Often throughout our daily lives, we stumble upon small, unexpected moments that feel like treasures—instances that settle into a special place in our memories. These simple occasions, whether shared conversations, bursts of laughter, or quiet pauses in a busy day, usher in fun-filled times that linger long after they’ve passed. Over time, we come to realize that these fleeting moments, gathered almost without noticing, have become some of our favorite memories, reminders of a life well lived and richly felt.
When I moved to Colorado in 1979, I soon found employment with the Bureau of Land Management Young Adult Conservation Corps, based in Canon City. For this former city girl who loved the outdoors, it was my dream job. I was able to visit so many amazing places and witness incredible beauty and wildlife.
In the beginning, we were mainly an all-girl crew of three girls and one guy, and our work often took us to Bighorn Sheep Canyon, located between Canon City and Salida. We worked long days in all seasons. The canyon was a great place for outdoor adventures, hiking, camping, fishing, and river rafting. At Five Points, a favorite stop for fishermen, we often cleaned the area, hauled out trash, built fences, and made repairs. The surrounding area was breathtaking. Rugged mountain terrain ran along the highway to the south; a sliver of land between the river housed the area known as Five Points; and the railroad tracks ran along the canyon across the river, with mountains as a backdrop. Often, we would spot the bighorn sheep that lived in the canyon. For this former city girl, my heart always soared with excitement when one was spotted.
One winter, only the girls showed up for work. We drove to Five Points with our crew boss, Pete. I never tired of the view. On that day, the landscape was covered in white brilliance; the river formed a frozen sculpture of frozen ripples along the edges and floating, glistening ice patches that resembled large chunks of broken glass. Pete drove the truck, and I sat in the back in the crew cab with my nose pressed against the window, taking in the beauty. Pete had already gone over the instructions for the day. We were repairing a fence at Five Points, cleaning the site and the bathrooms, and hauling out the trash. Our little crew enjoyed each other’s company, and everyone talked and laughed about weekend plans.
Once we arrived, we pulled on our government-issued winter gear. Our winter pants were several sizes too large and cinched with belts, which made us look like we all had duck tails. That day, I wore a large sweater over my YACC uniform shirt and my bomber jacket over my sweater. We all wore knitted beanies to keep our ears warm. Other than the truck, no one would guess we were a YACC crew for BLM.
We quickly cleaned the area and the restrooms and began working on the fence. While we worked, travelers stopped to use the facilities, take pictures, and admire the winter wonderland. One man stopped, parked his car, and exited with a camera. He looked around and began to walk toward us. He was lean and lanky, dressed in jeans, an off-white winter coat, and expensive hiking boots. He had a warm, easy smile and a manner to match.
Pete was not with us and visited with some of the tourists who had stopped and wanted information about the area. As the young man approached, he smiled and began to talk. It was so cold that our breath was visible, like small moving clouds. Curious, he introduced himself and explained that he was a reporter from a nearby newspaper. The reporter began asking questions, and soon it became clear he thought we were inmates from the Women’s Prison.
The girls and I exchanged looks; honestly, our gear could pass for prison work gear. In a moment of complete wickedness, I decided to play along. I don’t know why I did it or where my acting skills sprang from in that single moment. But I gave an Oscar-worthy performance as the reporter began asking questions.
“Why, yes. We are from the Women’s Prison,” I sweetly answered, barely batting an eye.
“Do you mind if I ask how much you are paid for your labor?” the man kindly asked.
“Our pay? Oh, we make 50 cents a day,” I stated in a matter-of-fact voice.
His eyebrows furrowed in earnest, unnerved by my answer. In a low voice, he questioned, “Do they treat you well?”
“Yes,” I replied. “They treat us well. The work is hard, but we don’t mind because we get outside. Five days a week, and we enjoy Colorado’s beauty.”
I made quite a performance, and the rest of the crew tried not to smile.
“Our crew boss, Pete, is right over there. He keeps us in line,” I told the reporter. Pete happened to be watching us, and I waved; he responded with a smile and a quick wave of his own.
The man asked if he could take some photos, and I agreed. The three of us posed together, smiling for the camera.
As he walked away to visit with Pete, the three of us broke into laughter.
“Pete will make us pay for this one,” Kim chuckled.
Trying to look innocent, we started working once again but secretly kept glancing as the reporter approached Pete. In quick order, we watched Pete’s face change as the two men began talking, and the reporter began asking about the inmate program. We tried not to laugh as Pete’s face transformed from confusion to dawning realization to absolute disbelief.
From across the parking lot, Pete, red-faced, bellowed, “ANNIE!!” And the girls and I could no longer hold in our laughter. The reporter turned and looked at me, realizing he had been had. He threw his head back and howled with laughter, then turned and gave me the thumbs up. He and Pete spoke for a few more minutes before shaking hands. The reporter walked back to his car, his boots crunching in the snow. He smiled and gave us one last wave before climbing into his car and pulling out of the parking lot.
We turned and looked at Pete. With a stern look, Pete stormed over to us while marching like a general on a mission, ready to scold. We honestly tried not to laugh but could not hold it back.
“Annie, what were you thinking?” He angrily admonished.
Trying not to smile, I recounted, “Well, he assumed we were women prisoners, so I played along, and well, it just snowballed from there!”
Once he heard our side of the story, he couldn’t keep up his stern demeanor. The scowl on his face slowly softened, then broke entirely as he burst into a deep, unexpected laugh. In the end, he even rolled up his sleeves and helped us finish the job. For us, it was just another extraordinary day with the crew, a day full of hard work, good humor, and the kind of moments that made this team feel like family.
Looking back, that day at Five Points became one of those stories we told over and over. It was the kind of story that only comes from long hours, frozen fingers, and a bond forged by shared hard work. Life in the YACC wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t easy, but moments like that reminded us why we loved it. We learned to laugh when the cold bit through our coats, to find joy in the absurd, and to hold tight to the friendships that made the work worthwhile. It proved that even the smallest shared moments can reveal the joy of a life shaped by connections and experiences. And even now, every time I drive past Five Points, I can still hear Pete’s voice echoing through the snow and feel the warmth of that laughter cutting through the cold.
Tales of a Family 