How a community saved the Plainsman Herald — and what we learned about bridging generations

Our weekly paper in Baca County, Colo. has been around for 137 years. It’s documented the births, obituaries, basketball scores, dust storms and water disputes of this quiet corner of Southeast Colorado since Grover Cleveland’s first term as president. It printed stories from the Great Depression, the Dust Bowl and every cattle sale, high school graduation and sporting event in between. When I bought the Plainsman Herald, I wasn’t planning to become the face of rural newspaper survival stories. I thought I was just keeping something going that should never be allowed to die. History, however, doesn’t keep the lights on.

The crisis

By mid-2024, after years of rising costs, dwindling advertisers and pandemic pressures, I had to face reality. I announced that the Plainsman Herald would stop printing by year’s end. For a community of just 3,000 people spread across six small towns, losing the paper wasn’t just a business closure — it felt like losing part of the community’s memory. I expected disappointment. What I got was a wave of support I never imagined.

People called and emailed, asking what could be done. Many simply said, “We can’t lose our paper.” One reader offered to hold a bake sale. Others wanted to sponsor sections. More than anything, they asked what they could do to help. The answer was simple — but not easy. We asked subscribers about doubling our subscription rates. Survey results indicated 95% of readers said they’d pay the higher price to keep their newspaper alive. All subscriptions went from the mid $40s to $100 a year.

Reprinting the past, writing the future

That show of support bought us breathing room to rethink what local journalism should or could look like in our county and maybe in rural America. We don’t just want to limp along. We want to lean into what makes our paper indispensable: covering the stories nobody else will, connecting generations and preserving the history that shapes Baca County’s identity.

We have launched new features relevant to the ranching and agricultural focus of the county.  We’ve also experimented with an AI-generated podcast to bring forgotten local stories to life for new audiences.

Around the same time, we saw renewed interest in the 1983 Baca County History Book. For decades, that thick volume — hardbound in brown leatherette — stood as a go-to source for family history, local lore and civic pride. But it was long out of print, and copies had become rare, fetching from $200 to $1000 on eBay and Facebook Marketplace.

With some urging, we decided that reprinting the original book, along with launching a Volume II to continue the story of our county, could do more than preserve history — it could bridge generations.

I must confess, until attending the API Local News Summit on Civic Discourse Across Generations, I had not thought about these actions as efforts to bridge generations, but it is obvious to me now that is what we were doing without framing it in those terms. The announced closure of the Plainsman Herald in 2024 and the subsequent change in plans to keep it open forged that connection.

To reprint the 1983 book, we reactivated the long-dormant Baca County Historical Society and secured a copyright release from the now-defunct co-publisher. That legal clarity set the stage for both the reprint and the upcoming Volume II. But this effort isn’t just about nostalgia — it’s about honoring the past while inviting new voices into Baca County’s ongoing story. We’ve been collecting those voices for some time. Stories like that of the Little Red Gym that became a Red Cross hospital are unique — a story blending the Dust Bowl, civic resilience, community memory and generational connection.

The community has shown great excitement. Some offered to help with scanning. Others volunteered to call elders who didn’t use email or Facebook. Several have asked how they could contribute stories about relatives who had never made it into the original volume.

The paper and community that wouldn’t quit

This history book project isn’t an outlier — it’s deeply connected to the renewed life of the Plainsman Herald. When we began asking what kind of stories still mattered to Baca County, we realized many of them weren’t “breaking news” but generational memory. And the paper was the last remaining platform that treated those memories with care and context. Since our near-closure:

• We’ve launched a podcast, Cowboys, Dirt and Brooms, using AI tools to narrate forgotten local stories in accessible audio format.
• We’ve created features on ranching life, dust storms and long-gone businesses that spark conversation across age groups.
• We’ve relied on volunteer writers, retirees and longtime readers to submit reports and reflections.
• We’ve recognized that print still matters — especially for rural residents without reliable internet — and have committed to preserving it as long as financially possible.

This is not a turnaround story in the Silicon Valley sense. It’s scrappy. It’s patched together with community goodwill and late nights. But it’s surviving — because it centers on something deeper than content: connection.

What we’re learning along the way

Bridging generations isn’t just a slogan. In our town, it’s a necessity. And here’s what’s helping us do it:

• Use history as a rallying point. Reprinting the history book gave us a natural way to reconnect with older residents and invite in younger contributors at the same time.
• Be honest about the stakes. When we told people the paper was on the edge, they listened — and responded. Don’t hide the crisis. Use it to build urgency and agency.
• Create pathways for offline engagement. Not everyone will email you a submission. Some need phone calls. Some need paper forms. Others just need to be asked in person.
• Highlight cross-generational stories. From family-run ranches to multigenerational farmsteads, our best stories are the ones that connect eras — and they’re the most shared, too.
• Balance tradition and technology. We’re using AI, but we’re also using typewriters, scanners and notebooks. There’s room for all of it — if the purpose stays clear.
• With 137 years of copyrighted reporting — featuring what might be the most detailed Dust Bowl archive anywhere — this collection is both a historic treasure and a strategic asset.
• We need to connect with our local schools. Our goal is to make our current Baca County History curriculum available for use with students in county schools.

What’s possible

We don’t know if our paper will exist in 10 years. But right now, we’re showing that it’s possible to serve as a community memory bank, a creative outlet and a civic glue — all at once.

We plan to release the reprint of the 1983 history book later this fall and publish Volume II in 2026, combining new submissions, forgotten documents and untold stories. We’ll include everything from broomcorn knives to bootlegging, from schoolhouse memories to veterans’ tributes. And we’ll do it all in tandem with the ongoing evolution of the Plainsman Herald.

Local journalism can do more than inform. It can weave generations together, especially in rural communities where traditions still carry weight. When people believe their stories matter — past and present — they’ll fight to keep telling them. We didn’t plan to become a case study. But now that we’re here, we’re glad to share what we’ve learned.

Kent Brooks is the owner and publisher of the Plainsman Herald, a weekly newspaper in Baca County, Colorado. He has published 14 books, leads multiple local history projects, including the reprint of the 1983 Baca County History Book and the development of Volume II.