Cedar Breaks National Monument & the CCC

Reading history through the pristine Cedar Breaks.

We chose Cedar City, Utah as the midway point on our Utah adventure—in part because we had friends there and in part to see Cedar Breaks National Monument before heading to the big kahuna, Zion National Park. Cedar City is a quiet town of around 30,000, but it is home to Southern Utah University, meaning it has a bit more to offer than just nature and sister-wives (it had to be said). There’s a quaint downtown with some cute eateries, as well as the Southern Utah Museum of Art, which is well worth a visit. In early January, Cedar City is typically a winter wonderland, and Cedar Breaks is often closed. But we lucked out with beautiful weather which allowed us to explore one of Utah’s slightly less famous (but no less impressive) natural beauties.

Cedar Breaks: Convergence of Landscapes

Cedar Breaks, declared a National Monument way back in 1933 by Franklin Delano Roosevelt, would be a major attraction almost anywhere else in the world. But with Zion and Bryce Canyon National Parks both nearby, it is sometimes overlooked. With almost no one in the park the morning of our visit—aside from one woman walking a small, whimpering mop of a dog—we had the parks’ roads and overlooks to ourselves. Cedar Breaks boasts a lot of geologic variety, and many different types of landscapes seem to converge here. The ancient Lake Claron created layers of red, pink, and orange rock over millions of years to create the park’s most impressive formations. Cedar Breaks National Monument is also home to volcanic rock from million-year-old explosions, various species of pine, and an alpine pond.

Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah
Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah

Due to time constraints, we weren’t able to spend enough time at Cedar Breaks National Monument. I would love to go back in warmer weather for camping, and in particular for one of the park’s Star Parties (it is an official International Dark Sky Park). But while at Cedar Breaks my thoughts turned, as they often do when I find myself in National Parks, to twentieth-century American history, particularly the era of the New Deal.

For awhile I’ve had a fascination with FDR’s New Deal, particularly the Works Progress Administration and the Civilian Conservation Corps, both of which did an incredible amount of work preserving and improving our natural and public spaces. I wasn’t surprised when I saw a panel at Cedar Breaks National Monument describing the CCC’s history there. Its involvement was apparent from the resilient and character-filled infrastructure of the park, from the  Visitor Center to the carefully crafted log benches dotting the overlooks.

The Civilian Conservation Corps: A Success Story

The CCC, for those unfamiliar, was a program established to put unemployed men to work following the Great Depression while at the same time striving to preserve, conserve, and make accessible some of America’s most beautiful natural places. Camps of workers were established at many national parks, monuments, and recreation areas throughout the country, with Cedar Breaks being one. The park’s Visitor Center, Ranger Cabin, roads, and scenic overlooks were constructed by the CCC in 1930s, and the structures possess that charmingly rustic, natural look we’ve come to think of as the National Parks aesthetic.

CCC information at Cedar Breaks National Monument
CCC information at Cedar Breaks National Monument

But the CCC was an effective program because of what it did for people, not just parks. The camps recruited men from inner cities—many malnourished due to extreme poverty and in low spirits due to chronic unemployment—and allowed them to see parts of their country they would never otherwise have seen while providing them wages, room and board., and education. Many enrollees wrote back to family members that they had no idea there was this kind of natural beauty in the world, and they fell in love with it.

Neil M. Maher’s Nature’s New Deal, a scholarly history of the CCC, he quotes writing from some of the young men in the CCC camps. “First of all, we are engaged in useful conservation work which will accrue to the benefit of both the present and future generations,” Carl Stark wrote in 1941. “But secondly, and far more important is the conservation of the individual” (p. 104). Another CCC enrollee named Paul Stone  noted in the mid-1930s that the setting he worked in was “Not an artificial mechanical world like that of the modern city, but a world alive with more beauty than I had ever known” (p. 100).

The CCC wasn’t a perfect program, of course.  But it was in many ways wonderful, educating young workers about conservation and even offering them career paths in areas like forestry. It’s difficult to imagine a program like that happening now. But it’s a notable part of our history—a success story to learn from.

Frozen Navajo Lake, Cedar Breaks National Monument
Frozen Navajo Lake, Dixie National Forest
A Moment at Navajo Lake

Despite not being able to spend much time at Cedar Breaks, its already high on my list of places to revisit. And it’s in the middle of beautiful country, amidst a staggering array of other natural attractions.

After leaving Cedar Breaks we stopped at nearby Navajo Lake, a popular fishing spot nestled between lava beds in the Dixie National Forest. While it was nearly 60 degrees on the day we visited, the lake was still frozen over. There are sinkholes under Navajo Lake into which water drains, and we stood silently on the dry lakebed and listened to the low rumbling of water under ice—a sound unlike any I’ve heard.

Cedar Breaks National Monument and its surrounding environs, while popular in warmer weather, still offer a nice alternative to the massive crowds at nearby Zion. I can’t wait to return and further explore its history—both ancient and modern—its fascinating geology, and its sky full of stars.

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Forgotten Places: Green River, Utah

Towns in decline can tell us a lot about who we were and who we’re becoming.

Small Towns in Decline

I have a fascination with forgotten places, particularly faded small towns. I’m not referring to ghost towns, which are much more rare. Faded small towns that still have people and life and schools and community and businesses, but they’re towns that once were something bigger and more prosperous, and they must wear their decline on their sleeves. They’re towns for which vacancy is a fact of daily life.

One thing I learned growing up in a larger version of one of these towns is that it costs more to demolish something than to let it sit empty. So all around my hometown of Galesburg, IL (which is currently doing okay but, like many towns of its size, declined in the latter half of the twentieth century and was walloped by factory closings in the ’80s and ’90s) there are empty buildings, shuttered and dusty. Some have stood, silently the same, since my early childhood. Their hopes seem to dim just a tiny bit each year, like they’re still awaiting the return of long-gone inhabitants.

Small towns all over the United States are currently in decline due to a number of factors: a loss of manufacturing jobs due to outsourcing and automation, a generational shift away from small communities and toward more urban areas, and the fact that national corporations and online retailers have taken the place once held by local mom-and-pop shops. I’m not here to romanticize the very real economic hard times that small towns face, but I do like to look for the beauty in these forgotten places. Empty storefronts and neighborhoods tell us about a town’s past and the people that have lived there. And the parts of the community that remain vital tell us about what the town is becoming, and how it reconciles the past and the future.

Green River, Utah

Our drive from Canyonlands National Park to Cedar City, Utah was one of the most beautiful – perhaps the most beautiful – I’ve ever taken. Each mile seems to bring more unusual redrock formations: spires, canyons, and mesas. It’s totally desolate, with no services for miles but a number of scenic viewpoints, an acknowledgement that sometimes you’ve just gotta pull off and take it all in. There are few towns along this route, but for lunch we chose Green River, Utah as our stop. And I’m glad we did.

Forgotten Places : Closed-up business in Green River, Utah
Closed-up business in Green River, Utah

Green River is a prime example of one of those forgotten places that I’ve always found so intriguing. According to the town’s Wikipedia page, Green River was one of the pass-through areas of the Old Spanish Trail trade route in the mid-1800s. In 1876, it became a river crossing for U.S. mail and evolved into a popular stop for travelers. A railroad boom helped grow the town until 1892, when operations moved elsewhere. But the second boom in Green River – the one we see remnants of today – came in the mid-twentieth century, when uranium mining brought more prosperity to the town. In the 1960s, an Air Force missile launch facility was also established, and the population reached its peak during that decade. But once the mining industry dried up, the population dropped to around 900, where it sits today.

Currently, most of the town’s economy mostly rests on the shoulders of I-70, as it caters to travelers and truckers, as well as mountain bikers (the town is a popular freeride spot). There’s also a natural gas field nearby. The town is quiet but friendly, and by necessity welcoming to outsiders.

Forgotten Places : Poem inscribed on another abandoned storefront in Green River, Utah
Poem inscribed on another abandoned storefront in Green River, Utah
Storefront Poetry

Downtown Green River has a large number of empty businesses, sprinkled casually between a few still-open restaurants and shops. Many of these are fairly well-preserved, with old signage still intact, offering a nice little slice of the past. The most inspiring thing I saw during my short visit to Green River was a poem someone had written in the window of an abandoned storefront. Composed  by an unknown author, it reads:

Sitting on the river’s edge
The smell of driftwoo
(Not exactly driftwood; drift sticks
washed ashore from a recent
rain & subsequent flood).

Muddy water.

Sun sets behind the butte
Slowly, like when you sit [cut off]
bathtub and let [cut off]
drain, lying still, [cut off]
In small pulses as it drains
Pulling you down, increasing
gravity, pulling away the weight
of sadness, getting chilly but
also still warm on the bottom
half of you, if split longways.

It’s a small, personal poem. Maybe not a masterpiece, but way more moving than something I expected to read on the papered-over window of a shuttered business.

Ray's Tavern in Green River, Utah – "the place for everyone!"
Ray’s Tavern in Green River, Utah – “the place for everyone”
The Place for Everyone

I can only imagine there are many other such instances of subtle beauty in Green River, one of Utah’s forgotten places. Though I only spent about an hour there, I sensed something special in this town.

We spent most of our time in Green River at Ray’s Tavern (slogan: “the place for everyone”), one of a few local eateries, with a charmingly brief menu featuring burgers and fries, beer and wine (a selection of various Franzias, naturally), steaks, chops, and apple pie.

After devouring our burgers, it was time for us to hit the highway. But Green River and its mysterious faded charm remained on my mind. It’s one of the many small towns in this great big country that seems easy to ignore, but deserves a second look.

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