Walking Utah's Towns: Mapleton
Walking Utah's Towns: Mapleton
First in a series of articles offering a unique view of local history, urban planning, and culture, published on a town-by-town basis.
This intermittent series will focus on individual towns and cities by observing and remarking on their respective urban planning, architecture, history, and culture. Each article will be a hodge-podge of observations, criticisms, facts, and anecdotes. We may live in a nation and state, but we seem to be most defined by the first few lines of our addresses—the town or city, neighborhood or street, we call home. In recognition of this, we want to take the “polis”—the neighborhood, the city—more seriously. Each installment we hope to make a virtual field trip of sorts. As we describe a walk through the town—highlighting buildings, natural features, and historical happenings—we hope readers come to know, even in a small and mostly inconsequential way, these communities a bit better, perhaps even leading a reader to future forays into the urban (or suburban, exurban, or rural) “jungle.”
Mapleton sits in southeastern Utah County—a few miles south of Springville and just northeast of Spanish Fork. Driving through Mapleton can feel like an exercise in ephemerality (which is why I recommend you walk). If you blink once, you may pass by the (loosely applied phrase) “urban core” of this small but growing community.
Mapleton’s population was 7,979 at the 2010 census, but the area is experiencing substantial growth. In an unnecessary imperial allusion, it is as if the city center has been gradually overwhelmed by white picket fenced barbarians approaching its very gates. The population is likely above 15,000 (at least) in this amateur demographer’s opinion.
When Mapleton was first settled by European immigrants (Mormon refugees) in 1850 it was known as Union Field (or Union Bench, according to the source). According to Utah History Encyclopedia the city began “as an agricultural extension of the small Hobble Creek community that is now called Springville.” Interestingly, this source also notes that Union Field was initially a United Order communal enterprise, located at the terminus of a five mile-long canal dug from Springville, of a few hundred acres of land cleared for farming.
Also fascinating, in terms of coming to understand the region’s physical appearance before intensive agricultural settlement, this same source describes the bench where Mapleton now sits as being covered by an extensive juniper stand (extending from the mouth of Hobble Creek Canyon to Spanish Fork Canyon). If you have ever driven south on Interstate 15 past Mona, this should not come as a surprise. In the chain of valleys that extends south, much of the foothills are dotted with juniper.
After the forced and tragic removal of Native Americans previously living in the southern part of Utah County to a reservation, the European settling of Union Field continued and by 1888 there were enough families in the area to start a ward (congregation) of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The local schoolhouse also functioned as a meetinghouse, and the Bigtooth maple trees in the nearby canyon inspired the name of the ward—which would eventually become adopted as the town’s name.
Interestingly, Mapleton’s creation story involves a sort of secession. In the last decade of the 19th century, the residents of Union Field became frustrated by the cold and (five-mile) distant rule of the Springville City Council. This frustration coalesced into a movement to split off from Springville and start a new town, and Mapleton was granted a charter from Utah County in 1901. Mapleton remained a small farming town until the mid-20th century when population growth in Utah County induced more suburban development that slowly changed the demographics and industry of the area—changes that have radically accelerated in the past decade.
My walk began at the Historic Mapleton Church at the intersection of Main and Maple Streets. To my limited knowledge, this intersection represents the central hub of Mapleton.
It was an absolutely frigid mid-December day, but the crisply clear air allowed a panoramic view of the spectacular clouds hanging over the valley that caught the light in a perfectly pillowy way—showcasing the gradient of white to dark gray in infinitesimal increments all while fringed with the soft colors of sunrise.
Mapleton Church was the perfect place to begin my walking tour. The building is unusual for the quickly apparent reason that it is white-washed. This uniqueness lends the church a special charm. The meetinghouse replaced the original Mapleton Ward meetinghouse (built in 1889), and was constructed between 1936 and 1941. Dedicated less than 8 months before the United State’s entry into World War II, the building showcases Great Depression thrift combined with detailed craftsmanship. The Gothic arches serve to give the building an ethereal air, while the tastefully patterned wooden pillars show off the builder’s handicraft. Though I didn’t make it inside the church, the interior was apparently not to be outdone by the beautiful exterior—the benches are made of solid walnut (and only relatively recently padded).
After getting my fill of the historic church, which was exquisitely framed by Sierra Bonita (allegedly so named by Father Escalante on his expedition from Santa Fe in 1776), Maple Mountain, Mount Flonette, or Spanish Fork Peak (depending on whichever name you find most romantic, I guess), I continued east on Maple Street.
Directly east from the church lies Mapleton City Park (perhaps the Central Park of the city?). It was quaintly decorated in a Christmas lights which helped establish a certain Hallmark Christmas movie feel—borne about by the “fun fact” that the Hallmark movie, “A Christmas Wish,” was filmed in the city.
Even more fascinating to me, however, were the war memorials at the edge of the park closest to the Maple Street. Blocks of granite for each war starting with WWI (with a list of local dead) stood forming a semicircle around a metal eagle atop a granite pedestal in front of a flagpole. There was something deeply personal about this display of patriotism and remembering. A part of me wanted to call it kitschy, but the earnestness of the whole display made it difficult to brush off. One jarring aspect of the memorial was the way they intermittently provided detailed accounts of specific deaths. The granite coldly recounts how one soldier in WWII was killed by a land mine in the Philippines just a few months before V-J Day, while one Vietnam veteran drowned in the Rhine in Germany a few years after completing his tour of duty. These bizarre touches almost make you think the monument designers consulted with some French existentialist intent on illustrating the senselessness of it all.
Just north of the park lies the Mapleton Veterans Memorial Recreation Center (dedicated 1953). It appears that it is no longer in frequent use, and the building itself isn’t much to look at. The yellowing siding gives the building a “soon-to-be-abandoned” look, but peering through the windows you can almost see a 1950’s era farm town dance replete with poodle skirts and crew cuts.
Next, I walked north, crossing Maple Street, and puttered around the few 1960’s era structures there. One seemed pretty obviously to be the old fire and rescue station (as the structure was a garage with an old elevated loudspeaker-type system intended for rousing or alerting the volunteer firefighters). Beside it, closer to the intersection of Main and Maple, stands a boxy mid-century structure with rectangular tinted windows. It’s abandoned, but I would guess it was either a post office or city hall. I could probably dig into local history for a complete answer, but what is small-town charm without a bit of mystery?
After briefly pondering this puzzle, I continued east on Maple away from the city’s main intersection. Both sides of the sleepy street are lined with mid-century bungalows and ramblers, interspersed with newer houses and one new road splitting off to the south featuring expansive new houses, some in the middle of construction.
Every time I see new construction I’m reminded of the inherent violence of the process, and not just to the land. For each new house forces its way into the area in which it is placed. It isn’t coaxed there, it doesn’t mildly wander over, it simply gradually appears—two-by-four by two-by-four—and takes the place of field or forest, creating, to some degree, a new place.
Even the most cursory glance at these houses had me convinced these aren’t just long-time locals who made it good. These are extravagant homes. The first one I walked past sits next to a oblong artificial lake, and has modern sweeping lines, a concrete retaining wall, and imposing front doors. Walking further along this side street I came upon other houses (in varying stages of completion) and a sand volleyball court. The liberal use of water and refined amenities form a jarring juxtaposition to the water-starved beginnings of this initially communal pioneer settlement.
I returned to Maple, continued east, and eventually turned off into suburban neighborhoods replete with a jumble of home styles, landscaping persuasions, and political ideologies (flags make this quite discernible). And as I looped back around toward the church where my car was parked, I reflected on the questions Mapleton had posed to me such as, “What happens when a town is no longer what it once was?”, “When is a town no longer what it once was?”, “What unites a formerly agrarian exurban enclave when the agrarian part fades away?”, and “Can we truly live in a place we don’t understand?” Maybe these questions simply showcase my own sentimentality, but I believe similar questions should matter to the Wasatch Front and other growing suburban and exurban centers across the country.
We may gain freedom and convenience as we detach ourselves from localized communities and leave historical city centers as mausoleums for an unknown past, but we lose something as well. Though the child of one of the first generations to grow up entirely in the supposed suburban bliss to which their parents fled en masse, I find a growing nostalgia and longing for a more coherent past (whether real or imagined) I momentarily grasp in the historic streets and structures of old towns.
I also know all too well how quickly old towns and their settings can change, how the fields and forests disappear in a cloud of asphalt and drywall, and how one change spurs more—as new schools and strip malls appear in in rapid succession as the cycle continues.
Fortunately, Mapleton seems to have avoided the unmitigated suburban disaster that has occurred in many cities up and down the Wasatch Front. Insofar as it has, it is thanks to innovative planning techniques—such as the transferable development rights (TDR) program that is used to preserve the foothills—, local involvement in setting aside historic structures, and active historical documentation.
However, even with luxurious exurban housing options increasing, any news of Mapleton’s revival seems to have passed by the city’s “urban core.”
Update: Shortly after I published this article my uncle informed me of another fascinating historical tid-bit. Mapleton resident Wayne Holley, who passed away in 2003, was a long-time Communist, union leader, and steelworker at Geneva Steel. He figured in the 1950’s Red Scare in Utah, as my uncle remembers his parents’ generation spoke of Mapleton and the Holleys.
This is beautiful and the series is a FANTASTIC idea. Keep up the good work, Utah Monthly!