When the Daily Yonder let me write about my abandoned childhood home in the Never Summer Mountains of Gould, Colorado, they were probably hoping for something a little more journalistic than what I sent them. I crashed pretty hard. I delivered an emotional torpedo that caused some confusion in the editorial department and consternation with the readers.
The editors of this site had to wrestle with the question: Was this journalism?
No, it was not. Me railing against ghosts was less Cronkite and more Poe and the piece was slapped with the “Commentary” tag. I’m fine with that; this organization has some of the best journalism you’ll find anywhere. In that tradition, I must report that my little dalliance with the emptiness of my childhood was, according to Dave in the comments, “Painful to read.”
Commentary: This Old House
Kathy replied that she couldn’t breathe. As far as we know, that was not a cry for help due to an actual respiratory situation.
But wait, there’s an inspiring update. This time it might even be more journalism and less asphyxiation.
Shortly after the commentary’s publication, I got an email with the subject line: “About the old homestead.”
It was from John Twitchell, a Supervisory Forester with the Colorado State Forest Service. I know of him. He worked with my dad back in the living days of building roads and managing forests. Twitchell has been promoting healthy forests for decades and my dad, a logger, worked almost harmoniously with him on the tightrope of economy and environment.
Twitchell requested we talk. The ensuing call delivered some exciting news: My old house, the one that I use to suffocate people from afar, is about to have new life breathed into it.
That’s remarkable in at least two ways. First, according to Twitchell, they’re going to turn the home my family built into part of a small campus for forestry education.
According to a Steamboat Pilot article, “The completed camp will provide classrooms, meeting spaces and overnight lodging for up to 30 people and will serve schools and other entities in Jackson, Routt, Grand and Larimer counties and across Colorado.”
People can stay in my old house while they learn about the Colorado State forest in the soon-to-be-built education center. The center will be built in the open lot where my dad used to deck logs before taking them to whichever mill was buying. When the logs were hauled away, it’s the space where my older brother and I would play football and he, 4 years my senior, would win with scores like 100 – 6. That hallowed ground will now continue its purpose with what I’m hoping are far less painful lessons.
According to Twitchell, the facility will be called the Michigan River Camp, and be a place where educators can go get some education. From a lodgepole pine’s lifecycle to what climate change is doing to the surrounding ecosystem, what I used to call home will pollinate visiting minds with knowledge of the North Park area.
Here’s the second wild part: what had only been Twitchell’s vision became closer to reality when a local philanthropist agreed to donate over one million dollars to make it happen. I don’t know Karin Utterback-Normann. I hadn’t heard of her until a story about the proposed forest education center appeared in the Steamboat Pilot.
In the Pilot article, Utterback-Normann said the facility “is going to be an absolutely outstanding, first-class location” due to the variety of ecosystems within that area. She worked around the world as an agricultural economist before coming home to run her family’s ranch near Steamboat Springs. Part of her crop output has been a bumper of generosity. She donated over 2000 acres to Colorado State University and now, as Twitchell casually explained, she offered $1,230,000 to get things started on my childhood home.
You never know what can happen when you build something out of local logs. Twitchell toasts her generosity by saying it’s a significant leadership gift from a third generation family rancher.
“Karin Utterback-Normann provided substantial momentum to the campaign that has now raised over two million dollars,” says Twitchell, not at all perturbed by me gawking at him with the wide-eyed wonder of a country kid who’s just seen a ghost.
The current plans for an education center are a wild proposition for an area as remote as I used to think it was. Growing up there, I thought maybe my dad had lost a bet or had been exiled for some political purposes because we lived so far away from everything. I miss it now. That kind of solitude, that kind of … clear, starry sky that stirs you into the Milky Way and reminds you how tiny you are. Unless, of course, you build something bigger than any one person and make a positive mark on everyone passing through.
It’s the kind of thing I could not have ever imagined. It’s the kind of thing that can leave you breathless.
The post Commentary: Old Bones, New Purpose appeared first on The Daily Yonder.
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