Arts in Boulder, a non-profit dedicated to promoting social justice by uplifting the voices of local creators through mural projects, community events, and youth education programs. Responsible for installing over 100 murals in Boulder, Street Wise works with some of the best artists in the state, artists that paint the walls of Boulder with stories and history and color, that cover the town in compassion and hard lessons, using art as education about diverse cultures that otherwise might not be represented in a place such as Boulder, Colorado. 

Clack herself is an impressive figure. She speaks of her work and her life with a casual, laid-back sort of confidence cultivated from years spent in the artistic space. In addition to Street Wise, Clack has overseen galleries and workshops and was one of the first people to help run the Denver-based gallery/late-night music venue Knew Conscious. Art has filled her life since she was young. She remembers the time she lived with her grandmother, a kind woman she describes as “super creative.” She told me, “She was always making things like quilts and porcelain dolls and clothing, and she was always in her little sewing workshop making stuff, and I would be in there helping her.” 

Each year, Street Wise holds a mural festival celebrating all of their artists and their messages. When asked if there was one unifying message behind Street Wise’s work, Clack told me:

“It’s about amplifying artists’ voices, and those voices are so different, but providing that platform for representation and connection. That looks like so many different things. There’s so many different sublevels of themes like climate justice, indigenous rights, Black lives. It’s so broad, right, but it’s about our experiences as human beings and connecting with each other.”

The mural festival begins on Sept. 29 and runs through Oct. 2. For more information on the festival and on Street Wise, visit their website: streetwiseboulder.com

Edica Pacha

Before I even spoke with her, I was struck by Edica Pacha’s compassion and commitment to elevating voices that could otherwise be drowned out. I gleaned this from her “UndocuAmerica” series, a photography, monologue, and mural project that seeks to tell the stories of undocumented people in America. She pairs her subjects with images of the Front Range, using a complicated double exposure technique that creates an ethereal feeling, like smoke drifting in front of your eyes. She then turns these photos into murals that also feature a QR code that links to a monologue from each of the murals’ subjects. These monologues allow the subjects to tell their stories of being undocumented in America, their lives, their journeys, their hardships and triumphs. It’s truly a beautiful series. 

In addition to her work, Pacha is an incredibly vibrant human being. Smart, confident, quick with a joke, our conversation ended up running quite long compared to some of the others because we kept finding more to talk about. She initially picked up a camera when she was in her teens and fell in love with the medium for its ability to capture qualities of the world and its people that she described as “mystical.” She used that word a lot in our conversation, and it made me feel a sense of reverence for the existence of art in this world as a whole and left me quite aware of the world around me, its hidden beauty, its magic. She also spoke of the idea of the beauty of uncertainty. She can point her camera at a subject, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the photo will come out well. She said:

“I don’t always know what’s going to show up. I love that because that’s what keeps me intrigued, inspired, and in tune with the channel that is greater than us.” 

Find her work on her website and her Instagram: edicapacha.com | @artofpacha

Left to right: Brian Hedden, Wira Babiak, Leah Brenner Clack, Jamal Page, Marley Kinkead, Edica Pacha, Ben Shores. Photo credit: Paul Wedlake. Mural by Moe Gram

The post The Heroes: Artists of Boulder County appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Left to right: Courtney Michelle (representative), Mikl Brawner, Ray Tuomey, Luke Walch, Kim Neill, Fred Berkelhammer, Ralph Bailey, Trevor Parmenter, Paul Lingenfelter (representative). Photo credit: Paul Wedlake

Good people doing good work

Look around you, wherever you are right now. Your home, a business, your back yard, a garden maybe. Look around and think about what’s behind the walls or under the soil. Foundations. Structure. Pieces of a whole. Think about the complexity that is a home, a building, a garden. The walls are filled with pipes and wires working collectively to keep you safe and happy and comfortable. Look around at the little bits of beauty in your home. A sculpture, a fireplace, a garden. Think about simple pleasures. The breeze through the tree in your front yard as it stands strong and healthy and vibrant in the late summer sun. Running water. Electricity. Things we take for granted. Without these, our world falls apart. Yet, chances are, you don’t know how any of it works, how to fix something if it breaks, or how to improve it to make it work even better. But there are those people out there that know. Tradespeople are the foundation, the structure, of our society. They keep the house standing and are our Heroes for August because of it. 

We spoke to eleven tradespeople about their lives, their jobs, and why they do what they do. They are Mikl Brawner, founder and owner of Harlequin Gardens; Fred Berkelhammer, an arborist and owner of Berkelhammer Tree Experts; Courtney Michelle, owner of Coco Michelle Salon and Spa; Luke Walch, founder and owner of Green Eyed Motors and Matt Barrie, one of his technicians; Kim Neill, project manager and estimator for Cottonwood Custom Home Builders; Trevor Parmenter, co-owner of South Paw Electric; Ralph Bailey, of Klatt Moving; Ray Tuomey, owner of McLean Forge and Welding; and Paul Lingenfelter from Colorado Green Plumbing. 

These people were chosen in particular because of their environmental consciousness, the care with which they apply to their jobs, and their dedication to their employees’ well-being. Each of them spoke with humor, insight, and a great deal of humility.

Left to right: Ray Tuomey, Kim Neill, Courtney Michelle (representative), Luke Walch, Ralph Bailey, Trevor Parmenter, Fred Berkelhammer, Paul Lingenfelter (representative), Mikl Brawner. Photo credit: Paul Wedlake

Tradespeople are unique amongst some of the other professions we’ve featured for this series in that many of them weren’t heavily affected by COVID, business-wise at least. In fact, some of them seemed to thrive as people sat around stuck in their houses, using the time to make improvements and tweaks on their homes or yards or gardens. Fred Berkelhammer, a warm, funny, and intelligent man, spoke to this a bit, “Bottom line wise, we weren’t hurt by COVID. In fact, I think there was more demand, generally for home improvement services. And COVID  had a lot of people sitting at home a lot. I think the story I tell is, they looked out the window and said, ‘Honey, look, we’ve got a tree, call the arborist.’ We had more demand probably than we’ve ever had.” 

This isn’t always the case, however. The market fluctuates, grows and deflates, as does their business. In order to handle the market’s ebbs and flows and to ensure that their respective businesses can handle any unforeseen calamities that may occur, they each have carefully cultivated a team of dedicated workers that are ready for just about anything. They’ve done this by providing attractive and lucrative positions for their employees in rather competitive markets in which other companies might not deal with their employees with the same care. Paul Lingenfelter spoke to the idea of happy workers doing better work which then leads to happy customers. He told me, “Most of my guys, if not all of them, at some point have told me it’s the best job they’ve ever had. And that makes me happy. I know they’re happy. And obviously, you know, if you look at the reviews, the customers are happy to.” Lingenfelter pointed out that while there is money in working for bigger companies, smaller ones such as his provide a better quality of life, not requiring his workers to work themselves to the bone for long, almost unreasonable hours. Each tradesperson featured in this article expressed similar feelings when speaking about their employees. They do everything they can to make sure those that work for them are happy, comfortable, and well compensated. 

Ray Tuomey spoke to the pride he and his team have for providing their customers with quality work. Tuomey spent 20 years working as a concert promoter and started a company called Namaste Solar prior to buying McLean Welding. He says that a lifelong curiosity about metallurgy is what prompted the career change and he now gets to flex his creative chops working with decorative and functional pieces. He told me, “What I love about this job, and it’s true for a lot of trades, is that there’s an immediacy to what we do, and that we get, you know, at the end of the day, we’ve got something to show for our work.” This sentiment was shared by each of the tradespeople we spoke with, that there is an immediate gratification that comes with customers reacting to work done well that isn’t found in many other professions.

“What I love about this job… is that there’s an immediacy to what we do…”

As with Tuomey, Courtney Michelle worked another career for many years before opening up her salon. She worked mostly in tech before but decided to leave that lifestyle simply because she loves living and working in Longmont. She told me, “I love this town. I love my old house. I love the people.” She gets a lot of satisfaction from the personal nature of the salon, saying that her “love language is acts of service.” She truly dedicates herself to her clients, thinking of herself as a bit of a “therapist.” This dedication came full circle during COVID when she was forced to shut down. To keep herself afloat, she began building and selling beauty kits that she sold to her loyal customers who then spread the word and allowed her to keep the business going. 

Michelle wasn’t the only one who had to get creative during COVID. Both Mikl Brawner and Ralph Bailey were forced to turn to new technology in order to keep their businesses going. Brawner got his start as an arborist before opening his nursery and garden. A true lover of nature in possession of extensive knowledge of plant life and plant propagation, Brawner is rather technologically averse. This made the necessary transition to running his business online quite difficult. He told me, “We had to do a bunch of online ordering the first year, and that was a real pain, excruciating.” But Brawner’s fought through hard times before, telling me it took his business ten years before turning a profit but he stuck with it because of his love for what he does. 

Bailey also had to adapt. He initially came to Colorado after seeing the Grateful Dead in New York where he was invited by a friend to come visit. He did and fell in love and joined the moving business as a consultant. He normally goes into homes, examines what it is they have to move, and provides the customer with an estimate. He was unable to do this in COVID and instead had to use “FaceTime or Google Chat and they walked around showing me everything in the house.” But this could lead to potential issues as a customer might forget a room or something. Still, he did all he could to work with the customer to the very best of his ability, telling me, “I take what I do serious. I like being one of the guys out there that they say has a high level of integrity and honesty.”

“I take what I do serious. I like being one of the guys out there that they say has a high level of integrity and honesty.”

Matt Barrie also spoke to this idea of pride and integrity in the work. Originally from Boston before moving here seeking a change, Barrie told me his favorite part about working with cars is “figuring out the problem.” He pointed out that every car is different and that cars today are vastly more complicated than they used to be and having the right tools to diagnose a problem is imperative, saying his tool collection comes out to over $50,000. But this level of equipment allows him and his team to “figure [the problem] out the first time and send [the customer] on their way.” 

These people are able to adapt and problem solve because of their great amount of experience within their fields. This comes from many long years working and growing and learning before they got to where they are today, but each of them had to start somewhere. Kim Neill worked a more corporate gig and worked in government before she got into construction. She likes it for the joy see she’s on people’s faces when a project is completed, a joy she never saw in her previous ventures. Trevor Parmenter has electricity in his soul. His step father was an electrician and so was his father before him and they began teaching him the trade when he was 13. He offered advice for those starting out in the trades, saying “get with a reputable contractor that’s got a variety of work. Then I think the other thing beyond that I really value is apprenticeship schooling. Out here in Colorado, we’ve got a couple of really strong apprenticeship programs.”

Each of these workers improve the lives of all they encounter. They make people safe, comfortable, happy and they do so with an incredible amount of compassion and awareness of the world around them. Without them, our worlds would fall apart. Give it up for them.

The post The Heroes of Boulder County: The Trades appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Amid great turmoil in our country, there are those fighting to make it safe for everyone.

l to r: Citlalli Vasquez, Bruce Parker, Annett James, Jesse Kumin, (front) Tere Garcia, Ron Booth, Lisa Widdekind, Jen Livovich,

It starts slowly, quietly. Do you hear it? That low rumble approaching, growing louder, echoing through the city streets, growing like distant thunder rolling in, growing like the sound of a great fire, growing until it rattles in your chest, rattles your bones, engulfs your heart like a flame. The sound takes you over, fills your veins with fire. It becomes you. It is the sound of fists in the air, boots on bloodied ground, the cries of the unheard, the unseen, the unfelt. It is the sound of defiance, resistance, love, passion, blood pumping in your ears. It is the sound of persistence, repetition, empathy, compassion, the winds of change ever blowing. It is never giving up hope, never giving up the fight. It is the willingness to help, to care, to be both fierce and gentle in the name of what is right. It is the heartbeat of activism, something this country needs now more than ever. 

For Yellow Scene Magazine’s ongoing 2022 Heroes Series, we are highlighting activists this month. These people have dedicated their lives to causes they believe in that better the lives of others. In a time when it feels like the world is on fire, they keep going in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. I spoke with eight Boulder County activists—Bruce Parker, Annett James, Ron Booth, Lisa Widdekind, Jen Livovich, Tere Garcia, Jesse Kumin, and Citlalli Vasquez. We spoke extensively about each of their respective causes and organizations, the state of activism in America today, and much more. These are our heroes for July. 

One thing that must first be understood about activism in America today is that it takes many different forms. For Bruce Parker, Deputy Director of Out Boulder County, an organization that supports LGBTQ+ issues, activism happens not out in the streets, but behind a desk. He focuses on making lasting change through policy and connecting people. He told me, “I think one of the things about doing social justice movement work is learning to respect that we all have different approaches. I will protest if that’s what I need to do, but I’m not really a protester. That’s just not my role or my approach. I am more of a relationship builder and more of an operations person. I do planning and strategy stuff. I think there’s a need to respect different approaches.” 

Annett James, President of the Boulder Chapter of the NAACP, spoke to me about the role of social media in modern activism and its effect on performative activism, in which a person may make a post or say something on the internet without backing it up with real action. She told me, “I believe that rhetoric is the precursor. If you’re not talking about it, showing it, or expressing it on some level, it takes even longer to get to action. It is performative for a while. I’m not one of those people who believe that we don’t grow from zero to 100 in one fell swoop.” She then went on to say, “I’m not an incrementalist. If you do that long enough, at some point, I feel comfortable calling you out when the rubber really meets the road. Like, where are you? But, if that person has never even taken those performative beginning baby steps, it’s difficult to work with them.”

Tere Garcia is the Executive Director of Engage Latino Parents Advancing Student Outcomes, or ELPASO, an organization that seeks to help Latino parents engage with and understand their children’s unique learning styles to better advance their educational opportunities. A bilingual teacher for 28 years before moving into activism, she spoke to me about the idea of instilling empathy in children at a young age through reading and emotional education. She told me, “[Teachers] were talking about how much the students enjoy reading again—things like Harry Potter, but talking about the emotions of it. Why was the uncle mad at him? We stayed the whole time just talking about, ‘Was the uncle angry or envious?’ and understanding why.” She believes that using literature to understand emotion in general will then apply to the children’s outside lives and create more well-rounded human beings as they grow into adulthood. 

Empathy is the very heart of activism. Everyone struggles and once you are aware of this, you can better understand your fellow humans and are then more willing to go out of your way to help others, to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. I spoke with the activists about the idea of intersectionality, of certain causes overlapping and working together. Parker said, “Difference in activist work is crucial to achieving our goals.” 

James emphasized the particular impact of Black activism on the state of modern activism as a whole.

“Black people have always been a whipping boy. We get beat up the most. Then other people walk through the door. I believe that Black people in the NAACP, more specifically, are about the liberation of all people. The things that people are asking for are just basic human needs and are part of what makes us this particular species. So of course, we support them wholeheartedly in their efforts for equality and equity. The queer movement did learn from us. I would argue that every movement has taken, you know, a lot of cues from what happened with African Americans or Black folks in this country.”

Ron Booth and Jesse Kumin are two longtime activists fighting for causes in which intersectionality is inherent. Booth has been working in activism in some capacity since the 70s and now focuses most of his time on climate issues, believing that climate change is the most pressing issue our world faces, one that transcends borders or nationalities. Kumin’s organization, Best Democracy, focuses its efforts on many different issues, mostly opposing racist and classist gerrymandering that creates poverty among marginalized communities. These issues affect everyone, though people of color and the impoverished are much more harmed by them than wealthy whites. 

Lisa Widdekind has also spent her life with an interest in civil rights and social justice. She has been involved with many organizations, including the Union of Concerned Scientists which focuses on renewable energy, the Solar Energy Conservation Center, and Colorado Public Health. Like Kumin and Booth, she spends her energy on issues that affect large groups of different kinds of people.

She made an interesting point about heroism and the idea of individuality within activism, how no one person is any more important than the other. It is about the collective. To this point, she told me, “Of course, you can raise people to be leaders. Leaders are everything. I’m not a hero of Boulder County. And there are tons of people who do as much if not more work around climate as me. I’m just a person plugged in doing my thing and helping to support the movement. I really want other people to be recognized.” 

Jen Livovich’s work is quite a bit more specific than some of the others’ featured here. A former unhoused person, she was able to pull herself out of homelessness and has now started an organization called Feet Forward. Feet Forward seeks to provide pre-housing engagement to the homeless to prepare them for and help them find housing. She also hosts a weekly gathering every Tuesday at Central Park in Boulder that provides hot meals, warm clothes, and haircuts as well as advice and support for the homeless. Her organization is new and small but is seeking to grow. Organizations like Livovich’s are proof that empathy and understanding can change a person’s entire situation and shows that no matter how large an organization is, there is always a way to help those that need it. 

Citlalli Vasquez was the final activist I spoke with and also the youngest. She recently graduated from the University of Colorado Boulder and was the first in her family to earn a bachelor’s degree. Now, Vasquez serves as the program coordinator for an organization called Voces Unidas, which provides leadership and advocacy opportunities for Latinas and Latinos as well as encouraging civic engagement within the Latino community. She believes that a large part of the fight is the sharing of information and protection from misinformation. She said, “People have access to the information super quickly and have access to a lot of information, which is a good thing but also it could be a bad thing to get easy information where you don’t actually fact check if it’s correct information.” With the sharing of immigration information, people can better understand the intense strength and quiet dignity that comes from being an immigrant in America. 

Each of these incredibly passionate and dedicated people has a massive, wide-open heart. In speaking with them, I was intensely moved by their stories, their struggles, and their sense of humor in the face of such daunting issues. They each were such different people from vastly different backgrounds but all shared this kind of quiet confidence, high shoulders, high chin, and pride.

Please look into each of their respective organizations and consider donating or volunteering. These are the people making our country a better place and are shining examples of the best that Boulder County has to offer. Let’s hear it for them. 

The post The Heroes of Boulder County: The Activists appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Location: Broomfield Veterans Museum, Photos by Paul Wedlake Studios

What Does it Mean When We Say: “Thank You for Your Service”?

We spoke with military veterans for this installment of The Heroes. Lew Roman, board president of the Broomfield Veterans Museum, defined a hero as someone who saves someone else’s life. A more nuanced definition would include going above and beyond to help others.

Like many heroes we’ve covered up until this point, they were all hesitant to refer to themselves as heroes. In some cases, it’s modesty. In others, their reluctance may be fueled by disappointment with their experience in the service or when they returned home as civilians. Still, they were all quick to acknowledge the heroism that their peers demonstrate in service to our country as well as in their day-to-day lives.

It’s important to remember that, in addition to combat operations, the six branches of the military train young people to become teachers, nurses, firefighters, and police officers, among many other professions. So, the military may be the most productive training ground for heroes.

Even so, there is no monolithic “veteran experience.” While many veterans lead successful lives after their service, they’re also at increased risk of mental illness, substance abuse, and homelessness. When those individuals fall through the cracks, their fellow veterans often step up to help. Their service doesn’t end when they trade in their uniforms for street clothes.

Broomfield Veterans Museum all photos taken by Paul Wedlake Studios, ltr: Josh Gehrels, Samantha Gehrels, Brian Augustine, Leon Bartholomay, Jennifer Parenti

Samantha Gehrels: U.S. Army

Samantha Gehrels joined the U.S. Army after she graduated high school. She was trained in military intelligence before joining the National Security Agency where her primary responsibility was to intercept and decode signals. “We’re not just talking about emails and phone calls,” she said. “We got images of a billboard that had encrypted information on it. That information revealed the position of enemy troops and was used to direct American troops away from hazardous locations. We used that information to save lives.”

Gehrels became a military trauma medicine specialist before earning a master’s degree in nursing. Now, she’s a nurse practitioner who specializes in palliative and hospice care. “In the field, we’re trying to stop severe bleeding and get them to the hospital as quickly as possible,” she said. “In hospice, we know the end is near. My job is to help them come to terms with the end.”

When caring for veterans, she feels grateful for her experience in the military. “The military is more than a job,” she said, “it’s a way of life. I connect quickly with veterans because we’ve had similar experiences. They can reflect and reminisce with me in ways they can’t with a civilian,” she continued. “Helping them find peace at the end is very important to me. That’s what keeps me going.”

Josh Gehrels: U.S. Army

Compelled by the events of 9/11, Josh Gehrels joined the U.S. Army as an 18 Delta. “That’s Special Forces, Medical Sergeants,” he said. Josh and Samantha met roughly 12 years ago, when they were leading trauma medicine training in North Carolina. Before long, Josh was helping Samantha fence in her 8-acre horse property in the scorching summer sun. “That’s love right there,” Josh said via phone.

As the Gehrels prepare to celebrate their tenth anniversary, he was somewhere in Africa working as a contractor with the Department of Defense. “We take somebody who is having a very bad day,” he said, “and we try to make it better. We try to get them home to their families.” Josh said that he feels the need to get home to his family too, as the sacrifices — the missed birthdays, sporting events, and graduations — weigh heavily upon him. “A lot of people think we’re afraid of the loss of life or limb, but really, we’re scared of missing our families grow.”

When asked about the heroes in his life, Josh spoke quickly and sincerely. “Samantha is the reason our situation works,” he said. “When she’s not caring for people on their deathbeds, she’s caring for our three children. She’s a strong woman who was made stronger by her military service. It teaches you to be more selfless while rising to numerous and ever-changing challenges.”

Josh appreciates it when strangers thank him for his service, but he wishes there was more awareness about challenges common among veterans. “Many are suffering from mental illness, homelessness, substance abuse,” he said. “For some, it’s harder to go to work every day than it is to live in a combat zone.”

Brian Augustine: U.S. Army

Brian Augustine served in the U.S. Army from 1979 to 1981, when he was discharged. “I had a mental breakdown in Germany after my girlfriend left me,” Augustine said. “I had no American friends, I was so lonely. After that, they said I was ‘unable to adapt to military life.'”

Augustine works as a writer and vendor for the Denver Voice, an independent weekly whose mission is to address the “roots of homelessness by telling stories of people whose lives are impacted by poverty and homelessness….” He became homeless after a house he bought with his brother was repossessed. “My brother took out some loans I didn’t know about,” Augustine said, “and they took our house.”

Up until the pandemic, Augustine earned enough money through writing to rent a room on Capitol Hill, which was no small feat, considering he taught himself to read with a dictionary and a copy of Leo Tolstoy’s “War and Peace.” But as rent skyrocketed across the nation, Augustine’s savings were quickly depleted. “I can no longer afford that room,” he said.

As he turns 61 in July, he’s preparing to live on the streets again. While there are a number of programs set up to help the 40,000 veterans who face homelessness on any given night in the U.S., Augustine said it’s harder to find a home when contending with mental health challenges, “which affects our self-esteem,” he said. “The Bible says that we ought to love our neighbor as we love ourselves — but what happens if I don’t love myself?”

Augustine dreams of having a home of his own again. “A house,” he said, “with enough land to keep a bunch of dogs. To make them happy makes me happy.”

Leon Bartholomay: U.S. Marine Corps

Leon Bartholomay joined the 1st Marine Division, 11th Marines Regiment, an artillery battalion, in 1968. Before long, he was in Vietnam helping to defend his compound from what he called a mini Tet Offensive. “A group tried to overrun us,” Bartholomay said, “but they tried to run through two posts where machine guns had been set up. That didn’t work out too well.” The following morning, Bartholomay said, “we collected about 20 bodies.”

Today, Bartholomay is the coda master and adjutant of the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 2601 in Longmont. The VFW is a fraternal organization where veterans can connect with other veterans. “We help them get connected to the Veterans Affairs for medical care,” Bartholomay said, “We help them with their G.I. Bill. When they can’t get mental healthcare, we listen.”

Echoing Josh Gerhels’ concerns, Bartholomay said that 22 veterans die by suicide each day. “That has to stop,” he said. “The World War I veterans helped us. Now, they’re gone. As we go — most of us Vietnam veterans are in our 70s — the next generation will need to take our place.”

Jennifer Parenti: U.S. Air Force

As a young woman, Jennifer Parenti dreamed of becoming an astronaut. To achieve her dream, she needed a degree in engineering, and she’d need to attend flight school. She was accepted into the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs after graduating high school. “They provide you with four years of education and a stipend in exchange for four years of service,” Parenti said. She gave the U.S. Air Force 20 years of service before she retired.

Her dream to become an astronaut was dashed by a medical disqualification, so she became an engineer. Then she joined the International Airmen Program, the diplomatic arm of the Air Force. In that role, Parenti worked to foster collaboration between the U.S. Air Force and other like organizations around the world. “If we go to war,” she said, “we’re able to collaborate with air forces from other countries.” After working at the Pentagon and the U.S. Embassy in Paris, Parenti was hired by NATO to continue the same work.

Parenti returned to Colorado in 2019, where she’s running for a seat in the Colorado House of Representatives. “I’m running on a traditional progressive platform,” she said. “Housing affordability is an issue in the 19th District. Transportation instability is an issue. Environmental conservation is important to me.” All those issues are entwined, she said, and veterans are disproportionately affected. “Whether I’m elected or not,” she said, “I will keep fighting for our veterans.”

Lew Roman: U.S. Navy

Lew Roman said that his path to becoming Board President of the Broomfield Veterans Museum was not a heroic one. “A hero is someone who saves someone else’s life,” Roman said. “I didn’t save anybody. I just kept the shelves stocked.” Roman joined the U.S. Navy in November 1968, because he “didn’t want to get drafted by the Army and sent to Vietnam.” Instead, he was sent to storekeeper school in Rhode Island. “Then I was shipped off to Vietnam to run a store aboard a barge,” he said, laughing. “That’s poetic justice.”

After spending a year there, he returned to the States to earn a degree in accounting. He joined the U.S. Post Office as a clerk in 1986, retiring 20 years later. “Then, I got really bored,” he said. “I had to find something to do.” So, Roman joined the Broomfield Veterans Museum’s collections department and was put in charge of the display and exhibition committee. Today, as the president of the board, he sees his job as preserving the stories of heroes. “If we don’t preserve these stories, they’ll be lost,” he said.

“When we thank veterans for their service, we should know what we’re talking about.”

The post The Heroes: Veterans of Boulder County appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

*9/16/22 Update: Yet, another price increase for printing, bringing it to now a 33% increase since this was written in May 2022 and since prices began increasing in 2020. We have had so many price increases we are losing count. Are we on the 7th? 8th? 9th?

I woke up this morning thinking about the printing press.

This started from the 28%* increase in the cost of publishing on paper compared to 2020.

Print isn’t dead; it’s expensive.

Yet, it’s freed societies, it’s educated masses, it’s been propagandized and vilified, but most of all, throughout the history of the printing press – it has informed. Like technology of many kinds, it changed how we communicate.

Then why, in a communication-heavy world, are so many areas suffering from news deserts?

I was raised in the media rooms since the age of 21. I watched as the editors did their magic, telling stories that affected the community. It was the local pages that helped keep people connected. One thing that was drilled into my head all these years above all else — speak the truth. Even if some will hate you, speak the truth.

Some journalists have been jailed or killed for speaking out against totalitarianism and injustice. Often, the energy they spent putting in countless hours researching, checking facts and sources are reduced to the battle-cry of the ill-informed; “Fake News.” News illiteracy is raging across the country.

The pay is typically lousy, the hours are long. Stress and burn-out guaranteed. They are energized by knowing their work has helped to free innocent people from behind bars, attempts to keep politicians honest, and uplifting humanity.

I am reminded of what Jeff Fard said to me right before I published the biggest and scariest story of my life; “Just remember, it isn’t us who make the news; they do. We just report it.”

After 38 years representing journalism and media, I recently was honored to interview some of Colorado’s most respected journalists – all committed to keeping it alive. From Pulitzer Prize nominees, Hearst Fellows, prestigious universities, and lifers to newbies, this was my “meeting my favorite rock stars” moment, which turned out to be quite intimidating for this art-school drop-out, and even more intimidating to write.

Back Row l to r: Dave Flomberg, brother jeff, Michael Roberts, Amy Golden, Center l t r: John Lehndorff, Erik Maulbetsch, Tatiana Flowers, Susan Greene, Front l to r: Shay Castle, Rosanna Longo

In total, I spoke to 10 amazing journalists, Susan Green (CoLab News/The Colorado Independent), Jeff Fard (30 minutes with brother jeff), Dave Flomberg (Yellow Scene Magazine/Colorado Times Recorder), Shay Castle (Boulder Beat), Michael Roberts (Westword), John Lehndorff (5280, Boulder Weekly, KGNU)), Tatiana Flowers (The Colorado Sun), Rosanna Longo (KGNU), Erik Maulbetsch (Colorado Times Recorder), and Amy Golden (Longmont Leader).

Keeping to a word count limit became a challenge. I was enthralled.

As Dave Flomberg quipped; “You mean you talked to a bunch of journalists who waxed poetic?”

Each of these amazing talents had extraordinary things to say, not just about journalism but about the world. I didn’t want anything left out.

Susan Greene, CoLab News, The Independent

SUSAN GREENE: COLab News (Colorado News Collaborative)

Susan reported in California, Nevada, and Washington, D.C., before her 13 years as a reporter and news columnist at The Denver Post. She went on to become the editor and executive director of The Colorado Independent before it merged in 2020 with COLab. “Trashing the Truth,” a series she reported with Miles Moffeit, helped exonerate five men, prompted state and federal reforms on evidence preservation, and was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in investigative journalism. Her investigation,“The Gray Box,” exposed the effects of long-term solitary confinement. Susan has been honored in recent years by the National Press Foundation, ACLU, Society of Professional Journalists, and Colorado Press Association for her First Amendment work and coverage of criminal justice, mental health, and civil rights. She was selected as a 2020-2021 Rosalynn Carter Mental Health Journalism Fellow, and is the inaugural recipient of the Benjamin von Sternenfels Rosenthal Grant for Mental Health Investigative Journalism — a partnership between The Carter Center’s Mental Health Program and Reveal from the Center for Investigative Reporting (CIR). Susan lives in Denver with her two sons and a dog they’re pretty sure is the messiah.

Q: Tell me how and why you launched CoLabs?

Susan: For those of us who’ve been in the industry for a while, it has felt like being on the slowest sinking ship ever. After the Independent, it felt like the next thing to do was to work on these news deserts and on just this general idea of collaboration. Especially if we came up in newspapers, we’re so indoctrinated in this sort of competition, that is really just a construct. The public who really doesn’t care or notice which outlet that’s out first, there just simply aren’t enough resources to go around. I’m always getting calls, I just got off one this morning, about issues going on in local communities that will ask, “Well, can you send an investigative reporter over?”  There is no index reporter, and there might not be any reporter at all, no matter what they do in that community. And that happens so much. It just feels like the right thing to do for keeping people informed is to pool our resources rather than play in each of our own sandboxes.

Q: What are some of the stories you are most proud of?

SUSAN: I’ve always been an underdog person. I feel injustice more deeply than I feel partisan politics. But I don’t go into any story thinking I’m setting out to change policy.  You try to be as fair and balanced as you possibly can, especially when you’re covering something over years as I did with Clarence Moses, Tim Masters, Tyler Sanchez, and Marvin Booker. If you watch a man get wrongly convicted, and try and try again to get himself exonerated, only to be countered by lies from the prosecution in the public’s name, you’re bound to have personal feelings about it. It’s way more gratifying to write about people who need help having their voices amplified than about politicians, who have teams of propagandists around 24/7.

Q: Sometimes, it seems it would be easier not to care.

SUSAN: It’s easy not to care, but I don’t think you’d last very long. I think journalists are actually the most idealistic people I know. That makes it even more frustrating when our motives are under suspicion. For journalists, there’s nothing more exciting than election night. And it has nothing to do with who wins or loses. It just has to do with democracy and what’s at stake. If you don’t care then I don’t think you can do a good job and there really is no room for you in this industry.

Q: What makes you passionate?

This mental health project that I’m working on. Talking to someone who just cannot find the mental health care they need for a loved one, and helping them feel heard. Playing some role in the bureaucracy and finally paying attention to them as a person, not just a number, feels really good and meaningful.

John Lehndorff, 5280, Boulder Weekly

JOHN LEHNDORFF: 5280 | Boulder Weekly | KGNU

After graduating in English with honors from McGill University in Montreal, he moved to Boulder, where he worked in the restaurant industry, taught cooking classes, hosted The Generic Gourmet Show – a weekly food radio program, and freelanced for numerous publications. For 15 years, he was an award-winning food editor, writer, and nationally syndicated Nibbles food columnist for the Daily Camera, followed by eight years as the dining critic and columnist of the Rocky Mountain News. Most recently, he was the food and editor and columnist for the Aurora Media Group newspapers and websites: Aurora Sentinel, Buckley Guardian, and Life Science, as well as Aurora magazine. He is a freelance food writer and editor and host of Radio Nibbles, a new, weekly program focused on food, cooking, and dining on KGNU, 88.5 F, currently publishes with 5280 and Boulder Weekly, and is a recognized pie authority. Lehndorff was the executive director of the American Pie Council, spokesperson for National Pie Day, chief judge for the National Pie Championships, and organizer of the Great American Pie Festival. He is the author of Denver Dines (a restaurant guide book), and a judge for the James Beard Foundation journalism awards.

Q: Why do you stay in it? What keeps you motivated? For me at the end of the day, I love what I do. Tell me how you got started?

JOHN: That’s a good reason. All I ever said was I was going to have to work until I died. I said; ‘well, I don’t want to have to get up every day, hating it.’ When I decided to become a journalist, I said, if I’ve got to do this repeatedly then I think I’ll write about food and music, because that’s what I like. I also ended up writing obituaries and stories about cars and things, but that comes with the territory. I was going to McGill University in Montreal, and after I graduated, a friend said, “Hey, want to help me drive a car from New York to Colorado?”  I was going to help him with that because it sounded like a good time. You know, Kerouac-esque. Then I got here, and the sun was sunnier, and there was less humidity, and people seemed happier. I said I’d stay for a couple of weeks. That was 1976. Mainly I wanted to be a music critic and go to concerts for free. But I found that there was a limited need for that.

Q: Did you always want to be a writer?

JOHN: The first time I felt the buzz, so to speak, I was in the fifth grade. Most of my teachers in elementary school were smart but elderly cranky nuns, but I got a good one. I forget what I wrote about, but she was very positive about it, and sometimes that’s all it takes. I thought I was gonna go in a more literary direction, I was mainly into poetry and prose. When I got here, the streets were full of beat poets. I saw Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs eating soup at the New York Deli. I realized all the poetry jobs are taken I realized I needed to expand my writing efforts. My father, who escaped from the Nazis in Austria, was a huge fan of stand-up comedy. I learned to appreciate a good punch line, and a well-told joke, it’s like a haiku if it’s done right. I always wanted to have a punchline on my columns.

Q: When I worked at the paper in Boulder, I would listen to you on KGNU every time you aired. It was part of my morning drive.

JOHN: I just started hanging around KGNU; I proposed this show called The Generic Gourmet Show. I thought I’d do something like A Prairie Home Companion about food. As it turned out, that was rather grandiose for one guy who didn’t know how to use tape machines.

Q: How did you become the pie expert?

JOHN: I was friends with Charlie Papazian, he launched the American Home Brewers Association, which later became the Great American Beer Fest. He was actually a nuclear engineer. His birthday was coming up but he didn’t like cake, so he declared his birthday, January 23, to be National Pie Day and made up a mythical organization called the American Pie Council.  To this day, January 23 is the official National Pie Day. He asked me to be a judge and handle the calls for the day and turns out dozens of people were calling about it. I have judged over 100 pie contests, taught seminars, and ended up becoming known as the Pie Guy.

Dave Flomberg, Yellow Scene Magazine, Colorado Times Recorder

DAVE FLOMBERG: Yellow Scene Magazine | Colorado Times Recorder

Director of Content for Modus Persona, Content Strategist, Published Author, Public Speaker, Freelance Columnist, Trombonist. Attended UNC in Greeley at the music school. He has written for Vail Trail, Boulder Weekly, Rocky Mountain News, City Search, Yellow Scene Magazine (since issue #2), the Colorado Times Recorder, and wrote a book, Management for Zombies.  Dave considers himself a lucky man and attributes it to his great parents. His father was poor, she was lower-middle class; both Jewish children of immigrants from Eastern Europe. As the grandson of the Survivor generation, he believes deeply these life events helped shape who he is. 

Q: In all interviews, you refer to your parents frequently and how much they shaped you; what was their biggest influence on your life?

DAVE: The importance of education is a cultural underpinning for us. My mom made sure that I was reading and writing before I went to school. That is a privilege to have a mother who was able to take the time to do that while Pop was working. We were not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but they made sacrifices so she could stay home with us for the first few years of our lives as kids. That kind of head start is so critical for everyone to have the simple basics of reading and writing before they get to school. The world opens up to you in terms of literature. My pop was the most honest man I’ve ever known, his moral compass was always true. So even though he and I didn’t always agree on all things politics he was devoted to community and justice. He would always stand up and speak out against injustice.

In America, we tend to look at everything as good or bad. One of the reasons I write about the things I do is because we tend to be so binary in the way we evaluate life. Disney, Star Wars. It isn’t that easy. You can believe at the same time that Jews have an absolute right to exist in the land of Israel, and Palestinians have an absolute right to exist in the Palestinian territories without being morally corrupt.

Q: I lost my mom and then dad five years later, everything they tried to teach me suddenly became so much more important. I wanted to live up to it even more. 

DAVE: One of the traditions of Judaism is there isn’t really a scripted concept of what afterlife is. No one’s gone to heaven and come back to tell us what that’s about. So we don’t know. The best idea we have is that your proximity that God and whatever you envision God to be, you know I take a pretty Universalist approach is that your proximity to God is what is eternal, and what matters and the way to honor the people who have died before you your parents or siblings or whoever is when you do something good. It elevates them in God’s eyes and brings them closer to him. So by doing a mitzvah that helps keep those who came before you you know, closer to God. And, you know, whether you’re agnostic or atheist, I still like the concept of truly honoring my father and mother is to doing right by them and living the best way. You know that they tried to teach me to be so I don’t see anything wrong with that. Even if, even if I end up not believing in anything at all. It’s still a good way to live.

Q: So the ancestry that influences you so greatly and even speaking to regardless if you’re agnostic or atheist, it sounds like you take to heart the teachings.

DAVE: Culturally, if you want to look at it from the perspective of those who hate me, our oppression status depends on who’s observing and Hitler could not care less who we pray to. For him, we were an inferior race of people that need to be exterminated. Whatever I believe is kind of irrelevant at that point. It’s the fact that this is the reality of the world I live in. Is my bloodline something that damns me in the eyes of a lot of people? My cultural identity of what it is to be a Jew, what it is to have this history.

Q: Jeff Fard spoke a lot on being a Pan-Africanist, do you see any similarities in these views?

DAVE: An example is with White replacement theory and how effective the right-wing has been at helping stoke the fires of division between Jews and the black community over the years. There are definitely racist Jews; there are definitely antisemitic blacks. And that’s heartbreaking because our stories are so similar, right? In a world where Jews and the Black community came together and found a way to truly align their objectives, there will be no stopping, correcting the historic wrongs.

Q: How do you feel that that affects you as a journalist?

DAVE: I loved the idea that my job requires me to learn something new every day and then become as close to an expert as I can on the topic in order to tell other people why they should care about it. An effective journalist may have bias, and there’s no way to avoid the prejudices your perspective creates. But a good journalist will follow the evidence, like a good detective. My willingness to consistently reevaluate my position and my opinion on any topic is what’s made me a decent journalist. Keeping my eyes firmly following the evidence and looking for truth has led me to where I am today underpinning a lot of problems Americans have today – a refusal to reevaluate their own position.

Q: Do you have a favorite story or is that too hard to pin down?

DAVE: There were a lot of draconian policies in place at the border. Alma Lopez and her American husband had been married for years. They decided to apply for her citizenship resulting in her being trapped in Mexico for months after years of living in the U.S. Within two weeks after our article came out she was brought home. When I get the opportunity to tell a story that matters, that is the important thing. And not being beholden to the economics of a day job telling stories for people’s agendas is very freeing, and allows me to focus on the things that matter most.

Q: What do you think would happen if we lost journalism?

DAVE: Digital has impacted more than journalism in the sense that the death of expertise is a huge problem because the best and brightest aren’t always going into journalism.  We got fly-by-night bloggers out there, some do good work, and some do terrible work. At the beginning of broadcast journalism, the governing body had a really good approach that American broadcast media had to ensure one out of 24 hours is dedicated to news. That made news important to the culture of this nation, to why the democracy experiment was working the way it was. Where they f*cked up was by not specifying that they could not profit. Connecting capitalism to that decision is what has eventually resulted in the situation we’re in today.

brother jeff

JEFF FARD: 30 minutes with brother jeff

A native of Northeast Denver, Jeff S. Fard, better known as brother jeff, is a multimedia journalist, historian and community organizer who lectures nationally speaking to youth, students, social organizations, and professionals about subjects including cultural identity and history, diversity, self-empowerment, community building, economic development, health disparities, and the uniting power of art. In 1994 he founded brother jeff’s Cultural Center—located in the historic Five Points District in Northeast Denver—a space committed to fostering growth, strength, and voice in the community. He is also the publisher and editor of the award-winning monthly publication, 5 POINTS NEWS. brother jeff is a board member for the Center for African American Health and is a past board chair of the Denver Foundation, which is the nation’s oldest and Colorado’s largest community foundation. He has received numerous honors for his work, including being recognized by the late Steven Graham and the Community Resource Center as a “Legendary Leader of Colorado’s Nonprofit Sector.”

Q: You grew up in Denver, correct?

brother jeff: Yep, native, George Washington HS. I traveled extensively across the country, around different parts of Africa, but Denver is my birthplace. I’ve always been a part of what they call a pan-Africanist movement, so my entry point into the continent was really around anti-apartheid in South Africa. I began traveling in South Africa and became very familiar with the politics. I was there when Mandela was released from prison. Dealing with apartheid,  and the HIV/AIDS pandemic. We were interested in why Black women were disproportionately impacted by HIV/AIDS. We did a lot of work in Kenya and Ethiopia. Now I am focused on genocide in Ethiopia. My pan-Africanist perspective links me to the continent and diaspora.

Q: Pan-Africanism is not a term many caucasian Americans are familiar with. Can you describe it to our readers?

brother jeff: The reality is that Africa is the birthplace of civilization. Everyone who believes that they’re not African, they’re actually African. It’s interesting to see folks look for their DNA and talk about they’re from this part of Europe or that part of Asia, but everybody’s from Africa. There was a scramble for Africa in the 19th century. The European powers came together to split that continent up amongst themselves. You have this intense colonization and, from that standpoint forward, what they call the transatlantic enslavement, which is why 100 million Africans are buried at the bottom of the Atlantic. We are displaced and also found everywhere on the planet. So wherever you are on the planet, you’re going to find the remnants of Africa. That is the birthplace. From a pan-Africanist standpoint, it is not erasing African identity while embracing where they’re from. W.E.B. Dubois and individuals like Kwame Nkrumah, a lot of them studied in the United States before they became presidents of African nations. There’s a direct linkage and connection.

Q: What got you into media, what sparked all this?

brother jeff: Growing up in Denver, we knew that what the Black community experienced was closely aligned with the Brown community. I was raised around the Black Panthers and the Brown Berets. I was around Lauren Watson and Corky Gonzales, all of these individuals were activists when I was very young.

Q: Your mother was an activist?

brother jeff: Absolutely. This was a period of community activism. So when you talk pan-Africanism, and you think about the 70s, when Roots came out. You started seeing Blacks longing to go back beyond 1619 and the borders of North America. That’s when you start thinking about Cleo Parker Robertson’s Dance Theater, which is directly related to this movement. You think about the musicians that were putting out songs in the 70s that talked about the power of Blackness, and you start thinking about that whole movement. It was very rich right here in Northeast Denver. Five Points was wholly Black. Today, it’s wholly White. In just a generation you started seeing the shift. I was raised with Dr. Daddio, aka Jimmy Walker, who is a legend in communications and media. He owned KDKO, a black-owned radio station. We came out of music, we were doing what they call hip hop. Perhaps the first publication I had was called A New Day –  back when you used to go to the printer. I’ve done community resource guides and constantly told the stories through print, or radio. There’s probably not a facet of it that I’m not familiar with, even publishing Five Points’ Five Star News. And now utilizing this new medium, podcasting, or social media to tell the story, it’s all just telling stories. There’s probably not a time that I haven’t been doing it.

Q: Tell me about Five Star News?

brother jeff: Our mission was always to put paper in hand. I don’t know if we’re seeing the death of print, but the limiting, because we’re able to do a lot more online for less money. It’s just faster. We will do some more print, but we have to see how viable it is because our model is really about informing the community, and there are a lot of different ways to tell those stories now. If those price increases continue, I’m wondering what the future looks like. We’ll be doing it online for the foreseeable future. It’s amazing. Even radio station KDKO was so integral to the Black and Brown community and it no longer exists. There’s a big void, but fortunately, we’re able to fill it every day at two o’clock with 30 minutes with brother Jeff by telling those stories and connecting with individuals from a community standpoint, no matter the skin color. Individuals are longing for real and moving away from mainstream media, which is no longer mainstream. They’re often trying to catch up with what the community is already doing.

Q: How do we create media literacy?

brother jeff: Media literacy is important because most folks take on face value what’s given to them.  We want to believe that folks have their best interests at heart. We’re not seeing how money plays a role in politics in terms of how decisions are being made. For example, the average person doesn’t have time to spend lobbying or even watching what their politicians are doing. You can guarantee that special interest has individuals that all they do is look out for their interest. The media literacy piece to me is, why aren’t certain stories being covered? Why is there demise in terms of the ability to shine a light on things that impact the everyday life of individuals? It’s not an accident. It’s very intentional. The less you know, the better, some will say. Ignorance is bliss.

Q: How do you see journalism surviving?

brother jeff: Good journalists tell the stories that haven’t been told or are not supposed to be told.

Michael Roberts, Westword

MICHAEL ROBERTS: Westword

Michael has written for Westword since October 1990, serving stints as music editor and media columnist. He currently covers everything from breaking news and politics to sports and stories that defy categorization.

Q: Talking to everybody has made me even more inspired to pursue this new idea that is percolating for me. So, meeting all of you is exciting for me.

MICHAEL: I hope our conversation will not make you give it all up and decide to go into banking or some other profession.

Q: You have been in media a long time, you started at Westword how many years ago and when did you get started in media?

MICHAEL: I started at Westword in 1990. I grew up in Grand Junction and went to what is now called Colorado Mesa University. I am glad I did because it gave me opportunities to do a little of everything. I worked at the Criterion, the college paper, theater, and the radio station. I had written for my High School paper but originally thought I was going into film. I went to UCLA and got my Masters in screenwriting and even managed to sell one to Disney. But I found was while I am good at writing, I am terrible at pitching. So I enrolled in the Master’s Program at Northwestern in Chicago. Turns out Patty Calhoun (Westword’s editor since inception) is from Chicago and asked me to send her five stories. Patty, happened to be in Chicago and meets with me. All I own is a wool suit, it’s summer, I am sweating profusely, but somehow she hired me anyway. I submitted a story (by fax!), “Rock Stars whose careers were helped by their own death,” about Stevie Ray Vaughns’s passing. To my surprise, they put it on the cover. Someone bought an ad on the back page telling me to go kill myself. I saw this and thought, well I am fired now. But the managing editor told me, “You are bringing money in, so let’s make you the music editor.” I worked as the music editor for 9 years before moving to columnist, then to the content editor for our website-which went live in the 90s.

Q: I follow a lot of your writing, when I go to the website it’s almost always you that I read.

MICHAEL: I’m one of only three staff writers, along with our editors, Patty, and Emily Ferguson, our music editor. We use a lot of freelancers. One of the benefits for me of having broad interests is I can cover many bases. I’m interested in news, business, sports, art, and film. So it’s wonderful for me to not paint myself into a corner. Writing about a variety of things every day keeps it fresh.

Q: Since the 90s, we’ve been told print is dead. I still believe there’s a place for print, that people want an escape from their screen and to read long-form if the content is there. Is Westword looking at continuing to print or going strictly digital, like so many have?

MICHAEL: I know Patty is dedicated and believes in print. I think the strategy is to continue to do print. It’s expensive, and a pain in the neck. It’s a lot easier to write a story and then press a button and it’s out there than it is to proof pages and get them to the printer and distribute them. It’s a very costly enterprise. But it is part of the historical tradition, and that makes a statement about its permanence. People definitely like to hold an object in our hands that feels more real, feels built to last, that more care went into the creation of this product, as opposed to things that go online. So I think there is a respect that print creates and deserves.

Q: Do you think being a journalist has made you a well-rounded person?

MICHAEL: I’m very shy, so if I was in a social situation, I wouldn’t go up to a stranger and ask them a question; particularly a tough question. But in the role of a journalist, I get to call up really interesting people, notorious people, a wide variety of people, and learn more about their motivations, what they’re thinking and doing, and why. That provided a platform for me to be bolder and more opinionated than maybe I was able to handle in everyday life. What kept me with journalism all these years is to interact with the everyday world, and learn things people don’t have access to.

Amy Golden-Longmont Leader

AMY GOLDEN: Longmont Leader

Amy was born in Denver and raised in Colorado Springs and received her  journalism degree with a minor in business from the University of Northern Colorado in May 2019. She spent a semester as an intern with the Greeley Tribune, then found a job in Grand County as a reporter for Sky-Hi News. She has spent just under two and a half years there reporting on all sorts of things but especially the pandemic and the East Troublesome Fire, the second-largest fire in Colorado history that destroyed roughly 300 homes between Granby and Grand Lake. She has been with the Longmont Leader since the end of February, covering a variety of topics including education.

Q: You chose to go into journalism and studied at UNC Greeley, what made you decide to pursue journalism?

AMY: I’ve done journalism since high school when I accidentally joined the school newspaper. I didn’t really know what the elective was, but I took a shine to it and knew going into college that was what I wanted to do.

Q: You got hired right out of college at the Greeley Tribune?

AMY: I interned at the Tribune, then got hired at Sky High News.  When I  applied to the Tribune, it was going through a lot of changes and hard to get in, so I ended up working at a coffee and sandwich shop. I was feeling discouraged, so I didn’t send anything but my resume figuring I wouldn’t get hired. The editor there had also gone to UNC and worked at the Greeley Tribune and took the time to look up my clips.  I was lucky he did because I got hired.

Q: Was there something about the work you were doing in high school that attracted you to journalism? What excited you about it?

AMY: In high school, we got a new advisor who helped us revamp the newspaper. Most of the student body didn’t even know we had one, and it was the typical school newspaper with just blocks of text. After we revamped it, people started to get really excited about it. I took that philosophy with me going into college because everyone constantly is telling you “journalism is a dying industry.” People like to read about things happening near them and they are actually craving that. Just because people don’t read the newspaper so much anymore doesn’t mean they don’t crave the truth. I have always been a defiant person and so this career appealed a lot to me.

Q: Do you have any ideas for future stories you are mulling over?

AMY: I went to the Northern Water conference yesterday which got me thinking about water. Something I have a unique perspective on because I was in Grand County for two and a half years. They give all the water basically to Denver Water – like 60% is diverted to the Front Range. Add in climate change and there’s just less and less of it. We assume that there’s enough water to go around and I think that’s not going to be the case pretty soon.

Tatiana Flowers, The Colorado Sun

TATIANA FLOWERS: The Colorado Sun

Tatiana Flowers is the inequality and general assignment beat reporter for the Colorado Sun. She has covered crime and courts plus education and health in Colorado, Connecticut, Israel and Morocco. In her spare time, she enjoys skiing, Zumba, learning how to DJ, and live music events. Rabbits are her favorite animal.

Q: You said you have only been at The Colorado Sun a few months, where were you before?

TATIANA:  I was a Hearst Fellow for Hearst Connecticut Media Group. Then they hired me and I worked at a paper in Greenwich, Connecticut, called Greenwich Times, for a year. Before the Hearst fellowship, I was in AP here in Denver, and before that, I was at Glenwood Springs Independent, but only for a couple of months.

Q: Wow! I have my work cut out for me because I’ve now interviewed one Pulitzer Prize nominee and one Hearst Fellow and I have to be honest I am a little intimidated.

TATIANA: Even when you do have those credentials it’s still really scary, and even people like Jen Brown, who I work with and who won a Pulitzer, says she still felt inadequate, so I don’t really think it’s something that goes away.

Q: You strike me as one of those students who devoted themselves to their studies, is that true?

TATIANA: I was able to because I was lucky enough to have a mother who could support me while I was in school, which allowed me the resources to devote myself to my studies.

Q: Which makes me think, how many Einsteins have we missed? You sound like you have a serious work ethic.

TATIANA: I think my grandmother instilled that in us, she moved from Jamaica, England, then to the U.S. She had two kids and escaped domestic violence. She laid the foundation for my mom’s success and my success here. She cared a lot about education, and that just really sunk in for us. We saw how she got this really good nursing fellowship in the U.S. and how it shaped her life. So yeah, I would agree with that statement.

Q: It looks like you started out with a serious intent to go into journalism. I mean, your Bachelor’s in Journalism, and then you went on to get your Masters. Where was it that lit that spark that made you know that was what you wanted to do?

TATIANA: I didn’t know until I was a sophomore in college. I actually was studying animal science. Since I could talk I wanted to be a veterinarian. I still love animals just as much, but I didn’t love and wasn’t good at chemistry, physics, and math. So I got a rude awakening. I felt like I was wasting my mom’s money. I was convinced that I was going to kill all the animals because I was not understanding the formulas. So I went to the Career Services Office crying, and she was like, calm down, I see this all the time. She asked me what I was good at. I told her I was terrible at math, but writing classes always came naturally. Journalism looked like the noblest, and possibly the most stable career, and one that I would feel comfortable doing for the rest of my life. At that time, I wasn’t even really reading the news, but I thought that I could possibly make a difference in people’s lives doing journalism, so that is what I went to school for and luckily it worked out.

Q: A lot of people I talked to shared similar stories, they had different aspirations at first and ended up going into journalism because they had a knack for it or a curiosity about the world.

TATIANA: I think it was my senior year of college. I started doing video journalism because it looked fun. I thought that that’s how you see life every day; visually not writing-based. I loved that class. I think part of it was my teacher was just so talented, and passionate, that I wanted to feel that way. I started to understand the power of letting people speak about their personal experiences. I interviewed one man who had schizophrenia and had co-occurring substance use disorder. Seeing him feel so validated, that someone would care about his story enough to want to tell it to the whole school, made me imagine the possibilities later on in my career. One of my favorite parts about being a journalist still, is knowing that there are a lot of people living through terrible things, but that I, terrifyingly, and also powerfully, can elevate their voice with care and compassion, and sophistication.

Q: Have you experienced some of those downers, those high-stress moments? What drives you to stay in it in spite of those?

TATIANA: I know that if something went wrong today, I always have tomorrow to start over. I know that I go into every story honest and genuine and caring and that if something goes wrong, I gave it my best shot. That helps to keep going. I know I bring something unique to the table. One thing I’m good at is connecting with people and getting them to trust me fairly quickly, especially on these sensitive stories. I work hard to show them I care about what they say by actively listening and asking deeper questions and not talking over them – ever. I also am not the typical journalist in Colorado, right? Like I rarely see other young Black women journalists and I know that these attributes allow me to tell certain stories in a way that others cannot or will not. If I leave the profession, I’m afraid that we might lose some of those really important stories or perspectives.

Q: Lose the seat at the table.

TATIANA: It’s not just about me, it’s about are those people going to feel comfortable speaking up now? I don’t know. Maybe they would, but it’s scary and urges me to continue.

Q: What ethics most shaped you in this job?

TATIANA: Since I cover sensitive things, I’m going into it honest, caring, gentle, listening. I’m not sure there’s anything I’m more terrified of than a correction, so I check over my stories to make sure that I’m accurate because otherwise, people start to not trust you. That’s what makes a reporter great in their profession is getting people to trust that they do it correctly. I try not to pit people against each other where it’s unnecessary. There are different viewpoints but I lead with the facts. There’s reality-based journalism. I think journalists care about being objective making sure that their opinion is not showing. Sometimes that can lead to them not calling out things that are the way they are. That’s something I’m becoming more comfortable with. Racist is racist, right? Look up the definition of racism. If you’re in the business of telling the truth, then you have to call it what it is, which has been really important to me.

Q: I asked you who your heroes were, but do you realize you could very well be one for other young women?

TATIANA: That is going to make me cry. Yes, I am intimidated, thankful, happy, and relieved. I feel honored. One of my heroes is Jim Clark, the bureau chief of AP, because of his talent, his grit, and his commitment to lifting people up. He’s been my number one sponsor throughout my career. Nikole Hannah Jones, she’s probably my favorite, because she’s not only sophisticated in her research, but her writing is so bulletproof that you can’t argue with it when she calls something racist. She’s very clear when something’s discriminatory or when something is wrong, and she’s unapologetic, and I respect that so much.

Shay Castle, The Boulder Beat

SHAY CASTLE: Boulder Beat

Shay Castle? is Boulder-based journalist who has been covering business, government and other issues for eight years. Her work has appeared in the Daily Camera, Denver Post and New York Times, among others. She is owner and publisher of Boulder Beat News, an independent digital publication covering local government.

Q: You have been in Boulder a while, but came from Florida?

SHAY: I’ve been in Boulder for 10 years. This June, I moved back from Orlando, where I went to school and worked my way through college. I had an academic scholarship, but then I got sick and had to take medical leave, so they yanked my scholarship. I went back to school one or two classes at a time, as I could afford, working as a bartender.

Q: Is Boulder Beat a non-profit?

SHAY: It’s just me, which takes a ton of time and resources. I’m technically a sole person LLC. But yeah, 100% reader-supported. Patron and PayPal are basically my only sources of income. Every once in a while somebody will mail me some cash, which is really nice. I thought about pursuing nonprofit status, but I just don’t have the time right now. I only pay myself $20,000 a year, but I was able to raise that through fundraising. So I’m quite grateful to the community for all the support.

Q: 85% of all platforms being owned by five or six major corporations now, the need for independent journalists like yourself is greater than ever. But finding those jobs is hard. I saw that you worked at the Daily Camera for a while; what made you branch out on your own?

SHAY: I was the business reporter, then I was the government reporter there. After six and a half years I was basically the Senior Reporter as the Camera. Everyone else had already left. That’s depressing to me that after six and a half years in a city, you’re the most knowledgeable journalist on staff, and it should not be that way.

There’s just so much turnover, and I didn’t want to lose that institutional knowledge. By the time I left, it was in continual decline. We had maybe a third of the staff. I realized, there’s no backup plan, and there’s really nothing else comparable to the Camera in Boulder. I asked  all the business leaders I knew, the important people in Boulder, and anyone who would care, “What’s the plan?” “What are we gonna do when the Camera is no longer meeting our needs or is no longer here,” and no one had a good plan. There were business people with business ideas, but you can’t just apply a business plan from another business to journalism. There are ethical considerations. You have to have a journalist at the helm, or at least consulting.  I just kept looking for the adults in the room, I realized, well, I’m an adult. Sadly, I can’t believe I was the best-qualified person. but the way I was raised if it needed to be done, and you can do it, it’s your job. So I thought, I could do this. And I did.

Q: What made you want to become a journalist in college?

SHAY: I didn’t always want to be a journalist, but I’ve always been a really good writer, winning awards and stuff, I was just really into writing. When I lost my scholarship, I had to go back to community college instead of university, and I needed to pick a major, and I thought, well, I’m good at writing. I didn’t want to be like an English major, I wanted something I could have a career in, so I picked journalism. I took one class in news reporting with a phenomenal mentor for my first assignment. After I turned it in it was immediately apparent I was made for journalism. I had talent and skill and my professor thankfully saw that immediately and said, “You’re a journalist, you need to be a journalist.” So he got me an internship at a parenting magazine, which was a little silly for a 20-something. The next semester I started writing for the college paper, then the next semester, I took over the college paper. Then I started a college study abroad magazine.

In the family I grew up in, the truth was not allowed. You had to hide a lot of things to survive.  A career where the truth was not only encouraged but required appealed so much to me because I hated the family secrets where no one was being held accountable.

Q: What is your passion for journalism today, now that you’ve got some experience under your belt?

SHAY: My passion has shifted along with how journalism has evolved and how the world has changed. I don’t think there ever was any such thing as unbiased journalism. That was something created to satisfy business interests. Just because someone has a particular bent doesn’t mean their information is not good.

My passion today is, how do we create sustainable journalism? The whole concept of journalists as heroes, as with nurses and teachers, these are all people who are being vastly overworked and people we don’t value as a society, in terms of actual money. I’m interested in how we slow it down, and how do we account for mental health? I just moderated the panel on burnout at the Conference of World Affairs. Journalists are notorious for burnout. I’m interested in new ways to make journalism better for the people doing it and the people consuming it. I think that has to involve community. There just aren’t enough journalists, and I know citizen journalism gets a bad rap, and sometimes rightfully so. People don’t necessarily follow the code of ethics that they should. But why can’t a talented editor or reporter partner with them to help them tell the stories they want to tell? That is something that I’m trying to pursue.

This may sound really trite, but I get thanked a lot for the work that I do. I was so burnt out around the election, I considered being done. Then I got this note from someone who had just earned his citizenship, and it was his first-ever election voting, and for the local stuff, he used my voter guide. You cannot beat that. I helped someone use their right as a citizen to vote. It just felt so amazing to be part of that.

Erik Maulbetsch, Colorado Times Recorder

ERIK MAULBETSCH: Colorado Times Recorder

Erik is a progressive investigative reporter. He writes largely on Colorado politics and policy, with a focus on right-wing extremists, hate groups, disinformation, and conspiracy theorists. His reporting has appeared in stories by the New York Times, Washington Post, CNN, NBC, Politico, ESPN, Dow Jones Wire, The Denver Post, Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the Houston Chronicle.  He has also worked as a research analyst for Freedom For All Americans, a national organization working for nondiscrimination protections for LGBT Americans, and as communications director of the ACLU of Colorado. He has also worked as a research and communications consultant and as the first magazine editor at Yellow Scene Magazine.

Q: How old were you when I hired you 21 years ago? Did you know you wanted to be in journalism then?

ERIK: Twenty-five. Yeah, I was doing real estate in Warren County and then was like alright, I’ll move with my girlfriend to Boulder then figure it out. I was briefly hired as an ad sales guy for Summit Daily. I did it for like two days and knew that was not what I wanted, what I really wanted was to write.

Q: Did you go straight to the ACLU following Yellow Scene Magazine?

ERIK: No. There were political consulting, research, and communication jobs. I was working with a lot of the progressive groups in Colorado like the Jill Foundation and other organizations including Freedom for all Americans. They did LGBTQ rights, employment, housing, and public accommodation rates – helping other states fight against bad bills because Colorado already has those rights. A lot of it was tracking conservative groups online. Pointing out if someone is calling for gay people to be fired (or whatever the issue might be).

Q: What was his goal at Colorado Times Recorder when he started it?

ERIK: To be a progressive news outlet covering politics and policy in Colorado and covering smaller stories that don’t necessarily get covered by The Post or 9News, not hiding the fact we are progressive reporters, but we still abide by basic ethics of journalism.

Q: What are some stories you are proud of?

ERIK: I was one of the first people to write about this group called FEC United, for faith, education, commerce, which is a far-right group founded by Joel Oldman that started in opposition to the lockdown, under a Facebook group called ReOpen Colorado. Joel Oldman had a militia that was part of FEC, called the United American Defence Force. They hosted public events, rallies, protesting public health departments, with the big one in Civic Center Park in October 2020, called a Patriot Buster – a Buster is when you bring soldiers together for an event. It resulted in one of their heavies getting shot and killed by a security guard for 9News. I did a story explaining the origins of this group, but also how the group has been doing political work. They were knocking on doors for Republicans, and they were meeting with Republican candidates. I did another story a few days later, where I went to a Bandimere Speedway meet and greet but was escorted off the property by an armed militia member. Oldman was mad about the story and called me an Antifa journalist. My stories showed how establishment conservatives in Colorado work with this group, and then some of the more extreme elements of the group. They become more and more conspiracist based, talking about “Plandemic,” that COVID was a hoax, etc. After the election, it moved to election conspiracies. Oldman has become a minor celebrity in the QAnon circuit. He is convinced that Dominion, out of Denver, rigged the election nationwide and has perpetuated this belief. He’s gotten a lot of money, so he’s traveling around the country pushing election conspiracy propaganda. They say they are not a militia, but a “defense force,” but their website offers discounts on ammunition, legal help if you shoot someone, tactical gear, training, militia stuff, etc.

Q: You have been following some wild people.

ERIK: I broke the story that the current chair of the Republican Party in Colorado was serving as president of FEC United. Michael Lindell pays them to fly around the country and promote the stolen election theory. They were getting volunteers together and canvassing all over the state, sometimes saying they were with the county voter verification commission, making it sound official. Random people who are convinced the election was stolen ask people, did you vote? How did you vote? Did you vote by mail? How many people registered at this address? Trying to prove the election was stolen. They put out reports showing a fundamental misunderstanding of how voter rolls work. Yes, there are names at old addresses, but federal law says that you can’t remove someone off the roll unless there has been no vote from that person for the last two cycles. That doesn’t mean that ballots are being forged. But it’s a great conspiracy, right? And people want to believe it’s true just because their guy didn’t win.

Q: You’ve come a long way, baby, from 20 years ago. Tell me how you feel like you’ve developed as a journalist in that time? What do you know, that you didn’t know, then?

ERIK: A lot. I found an area of interest in covering politics, particularly looking at extremism and conspiracies and how it’s affecting this country. A lot of it is hope or optimism that some of us will have a positive impact on the voters and policymakers, whether in Colorado or national, or even hyper-local.

Rosanna Longo, KGNU

ROSANNA LONGO: KGNU

Rossana Longo? is a Bilingual Equity Reporter at KGNU, an independent, non commercial, community radio station reaching Boulder, Denver, Fort Collins and beyond. As a multiethnic immigrant woman from Ecuador, with dual citizenship, she has been providing information with – and for – underrepresented populations in her local community.

ROSANNA: When I interview people, especially those that are Latinos or bilingual, I push to Facebook, because I know if they don’t access it through the radio, they access it there.

But when I decided to go back to school, I applied with a long letter saying I hate social media and that I think it should be banned. Instead of uniting us is really destroying us. It is so powerful that it is scary. You have to use it correctly, and you have to know where to go and what to read. I was devoted to bringing that topic to the Latinos, especially around COVID-19 because on social media there was a lot of misleading disinformation. I had to chat with my mom and said, Mama, please, don’t follow them. Critical thinking is being lost. Facebook has a responsibility, all media has a responsibility, but, you know, media literacy is really important.

Q: Was media in Ecuador heavily censored?

ROSANNA: A lot of my former colleagues have created their own platforms to continue talking against the government. Our indigenous people have created their own media, their own radio stations, and their own language. The power of this tool we have now is incredible. I think it has two sides, a lot of people can now use this tool to report things. But then again, do they have the criteria- the knowledge to use it well?

Q: It’s so hard to get honest, true coverage.

ROSANNA: It is sad. I had a scholarship to attend a bilingual school in Ecuador. My grandmother was a visionary, she made sure that of the 13 grandchildren the three girls got a bilingual education. The rest of my family do not speak English. She noticed that I was able to speak very well when I was little, English and Spanish, so she made sure that us girls got a bilingual education. It opens a huge door once you are bilingual. If you’re able to speak the language, even with a strong accent, it helps you think in different ways and changes how you’re seeing the world.

Q: Do you think that you already started there with this curiosity or found a good place for you? Or did it open up a doorway of curiosity?

ROSANNA: It opened a huge door of curiosity and a desire to understand yourself. I went to this American school and I learned that in America, everybody’s free, and everybody is equal. It doesn’t matter what color you are and, you know, freedom and liberty and all that. I had to come and live in America to really experience the sad reality. We went from being students to “I couldn’t work because I didn’t have the documentation yet.” I know exactly what it is to not have a driver’s license, not be able to open a bank account, not to be able to work because you don’t have the paperwork. Having to feel embarrassed and weird.

Many times I question my decision of coming with my husband for him to get his Ph.D. and to stay here in America to raise our kids. America has mass shootings. My son called me from Ecuador, from the rain forest, working with indigenous people. He worried, “Mom, are you okay? I just heard there’s a mass shooting, where are you?” I said, I’m here at the scene. I sent him pictures. I thought to myself, “What am I doing here? What have I done bringing my kids?” So my bubble really burst. Boulder is supposed to be the best place to live in America. So it’s really hard. And I worry about him being in Ecuador, because they rob you for a cell phone or shoes, and people are poor there.

Q: What brings you joy in the work?

I decided to cover a memorial concert honoring a beautiful singer from the group Los Chicos Milo’s Bad Boys on the Spanish show, He was like a bird when he sang, but he had decided not to get the COVID vaccine, and, like many others in the Latino community, he died.  A Latina woman had spoken at the memorial about why we need health and life insurance and I interviewed her on the show. Next, a 62-year-old woman from Pueblo who heard our interview called to tell me that she got insurance for her daughters. Now she’s telling her older friends and they’re getting coverage. I felt amazing.  I had done my work.

Q: I had to write a story that scared me a lot. I had the truth and was the only one who did. I knew I couldn’t sit on it even though it put me at risk, even knowing I would be harassed for telling the truth. But I did anyway.

ROSANNA: Wow, what you’re telling me inspires me to continue to believe in myself. I am not a hero. I’m doing the work with my accent, with my grammar mistakes, with my awkwardness. But you are inspiring me to keep going.  I remember pulling an all-nighter to produce a piece about a lack of diversity in the media. And I got these thankful messages from people. It was amazing.

The post The Heroes: The Journalists of Colorado appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Back from L to R: Jeff Carter, Tracie Rupert, Karen Rudy, Melissa Mathias, Laurel Fox

After facing a pandemic head-on, nurses are still saving lives

We are highlighting nurses for this next installment of Yellow Scene Magazine’s (YS) 2022 Heroes Series. These are our lifesavers, solace givers, and the warm hands that comfort us when things are at their darkest. This was the case long before COVID hit and will continue to be far off into the uncertainty of our collective future. 

We have all felt the weight of the times we currently live in, but arguably, no one has felt it more than our healthcare workers. They deal daily with that which many of us have only seen in our nightmares, firsthand witnesses to the devastation wrought by a global pandemic. Still, they show up ready for the long shifts, to bring life into the world, to fight to keep life from leaving it, and many times, to act as the sole source of comfort when a person’s fight has come to an end. They do this at great personal peril—risking their health, their ability to see their loved ones, and their mental and emotional well-being. Their bravery, warmth, and kindness in the face of so much death and confusion are why we are highlighting nurses as this month’s heroes.  

A recurring theme in this series is that those we tend to see as most heroic are the ones most reluctant to describe themselves as such—and are often undervalued in terms of pay.

Similar to February’s firefighters and March’s teachers, the six nurses I spoke with—two each from Boulder Community Hospital (BCH), UCHealth, and Good Samaritan Medical Center, expressed a degree of discomfort with being called heroes. Jeff Carter, a registered nurse from BCH put it simply, “I don’t consider myself a hero. I consider myself a nurse. Taking care of sick people is what we do, man.” This sentiment was echoed by Tracie Rupert, a medical unit nurse from UCHealth. She said, “I don’t think any of us do see ourselves as heroes. I mean, we did sign up for this. It’s something that we all have: A big heart to care for individuals. I think the only thing that I can see as being a hero is that we keep showing up.” 

As they keep showing up for us, we must also show up for them. At the beginning of the pandemic, society outside of the nursing community was incredibly vocal in its support for frontline health workers. People were howling out the windows, creating and donating to GoFundMe fundraisers, and donating supplies. After a time, that support waned, which served to influence the discomfort many nurses now have with the term hero. Rupert believes that a lot of the early appreciation has dissipated as a result of misinformation that leads to a lack of understanding by society as a whole about what healthcare workers go through daily. “They have a bit more demand on us and forget what we, as nursing staff, have gone through, knowing that we were short on personal protective equipment in the very beginning of this pandemic and knowing that we’re risking our lives and trying to stay on top of the science during this whole pandemic and what’s coming, what’s new, our trust in the vaccines, trust in the new treatments. I think a lot of people are not trusting us as much because of the fake news and doing their own research versus listening to the science. So I do feel like we’ve been pushed aside a bit. We’re trying to just put a smile on our face and keep plugging away.” 

Dean Beacom is an intensive care nurse at Good Samaritan who spent the majority of his time one on one with COVID patients, oftentimes the last person in the room as a patient passed. He also talked about the discomfort around the term hero stemming from systemic issues, expressing a fear that it could allow society as a whole to forget where real change needs to be applied. He said, “It felt much more like a passing of the buck than a compliment. Rather than be called heroes, we wish our culture had owned up to what it had done wrong and worked towards true change.” The systemic issues he referred to include a lack of competitive pay for non-traveling nurses and unpreparedness in the face of an unprecedented global event as well as a lack of support from hospital administration as a result. He told me, “I remember the day that they first brought administration back to the facility. They came into the ICU, and they stood a good 20 feet from the door and said, ‘Hey, guys, thank you guys so much.’ They brought us some pizza, and then just wouldn’t pay us more, wouldn’t give us anything else.” He went on to say, “This is where I say it’s systemic. I don’t blame any individual. I don’t say that one person was some evil overlord that did anything. But I think that the system came back in, and the first order on the day of return was to reinforce the dress code.” 

Nurses were forced to be there for each other as a result of this lack of tangible systemic support.  Beacom organized a hiking group for himself and his peers to let off steam. He told me, “About three times a week we would all hike if we had a day off. There was usually a group going and hiking these long aggressive hikes to purge and let it out.” 

Melissa Mathias, an ICU nurse from UCHealth, said, “It made us come together, going through that trauma. When it all came down, it was pretty scary. We leaned on each other a lot for that support.”

This solidarity between peers went a long way toward helping nurses make it through, but some felt the need to turn to more structured forms of support. In 1984, Colorado implemented the Nursing Peer Health Assistance Program, which serves to support healthcare workers facing mental and emotional struggles. While not every nurse I spoke with has turned to these programs, Mathias found them extremely beneficial. She told me, “I reached out, and I had a counselor that was paid for, so it was free, and we were able to go and have that time that we could use to talk to somebody about what we’ve been going through.” 

Even those who haven’t utilized these services still appreciate their availability and the help that they have provided to their peers. Laurel Fox, a nurse on the oncology ward at Good Samaritan said, “Nurses told me that they access [the programs] and they felt like they were supported. They will never forget, and they will never be able to get over what they had to go through when, multiple times a day, they were alone in a room with patients who were dying. We were there for them but still not entirely understanding of everything they were going through.”

Fox and Karen Rudy, a nurse on the maternity ward at BCH, were the two nurses I spoke with providing frontline care to patients with cancer and mothers and newborn babies respectively during the pandemic. Both have a unique perspective on the pandemic and what it means to be a nurse. Rudy told me, “I’m in this lucky area of working with families that are bringing babies into the world. That’s special for me, that I get to be there when people are happy and good things are happening.” She also talked about the nature of nurses themselves, saying,

“All of us are there because we like to go in and provide care for people who need care. That comes in so many different forms. That can be changing a bandage on a wound to just sitting with someone and listening to them talk. That’s the biggest thing is that people who are nurses and go in and do it day after day are doing it because they give a sh*t.”

Fox describes nursing as her “calling,” a fact about herself that she discovered when caring for her mother through a grave illness. She told me, “I made a deal with the universe that if she could survive that I would do what might be probably my true calling, which is nursing.” As an oncology nurse, Fox often finds herself acting as a source of solace to those whose time has finally come. She told me, “I feel like I’m a helper. I feel like I’m a guide to people that need to figure out how to get from life to death. I’m really good at that and [helping] the families to get there.” 

In addition to their peers, the nurses turned to their family, friends, and hobbies to cope with the difficult times. Carter finds strength in his faith as well as in music, writing songs, and playing with his band and recently received the welcome news that he is soon to become a grandfather. Fox finds strength in her wife (also a healthcare worker), her garden, and her foster animals. Rupert is thankful to have her husband who listens when she needs him to, and she is always able to give her father a call. Rudy likes to exercise to blow off steam and also has a husband who will stay up and listen as long as she needs. Mathias’ husband and three kids are there to hold her up when she needs people to lean on. Beacom faced particular hardship on a personal level due to caring for his mother as she reached the end of her life amid the pandemic. He found solace, however, in his family and that they were able to be there with her when her time came to send her off as beautifully as she lived. Each nurse spoke of the power of these moments with their families, the strength that love elicits, the strength that becomes the will to keep going, to keep caring, to keep fighting for those who need someone to fight for them.

As for the final messages these incredible people want to put out into the world, Mathias says, “We’re all trying to heal and get back to some form of normalcy in our careers, and just loving and supporting everybody is all we can ask for.”

Rupert wants people to care for healthcare workers and mean it. She said, “Ask whoever works in the hospital system, ‘How are they doing?’ We’ve gone through a lot, and we’re still not breathing. We’re still kind of struggling to catch air.”

Rudy wants to think about the nurses of the future, saying, “It’s a really good time for us to muster up some strength and help bring up the next generation of nurses. I think that’s hugely important.  And just be kind.”

Fox echoed this call to kindness, saying, “Be kind. If everyone would do that, I think we’d be okay. We could have our differences. Be kind and understand that we’re all going through something different. We all manage things differently. We cope with things differently. And if we’re just kind to each other, I think that we could have avoided a lot of the sorrow in the past couple of years if we could have just held each other.”

Beacom wants everyone to know that, despite major systemic hindrances, he understands that everyone was trying their damndest to make the best out of a horrible situation, saying, “They were trying every day just as hard as I am to do the right thing for whatever their belief systems are.”

Carter puts it to those out there that still haven’t gotten a vaccine at the risk of their own health and that of those around them: “Get vaccinated. Get the jab. I volunteer at the vaccination clinic. I’d rather see you there than see you on the COVID unit that I work on.” 

On March 16, 2022, KDVR reported the first day in Colorado with zero COVID hospitalizations. Nevertheless, the weight of the past two years still hangs heavy on the shoulders of our nurses. These are warm, generous, open people who have faced down one of the worst chapters in our collective history and continue to show up. Let’s hear it for nurses. 

The post The Heroes: Nurses of Boulder County appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

FROM LEFT: Wendy Buffer, Beth Jackson, Sarah Hargadine, Beth Cerrone, Priscilla Arasaki, Patrick Burns. Photo: Paul Wedlake

Through dark times, our teachers light the way.

As we continue our Heroes series, we turn this month to our teachers. Think back to those early days in classrooms. The morning light pouring in softly through the window, those first tentative steps away from your parents, the first friendships that may still run strong, games and songs and laughter, and the teacher smiling in the corner, warm, patient, and steadfast. We hold these warm memories in our hearts, and they age along with us until they form into an idealized version of what teaching is. This comes from most of us never actually being teachers, only students. We don’t see the other side, what’s behind the desk, what’s taken home, slipped in between the pages of the binders and the grade books. The reality is that teaching is hard, intense, sometimes messy. Yet, despite the difficulties, teachers keep showing up to class. 

While these past two years have been tough on all of us, teachers have been hit harder by the pandemic than most. They have been required to adapt to new techniques to address unprecedented challenges overnight. They have not only been shoulders to cry on for their students but also for struggling parents. They have been asked to keep moving forward, keep fighting in the face of it all, and they have stepped up to the task, all while facing the same personal struggles we all have. It is for these reasons that we have chosen to focus on teachers as our heroes for this issue.

I talked to three teachers from Boulder Valley School District and three from St. Vrain Valley School District, and not one of them had considered the concept of themselves as heroes. Beth Jackson, a 2nd-grade teacher at Alicia Sanchez Elementary School in Boulder Valley told me:

“I wouldn’t consider myself a hero, I guess. But I think that maybe teachers as a collective feel more like heroes. Because I alone wouldn’t be able to do this, but having such a great community, I think we’re more heroic than I could be by myself.”

This sense of community Jackson described is strong. Teachers have long had to rely on one another for support but never so much as during COVID. Beth Cerrone, Instructional Cybersecurity and Technology Manager at the Innovation Center in St. Vrain Valley said, “Nobody really understands that teaching is a different field. It’s always been a very, very strong community. Most of my friends I talk to about my job are people I work with because they understand. I think it’s that kind of thing. I think we’ve always been tight-knit, but I think it just really brought us together and brought us closer, at least here in our building.” 

In addition to this sense of solidarity shared with one another, each of the teachers also shares an unwavering devotion to what it is they do. On Feb. 1, 2022, a study conducted by the National Education Association concluded that 55% of teachers today are considering leaving the profession in response to COVID, attempted school board takeovers, and many other issues. This is a drastic change from a Gallup poll published in 2013 that found teaching to be in the top three happiest professions. While being a teacher is vastly different today than it was 10 years ago, the teachers I spoke with are committed and have met the challenges facing them with strength, compassion, bravery, and humor.

For Patrick Burns, a first-grade teacher at Red Hawk Elementary School in St. Vrain Valley, teaching is integral to who he is. He told me, “It’s my calling. If I wasn’t in the school building, I’d still be in education in some capacity because I feel it’s that important.” Before teaching in a classroom setting, Burns was an outdoor guide and educator until a major injury caused him to have to relearn how to walk and rethink his life. His time as an environmental educator allowed him to recognize that the future of our species is in the hands of the generations to come and how important it is to create a strong foundation for these potential leaders. “It’s about impacting a future generation,” he told me;

“It’s about developing critical thinkers, future stewards of the planet, people that are going to be making those choices for others.” 

This sentiment was echoed by every teacher I spoke with. Each said that the kids were the most important part of the job, being there for them, helping them as much as they can day-to-day, setting a base for their students to grow into well-rounded human beings.

Wendy Buffer, a kindergarten teacher at Coal Creek Elementary School in Boulder Valley said, “I definitely think of it as a gift I have been given, to be able to come in and be with [the kids].” She marveled at the prospect of seeing her students grow up.

“I just heard one of my students from a while ago is going to go to college. It’s just so amazing to know that you were a part of the very beginning of their formal education.” 

COVID required teachers to adapt to new ways of educating, new technologies, new ways to keep their students engaged. Priscilla Arasaki, a music and orchestra teacher at Sunset Middle School in St. Vrain Valley faced particular challenges due to the interpersonal nature of her subject. She told me, “Music is really fun because kids get to play together. Online, we couldn’t do that at all. So, it was just really a challenge to figure out how to connect for the kids. Usually, it’s so easy in the music classroom. We can connect with them through music and later, playing together. And so they feel that bond.” That being said, Arasaki has also been able to appreciate the impact that music can have to overcome adversity. “I still feel out of everything, music has helped me so much through difficult times. That’s where I got my friend groups in school. I think it’s really important to continue. Especially after COVID.” Since returning to the classroom, Arasaki has created a mariachi program for her district, signifying her belief in innovation and diversity in regard to traditional musical education. 

With the abrupt switch to online, Sarah Hargadine at the Boulder Universal Online School in Boulder Valley is unique among the teachers I spoke with. She was teaching online before COVID hit. Her school focused largely on secondary education until COVID required them to build an elementary program in a very short window. This put her in an incredibly difficult yet important position in that many teachers and students alike turned to her and her school for assistance. She told me:

“We went from 200 students to like 1500. And when I moved over to elementary programming, in the end, we onboarded 14 teachers and almost 400 families in the course of about two weeks, and a lot of the teachers, in fact, I think all of them got the call to attend the professional development training the night before.”

Not only was Hargadine helping students and teachers adjust to this new format, she was also doing so while her own children were struggling to adjust to their new reality. She spoke to me about the idea that building this school and supporting her fellow teachers was an act of love that caused her to sacrifice aspects of her own personal life. “I’ll never forget those nights where it was 2am emails, where you’re just trying to keep your head above water because there are so many people drawing on you. It’s not just about setting good boundaries. You do have to create a work-life balance but in the initial transition of everything, it was kind of sacrificial. Love can either be like setting boundaries, or it can be sacrificial. This season, it was sacrificial. We were just laying down our lives to love people.” 

Not everything that came out of COVID was sadness and hardship. In addition to the increased solidarity with their peers, it gave teachers a chance to connect with themselves and discover what self-care looks like to them. For Hargadine, she found strength in her family and in her church. Burns embraced the music he loves and found solace in nature. Cerrone turned to the tennis team she has captained for 25 years and all the friends she has made in that time. Arasaki’s lifelong love of music, listening to it and creating it, helped her through as it always has and will continue to do. Jackson indulged her desire to create, trying her hand at everything from painting and drawing with charcoal to brewing kombucha and growing fruits and vegetables in her apartment. Buffer embraced laughter. She told me:

“I think using your humor and having humor brought to you is also just the best way to defuse and to feel good.” 

COVID also required teachers to adopt new approaches that have served to improve the ways they teach now that they have returned to the classroom. For example, Jackson had to find new ways to keep students engaged while she was teaching online and now uses the techniques she learned. She told me, “I do that now in the classroom. When I really want kids to be paying attention, I have them repeat me or I’ll sing part of it and have them sing it back to me. Just those kinds of engagement tactics, I guess, have definitely carried over into the classroom. And it’s a lot of fun. Instead of me talking at the students, they have a chance to say something back to me.” Buffer also found it beneficial to put emphasis on giving the kids autonomy. “You want them to learn by trying. They learn through expressing themselves with whatever they’re doing. Are they building it? Are they writing it? Are they coloring it?” She also spoke to the impact technology has had since returning.

“We learned a tremendous amount of technology to utilize to support the home learner, but then we’ve also kept it in the classroom. We continue to use a slide presentation daily, so the kids know the schedule and know what we’re working on. And we’ve been able to integrate links within that. We’ve enhanced our experience in the classroom, just from what we had to do when they were solely home learners. It’s been very beneficial to all of us.” 

Through it all, these past two years have brought the importance of equitable education into the public eye. Burns told me, “At the end of the day, public education is honestly the greatest investment. It’s the greatest defense. It’s the greatest peacekeeping mission. When students learn how to read, they learn how to write the world, right? And when they write the world, they can stand up for social causes. They can make things right through critical thinking. It’s a public good.” Unfortunately, COVID is not the only threat that has to be addressed. School board takeovers; book banning; confusion between Critical Race Theory and basic Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion; low budgets, all are factors that threaten our current public education system. To ensure the future of our country and our world, education must be protected. Jackson said one way to do this is, “by showing that we value teachers in our society. If we want to keep talented and experienced teachers in schools, we need to pay them more. Especially with the increase in the cost of living and the increase in expectations and workload for teachers.” She also told me, “There’s a lot of problems, and I don’t know where it starts. How do we start to mend those? Does it start from the state? Does it start district-wide? Does it start with one school, one classroom? I don’t know. It feels really big.”

There are no easy solutions to the myriad issues teachers face right now. The strain is not going unnoticed, but one major step in the right direction is to let them know that they and their hard work are valued. Our teachers are essential to our society and its future. So show them some love.

The post The Heroes: Teachers of Boulder County appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Facebook post by Louisville Fire District

After the last two years of intense stress for Americans and the world, we had decided this year’s covers would be ‘The Heroes.’ We want to showcase nurses, teachers, journalists, and individuals who have performed heroic acts in their communities over the last two years (and we will be asking for your nominations as well). We were all set to lead with nurses for this first issue of the year when the Marshall Fire changed everything. I knew we had to shift gears and feature the firefighters who risked their lives to help save ours. 

If you talk to them, I have not met one who was comfortable with our use of the term Heroes. They all insisted they felt like they did not do enough, they all felt the desperation of feeling helpless against something so big, and they all wanted me to know there were many others out there doing heroic work. From the police officers helping people get evacuated, to residents who risked their own lives to save their neighbors, to the city employees at the water-treatment plant who made the heroic decision to go back and release untreated water so there was enough, they all expressed how they felt they had not done enough. 

Yet, while we were out in front of the Louisville Fire Station doing the photoshoot, cars drove by tooting their horns the entire time. Certainly, the community sees them as heroes.

Photo by Paul Wedlake, Louisville Fire Protection District

Hose remnant

The photoshoot has special significance as well. The hoses the firefighters are standing among are the hoses they had to leave behind. They started the day on the move. Many of them were in Boulder until it quickly became apparent the Marshall Fire was spreading at breakneck speeds. They tell me they grabbed what snacks they could, but for the most part, they did not have time to eat or even think about eating.  Heartbreakingly, they ended their 16 and 24-hour shifts by cutting the hoses from the trucks so they could escape when it became clear they could no longer stay to fight the fire. The hoses they are standing among were the hoses they had to leave behind but were able to retrieve after the fire was out. 

Photo by Paul Wedlake, Longmont Fire Department

Patrick Kramer is the Public Information Officer for the Longmont Fire Department. It was his images that went viral. As he relays his experiences with the Marshall Fire to me, I feel the tears swell up in my eyes. Louisville Fire Chief John Willson and Mountain View Fire Protection District Chief Dave Beebe also caused me to choke up on our calls. Having lived here for 30 years, and the fact Yellow Scene Magazine started because of all the new homes built in East County, I felt a deep sense of responsibility. We exist because of those neighborhoods. To hear them relay this monumental disaster to me as front-line workers created a deep sense of connection to my community, neighbors, and them. To have the honor to share their stories is not taken lightly.

Photo by Longmont firefighter, Engineer Patrick Kramer

He tells me, “When I arrived down there, I knew it was unprecedented. I knew that this was a historic event, and I knew I had to document it as a former journalist. I didn’t take away from taking care of my crew and fighting the fire, but I did take time for 30 seconds here and there to document it. I have seen a lot in my 19 years as a firefighter, but nothing like this.”

Every single firefighter expressed this sentiment, that they had trained for disaster and had systems in place, but the sheer magnitude of the 100 mph winds made this a fire they had never seen in their lifetime. Nor want to ever see again. 

“I thought it was going to take all of Louisville.”

Firefighter Billy Masterson, Longmont Fire Dept. lives in Louisville so fighting this fire involved years of memories as well. He reiterates what it was like out there; “there is dust in your eyes and just the inability to see, that was one of the hardest parts because as we got there when the fire was just starting, you couldn’t see at all. So getting back into the engine and trying to get out of there, I couldn’t even physically see my hand. I think that was one thing that is always going to stick with me, I can’t see it.”

Masterson continues, “I think about how many different dispatch centers and different units, different agencies, police, fire, EMS, all these other agencies working together and just all of that on one giant Dispatch Comm Center, working to break it up in divisions and groups. And so the people at the top command that were making those decisions, that amazing job, making sure that everybody could at least talk. I mean, there were times that we didn’t even know where we were assigned to, sometimes so we just had to do our best and make the best decisions we could.  My cousin is a firefighter in Illinois, he was telling me that he was listening to the dispatch. One thing he said, “I’m never gonna forget I heard somebody on the radio, just on the main dispatch channel say hey, dispatch, I don’t need you to tell me another time. I know it’s on fire because they’re all on fire.”

And he just in his mind, that’s when it clicked that, “oh my God, this whole town is burning.”

Speaking with Officer Caitlyn Holl of Broomfield Police Department, she also describes her role as, “nothing compared to the boots-on-the-ground.” She goes on to say; “Officer Gomez was in the car with me, she’s the one who shot the video. We were running two-man cars and it was surreal. I’ve been an officer for about five and a half years, and in the academy, they never teach you or prepare you to work in a fire like that, at least not for us as police officers. Then once it started to get darker, just driving around and just seeing the different areas that were on fire. It truly looked like a scene from a movie or a war. The fire was so close to me. The flames came right up to our car and we were really scared for a minute, thankfully we got out of there.” Officers Gomez and Holl’s video was played on most of the news channels as they raced through the streets with houses blazing around them. 

“The flames came right up to our car and we were really scared for a minute, thankfully, we got out of there.”

Erie Police Department, Public Information Officer, Amber Luttrell, responded to us about her role in amplifying the communications coming out of the Marshall Fire and Boulder.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Now, I don’t want you to mention any of that, I was just doing social media. It’s very trivial compared to boots-on-the-ground experience.”

Erie PD Seargent Robert Vesco goes on to describe his role that evening at 5 pm.

“All of the evacuations at that point had already been completed. So my role was serving as like a rover throughout the city of Louisville. Things like if a citizen did happen to need help out. I was in the immediate area to help with that. As for the other area officers, and then also to make sure people that weren’t in there, you know, we did have people come in and try and take photos that don’t live there, keep looters out, trying to make sure that everything was clear so the firefighters could do what they needed to do.  For the people who wanted in, there just wasn’t much to see or do but look at complete devastation.”

Local Superior resident Barb P., tells us;

“I wish I knew which firemen saved my house and most of my street, so I could personally thank them. Their service was indescribably extraordinary!”

I know I am not the only one who feels that connection. I think we all do. I have to wonder if their uniform represents more than fighting fires, maybe we are processing our grief through those uniforms.

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The post The Heroes: Marshall Fire – Firefighters appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Original Photo by Paul Wedlake. Graphic Image by De La Vaca.

“My mom used to tell me I had a good sense of justice at a very young age,” former State Rep, current Executive Director of LOGIC (League of Oil and Gas Impacted Communities), Jonathan Singer begins. The origin story for this Longmont-based web-slinger for justice starts, ironically, with a Superman t-shirt. At 5 years old, trying to read the text on a tee, he asked his mom what the Superman shirt had emblazoned across it. “Man of Steel,” his mom replied.

Crestfallen, Singer asked his mother, “what did Superman steal?” We belly laughed at that one, ensconced in the patio seating portion of his otherwise kid toy dominated back yard. It was nearing the end of daylight and we had just spent an hour taking pictures of him and his children.

That innate sense of fairness finds overlaps throughout his life. Born and raised “South of the Southies” in a 400 year old blue collar, working class neighborhood in Boston, he recalls being the only Jewish kid in school, till his sister was old enough to attend. “It was very instructive, on a lot of different levels,” he says. “I learned a lot about what it is to – sort of – represent a whole group of people. And at the same time… [after a Jewish teacher asked him to speak on what Hanukkah is], a day later, my teacher had a letter of reprimand in her file. This is a public school. This is a holiday tradition… All of a sudden, I understand what it felt like to stand out.”

“…All of a sudden, I understand what it felt like to stand out.”

That was one of the first times he recalls being excited to be fighting for something. Later, in a cafeteria line in school – “the best place to understand social interactions,” he says – a kid asked him if he was Jewish. To Singer it was innocent, but a kid in line behind him, “I think his name was Anthony, had grown like a foot over summer, bigger than everyone by like a head and a half. Anthony looks at me, looks at the other kid, and goes, ‘Hey, Jon, is this kid giving you problems?’ This was before we knew what ‘ally’ meant. That really stuck with me.”

He moved to Colorado for high school, following the closure of the Navy base his father worked at. High school is when he started volunteering. He worked with the Safehouse Progressive Alliance in a program called PBJ (Peers Building Justice). Later in college, he doubled in psychology and social work. Wanting to apply his skills and passion, he did a field placement at a Catholic church with a center for social justice. The multifaceted nature of the project – from hands-on help to data collection to lobbying efforts – informed his life trajectory.

In grad school he worked to change the rules on campus to support drug users. Students caught with or no drugs were previously expelled. “Kicking kids out of school, taking away the one thing they probably like, is a terrible way to actually help them.”

“Kicking kids out of school, taking away the one thing they probably like, is a terrible way to actually help them.”

He had stints at (then) Boulder Valley YMCA, did his first campaign work, and got pulled into politics heavily when Kucinich ran for president (he was a Republican before then). He became a social worker with the state. He realized then, watching lives ruined over paperwork, that the state really does have power over peoples’ lives. And then he quit.

“Ultimately, I got a few phone calls after I heard this house seat I was going to run for – well, I wasn’t gonna run yet, I didn’t know it was open – but I got phone calls from people who told me to run and I thought, ‘I know a few things that should change.’”

It was a long trajectory to get from Man of Steal to the State House, but it was his sense of justice, the web of justice that drew him to his first (failed) election in 2009 and his first election in 2012 (appointed in January) to his first full election win (in November 2012), a seat he held till January of 2021.

In that time, “We did everything from legalizing cannabis to creating brand new programs for mental health and substance abuse treatment, to expanding the rights of immigrants. If someone had told me 15 years ago,” he says with a certain nostalgic gravitas, “you will have the chance to make a difference in the lives of five and a half million people, and it’s a limited time offer; you have eight years to make the best of it… I couldn’t have imagined doing as much and I’m still sort of in awe of what that opportunity really was.”

He’s a web of inclusion and influence, a long history of fighting in every area he can for justice. He told me that, “some of the most meaningful interactions I had [at the state house] were with people from the other side of the aisle because we would fight like cats and dogs and then on this one issue we’d be thick as thieves. That’s how his work with state senator Vicki Marble came about.

“[S]ome of the most meaningful interactions I had [at the state house] were with people from the other side of the aisle because we would fight like cats and dogs and then on this one issue we’d be thick as thieves.”

His last – and possibly most heroic – act in the statehouse was him dead set on amending someone’s bill to give the governor mass pardoning abilities for past marijuana convictions. “I told myself,” he said, “that I couldn’t live with myself if I couldn’t fix this one injustice before I leave,” one that disproportionately affects Black and Brown bodies, one that should’ve been corrected when marijuana first passed.

He worked with Tea Party state senator Vicki Marble on the issue, recalling that the, “last day of session, last bill of the session, last amendment of the session, was just that. We got it through… at literally the 11th hour.”

The parallel of concluding his political career (for the time being) with a fight to amend drug penalties in Colorado to starting his college career working to amend drug penalties on campus can’t be ignored. This is the web he’s spun. These are the overlaps. This is the web he’s spun over a life built on an innate sense of justice. He says that, “planning may be a strong word,” when asked if he’s planning to run again. We can only hope the web pulls him back in to continue the work he’s been doing, the work that needs to be done.

The post Jonathan Singer: A Spiderweb of Justice | The ACTIONISTS Series appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.

Photo: Paul Wedlake. Graphic Image: De La Vaca

Connor Ryan – the Natives Outdoors wunderkind who’s been making waves across media channels and in the sports world – spoke with Yellow Scene Magazine the same week his new film was premiering in Vancouver. It’s the same week that Natives Outdoors were announcing the winners of their new scholarship to help get Natives, well, outdoors.

Let’s start with the history. He was “born and raised in Boulder,” he tells me. “My grandfather was born on Standing Rock reservation. He was taken by the boarding schools so they, you know, stole him from his family, as a kid. He was sent to an orphanage… served in the Navy, and was a prisoner of war in World War II.” I’m already in pain from the story. As a Native man, myself, I’ve been tracking the boarding school genocide, the horrors of babies and small children stolen – as his grandfather was – and the thousands of bodies found on boarding school grounds this last year.

I recently watched his debuted film, Spirit of the Peaks. In one poignant scene, he says, “If you’re going to be in the present and the future [of the mountain and the land], the only good way to know how to do that is by looking back.” He was talking about knowing how to exist as participants and givers on the land, instead of as takers, but I couldn’t help see the connection to a later scene where a friend sings a Native song on the mountaintop, in full ski gear, and Connor points out that, “someone just like you has stood right there and sang their song. That’s what matters. It doesn’t matter whether they’re wearing buckskin or Gore Tex. That’s what counts; it’s the souls of the people. That’s the victory.” Knowing his family history is part of that victory.

The victory is real. The story of a boarding school baby surviving, a family line surviving, and Connor being one of the first major Native American skiers, fighting to make way for native folks to live beyond the image of Natives as invisible people, who must uniformly embody tradition to be real Natives. We are real, and exist here, in all spaces, regardless of who wants us where or where we’re expected.

Photo: Paul Wedlake

Connor reminds us instead that Natives are diverse, distinct, evolving, and able to embrace the mountains and the outdoors in all ways. “Whatever Natives do on native lands, that’s what Natives do,” he says.

Connor’s mom was raised in Los Angeles, but found her way to Boulder, this beautiful, idyllic base of the mountains town on the edge of “our traditional homelands as Lakota people,” he tells me.

“It’s an interesting place to be Native,” he said, the irony of the fact that it’s his traditional, historic homeland heavy in the spaces between words. “Usually I’m the only Native in each grade, growing up… You get a lot of weird, kinda like, the racism that comes from ignorance, where you tell people you’re Native and they’re like, ‘no, you’re not, you don’t wear feathers on top of your head.’”

Raised without the cultural reference and “traditional” upbringing – never Native enough, never American enough – he learned skiing as a young boy, but it was cost-prohibitive. In his 20’s he felt the call to go back, and he returned to find the spirit of the land, of his ancestors, waiting.

A trip to the Black Hills, with other Lakota folks he met locally, was the first time he really connected with his cultural practices. “They pulled me into ceremony,” he recalls. “Same time I got back into skiing was the same time I went to sweat lodge and started learning my ceremonies, and language, and culture.”

In his 20’s he felt the call to go back, and he returned to find the spirit of the land, of his ancestors, waiting.

While going to fill water in a bucket for the sweat lodge, he realized the connection of his ceremony to the creek, to the water melting from the mountains and flowing down, connecting him to his culture and to the animals and birds that live there. That was at the base of Eldora. “This way that I was falling in love with nature through skiing, it was really about these principles and ideas and themes from my culture. And for me, as a Native person who grew up… removed from the land, it was skiing that gave me the opportunity for the first time to go, ‘oh, this is where I belong. And I had a passion. I couldn’t avoid making that cultural connection. It was also around when I founded Natives Outdoors.”

Natives Outdoors began as people connecting online, and became a Native social media company. They’ve expanded their work. His work with them brought his passion, his culture, and his hope for Native people full circle. The Natives Outdoors scholarship is the outcome. “I feel like I’m so lucky right now…and I just want more native folks to be able to experience that.”

The scholarship is for five children and five adults. It’s sponsored by Ikon Pass, Salomon, Smith Optics, and Patagonia. The goal is to help other Natives who haven’t had the chance, or the resources, to get out there where they belong, to connect and experience what he has, to reclaim Native space on sacred mountains.”

“After all we’ve experienced,” he says in a defining moment in his film, “Indigenous joy – on the land – is radical.”

The post Connor Ryan: Indigenous Joy – on the Land – is Radical | The ACTIONISTS Series appeared first on Yellow Scene Magazine.