The projects we do to handle waste sometimes produce their own waste—or become it. What do we do with the waste of our waste treatment? FLUSH Associate Jen Barr takes a field trip to northern Denver, Colorado, USA, to explore a sewage treatment plant (STP) converted into a park. But like many waste recycling projects, the park looks like it’s just abandoned.
Exploring Abandoned Places
It feels like I am definitely going the wrong way.
Left: Picture taken from behind a car dashboard, with a bright sun, barren fenced-in fields, looking desolate (Credit: J Barr)
Right: A signboard in a field so covered with graffiti that it's unreadable (Credit: J Barr)
I’m heading to a park that the Atlas Obscura entry described as having “an urban wildlife area, sports fields, a stormwater handling system, and tree groves.” The design won an award in 2001 from the American Society of Landscape Architects for its clever reuse of the remains of a decommissioned sewage treatment plant. Carpio Sanguinette Park was named for one of Denver’s first Latino city council members and his family. In spite of the fact I’ve lived Denver, Colorado, USA, for four years, and I am a sanitation nerd, I’ve never been to this park.
As the pitted asphalt rattles my teeth, I see only industrial zoning, unbuilt scraggly landscapes, and a tamale kitchen. (Note to self: see if I can pick up some on the way back.) A shopping cart piled high with pillows is abandoned on the roadside. GPS directs me past a National Guard armory, with geese waddling past the crisp sign and fenced-in rows of military vehicles. I park in a small empty lot and get out.
A signboard tells me I’ve arrived somewhere, but I can’t see past the layers of graffiti to confirm if I’ve arrived where I meant to go.
It’s a Denver special January day: cold so sharp my fingers are numb and piercing sunlight. The lawns and trees are brown and barren, adding to the general feeling of inhospitality.
Old Sewage Plants
Walking down the winding cement pathway, I encounter another graffiti-drenched sign that confirms that I am, in fact, at the former wastewater treatment plant park.
The first remnant of the STP are rows of cement that remind me mostly of the marble tracks I used to play with as a kid. They, too, are covered with graffiti and are overgrown with weeds, although it looks like someone optimistic is trying to seed more grass. It looks less like a sculpture or intentional structure and more just what it is: something left behind.
Left: Cement runway with graffiti, overgrown with weeds (Credit: J Barr)
Right: Low curved cement bench in the middle of an empty field (Credit: J Barr)
Several yards away, the Platte River glides on its way, twinned with a walkway that winds through the city. A bundled-up bicyclist zips by. A person experiencing homelessness has set up a small camp near one of the other cement structures further down the path. There is no one else here this Sunday morning, except for hordes of geese. Their feces is the only feces remaining at this STP.
In the middle of a winter-brown field are two curved cement structures that look like the rims of a giant round tank. Benches I suppose? But I’m not sure why you’d sit there.
Settling or filter tanks have been converted into (now graffiti-covered) planters with young trees. The sidewalk is etched with an occasional exhortation to “Enjoy the park!” and “This year, keep this park clean.”
Overarching my quiet walk is a thick stench: somewhat chemical-y, somewhat manure-y, somewhat vomit-y. It’s not from the park’s history, but a more modern nuisance. I’m not an expert on the notorious odors of Denver, but I suspect this one is from the nearby Purina pet food manufacturing plant. The stench lays thick on my throat and motivates me to hurry my visit.
Recycling Old Sewage Plants
In the late 19th century, the area was called Globeville, centered around the Globe Smelter and other smelters. This site was a STP built in 1936 through 1987, and the municipal wastewater entity, Denver Wastewater, continued to use the administrative buildings until 1993. The western side used to contain sludge drying beds from 1948-1970s, before being cleaned and backfilled with two to three feet of soil. In 2000, the City of Denver used funding from the Rocky Mountain Arsenal Natural Resources Damages Recovery Fund to develop the area into a park. The grant required that turf areas be converted to 40% of the park area, explaining the corners of wildness in the park area.
Left: Cement planters and young trees (Credit: J Barr)
Right: Cement structures like giant a I beam; covered in art or graffiti in a cement plaza (Credit: J Barr)
But who is this park for? Did anyone actually want a park here, downwind of chemical odors and in the middle of an industrial zone? It’s hard to say from my preliminary research.
Recycling and reclaiming former waste products can be fun, useful, or ecologically sound. Beer made from reclaimed water can spark a conversation about recycling. Many cities and states—like Denver—utilize reclaimed or recycled wastewater to ensure a steady and reliable water supply. Biosolids extracted from wastewater and processed can be used as fertilizer or landfill.
However, waste recycling projects can also be wasteful, as they invest further resources into something that will still be neglected or disposed of. One of the key differences between a successful recycling or reuse project lies in a basic question: does anyone actually want the final product?
In my work in India on community acceptance of reclaimed wastewater, many people expressed a lot of concerns about using the water for cooking. In Toowoomba, Australia, a poorly-planned referendum on recycled wastewater stunted the possibility of more water cycling projects in the area for years. The labor and resources needed for an Arborloo, in which a tree is planted in a former pit latrine, are only worthwhile if people want the tree and plan to take care of it.
Final Reflections
For all its lofty goals, it’s not clear that anyone wanted Carpio Sanguinette Park, the peculiar cement structures that were so carefully reclaimed, or anything here in this stench-laden, isolated place. It’s possible that community feedback or initial groundwork had been inadequate, there was bad data, the winds changed—I’m not sure. But on this quiet January morning, I’m reminded of the other projects that started with hope and optimism and failed because they did not adequately base their work in their communities or markets.
Peering beyond another graffiti layer on a sign, I learned that this park will undergo another transformation, with a playground, track, pavilion, and trails, based on community feedback. Hopefully, this transformation will be more well-received than the last.
Comments