While in Dunsmuir two weeks ago, I overheard something wise from an acquaintance, who’d been told “You can drag the past around with you like a dead horse, but you can never bring it back to life.” I was struck by the truth of the imagery, and put it in my mental pocket for future use.
But something else I brought home
from Dunsmuir convinced me that the past is an ineradicable part of the
present, as well as necessary for the future.
It is a small book on Dunsmuir, one of the “Images of America” series
published by Arcadia Publishing Co. I
fell in love with these books when I worked at the Book Garden in Exeter ten
years ago, and exactly for this reason:
they show us – literally, in photographs with captions - the connections
between our past and our present. They
help us understand what might be possible in the future.
As a carpenter’s daughter, I have a
natural fascination for how things are built.
My father builds houses, and I have watched the process from building
forms for pouring the concrete foundation to the last row of shingles along the
roof’s peak. I watched him build
community, too, from co-operatively constructing a boat-launch/clubhouse on an
edge of Puget Sound to forming a sewer district intended to keep us from
polluting that body of water. I watched
as our primitive roads lined with wooded lots became neighborhoods during the
post-war 1950’s. My fascination with how
things are built now extends to towns.
Like many towns, Dunsmuir’s
development was defined by the railroad, which was spurred by outside corporate
interests to convey coal from British Columbia to San Francisco. In turn, the railroad promoted Dunsmuir as a
tourist resort, as well as carrying the products of surrounding forests to
distant markets. But it was the
development of the automobile that brought prosperity to the little town, which
seemed to thrive when Highway 99 ran down its main street. Despite fires, heavy snows and avalanches,
and flooding of the Sacramento River repeatedly reshaping the facts of
Dunsmuir’s life, the little town has re-built on its past, retaining a sense of
authenticity.
And of course it’s the people who
make that possible. Ron McCloud, who co-authored
the book with Deborah Harton, owns the True Value hardware store on the main
street, which is part museum, with shining wood floors as well as inventory to
supply everything you’d need to live there (visit www.dunsmuirhardware.com to see for yourself!)
Across the street, wedged between cafes, is a thrift store run by third-
and fourth-generation Dunsmuirites whose profits support single mothers in
need. There’s a record shop/book store
aimed at us Boomers, multiple shops featuring artists’ and craftspersons’
wares, and a storefront for the local watershed preservation organization. There’s a dispensary for medical marijuana
across from the Amtrak station. And
there’s a noon signal horn every day that becomes an emergency warning when it
blows 5 times in succession.
When I mentioned Ron McCloud to a
friend here, he said “Oh, he’s like our Chris Brewer.” Having worked for Chris and Sally at the Book
Garden, I can say “yes.” Chris has
managed to bring the powerhouse of history into the preservation of the future
in Exeter. I think the example of both
men is worth noting. But it takes a host of people dedicated to the community’s
well-being to connect the past to the present – and that’s what preserves the
future of our small towns. Let us join
hands.
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Trudy
Wischemann is a community development researcher who writes. You can send her your town development
stories c/o P.O. Box 1374, Lindsay CA 93247 or leave a
comment below.
