What do humans do for shelter and safety? We may have started in caves, but we soon began to build. Thatched huts soon became encampments, villages, towns, cities and metropolises.
As migrants from coastal and midwestern states poured into Colorado Territory in 1859, settlements that would grow into cities sprung up along the Front Range. Adventurers like the teenaged Irving Howbert would stay, build, lead and together create our city at the foot of Pikes Peak. On August 13, 1859, Colorado City was founded by Melancthon Beach, Rufus Cable, Anthony Bott and George Bute.
They sought permanence, not transience. In a boundless, untenanted landscape there was plenty of room for everyone. By the winter of 1861, more than 100 log cabins had been built for the newcomers. In those early days, land, timber and water were there for the taking.
In those halcyon days, you could build yourself a comfortable little shanty in the blink of an eye. In South By West, Rose Kingsley’s 1874 memoir of her adventures in Colorado and Mexico, she describes the 1871 construction of her shanty on the corner of Tejon and Colorado Avenue (then Huerfano).
“A wooden shanty, 16 feet by 12, with a door in front and a small window on either side. It is lined with brown paper, so it is perfectly windproof and really quite comfortable, though it was ordered on Thursday and finished on Saturday.” Of course, there was no heat, no electricity, no water and a foul little privy in the backyard – not exactly a Colorado paradise!
Colorado City declined, Colorado Springs stodgily prospered, and nothing much happened on the Westside – until gold was found in Cripple Creek. At last, Colorado City boomed and more than a thousand homes were built on the Westside. Most still stand, including our 1899 abode.
Despite their comfort and longevity, none of these now-historic buildings conform with present-day building codes. We’ve thought about building a rental cottage on our big lot, but it’d be so complicated. We’d have to conform with multiple regulations, build the cottage according to code and spend a lot of money up front.
So even though we have a de facto vacant lot to build on and make a tiny dent in our city’s housing shortage, we won’t do it. We’d rather let our three dogs romp in our weedy yard, keep our views and privacy and let future owners figure out what to do. We’re somewhat elderly, somewhat confused and somewhat broke – so no cottage.
And yeah, the City vigorously supports and helps to find funding for substantial projects like the Launchpad on the Westside. But as far as I can determine, small-scale projects like an ancillary cottage don’t qualify for aid – and many owners might prefer to use one as a VRBO. More money, and no problems with difficult long-term tenants.
And as I sit on my desk scribbling away on a warm fall morning, with three dogs under foot and brilliant sunshine flowing through the windows, I think of our predecessors in this wonderful home – beginning with Judge Louis Cunningham in 1899, a legal titan who went to bed at 8 p.m., rose at 4 a.m., never played golf and never went to theater. It must be the damned house; I go to bed at 9, get up at 5, have never played golf and rarely go to the theater. On the other hand, the judge was an ardent prohibitionist, and we enjoy a glass or two of wine every evening.
And alas, we’ll probably have to find a smaller place next spring. Stairs are threatening in old age and the big old house is a lot more than we need. It’ll be sad to leave, but all good things come to an end.
So as the song says, “Goodbye, so long, farewell forever.” Beautiful old house, I’ll miss you so much.
