Still The Red Flannel Town

There’s no doubt that Cedar Springs has been feeling like it’s moving faster than any of us are ready for.

Yep. I said it. And I bet you recognize it too.

And I bet those from 150 years ago even felt the same way when they thought they'd finally settled on the town's size, when suddenly a new building popped up. For a town that has long felt a little like Mayberry, (and if you don’t get that reference you’ll have to Google it), the recent changes in our landscape have kind of hit hard. Watching the Hilltop come down was heavier than I expected it to be. Longtime residents are making their thoughts known about the demolition of that building, and rightfully so. You don’t realize how much a building becomes part of your mental map until it is gone. Suddenly a landmark is gone and you forget where you're standing for a moment.

We know growth is part of any healthy community. Still, change fatigue is real. It can make even good developments feel unsettling simply because they're new. Drive over to 130 W. Muskegon St. and you can feel it. The renovated 1929 county building now stands with a sense of permanence. It looks official. Bigger, even. I have caught myself studying it more than once.

Truthfully, these buildings only tell part of our story.

But, if I’m being honest, the deeper story of Cedar Springs has always lived in our shared identity.

For generations, we have been the Red Flannel Town. If you just rolled your eyes, that’s ok. I understand. Even this identity has seen its trials, and because of those trials it may feel worn, or perhaps distant, to some.

No, I’m not going to regale you with "the Red Flannel story." But there is one important thing to remember.

1936. It was the height of the Great Depression. Businesses and families alike were struggling financially and emotionally. When Nina Babcock wrote her column and calls came flooding in for our now renowned flannels, businesses benefited, yes, but morale was lifted in a huge way. People gathered and celebrated. They reminded one another that even in difficult years, they weren't alone.

Whatever has been said or done over the years, that unified spirit, the one that started it all, did not expire.

As the city moves through this stretch of rapid change, and as the economy continues to feel tight for many, this feels like the right time to lean into that heritage in a visible way.

And so, I encourage our city council along with the festival board to stand side-by-side and rededicate Cedar Springs as the Red Flannel Town. Hang the Red Flannel plaque that once stood in the old council chambers in the new City Hall. Restore the Red Flannel logos that were removed from our parks. These are simple steps, but they are symbolic ones too.

The city doesn't depend on a single weekend to claim its identity. And the festival doesn't depend on logos on every street corner to stand on its own. But Cedar Springs has always been strongest when its institutions and its traditions work side by side.

In moments when a town feels like it is stretching in different directions, and when budgets continue to tighten more and more, visible reminders of who we are can steady the ground beneath us. New residents deserve to know the story they are stepping into. Longtime residents deserve to see that story carried forward with intentionality. Like a torch leading the way.

Identity can't and doesn’t preserve itself. It requires participation.

Cedar Springs will continue to grow and the skyline will continue to change. That’s simply part of any community. It's been going on here for longer than any of us have been alive.

We are still the Red Flannel Town. And there is no better time to live like it.