Editor's note: As part of National Parks Traveler's Centennial Series, Curt Buchholtz, a former National Park Service ranger and former executive director of the Rocky Mountain National Park Conservancy, writes about the role nonprofit partners and civic organizations play in getting youth attached to the out-of-doors and national parks.

During my last season as a ranger in Glacier National Park I met a man who appeared to be lost.  So I asked him if he needed directions. “I’m looking for my old camp,” he explained. “I was here back in the ‘30s,” he continued. “I was working for the Cs.”

I ended up spending an hour with this good-natured fellow, eventually helping him locate his former Civilian Conservation Corps camp, or what little remained of it - there were only a few concrete blocks left behind where a bunkhouse, tool shed, and mess hall once stood.

Standing there at the fringe of a northern Montana forest, the old-timer told me his story.  It was 1936.  He was 18 and jobless, living in Brooklyn, New York.  He signed up with a  “guy from the government” and rode the train to Montana.  He spent the summer at this camp, cutting fire-killed timber. He learned about “really hard work and sweat.”

That summer he came to the realization that he never wanted to saw or haul timber ever again. He decided to enroll in college. Soon after, he got drafted and ended up going to war in Europe.  He came home, completed college and then medical school. He got married and settled down to establish a successful medical practice back in Brooklyn.

By the time he finished telling this tale his voice had started cracking. Tears flowed down his cheeks. “I never forgot this place,” he smiled, his hand now motioning at the mountains. “This was the best summer of my life.”

As we chatted that day, I struggled to grasp how this fellow’s mind transformed a season of sweat and grueling work into “the best summer of my life.”  I had quickly dismissed this encounter as the meandering of an old man’s memory. As we parted soon after, he thanked me for helping locate his camp. We shook hands. He left.

Months later, after moving to Colorado, I reflected back on that conversation and it grew on me.  At first I decided that this retired doctor’s story was engaging, but perhaps not all that unique.  Over the years I’ve heard many people delight in recalling their first glimpse of the Rockies, or their first vacation in Rocky Mountain National Park.  I find such stories always entertaining, sometimes humorous, loaded with details of family history, horse rides, hikes, picnics, mischief, or mishaps, like having flat tires or taking a tumble on a trail.

But the passion I heard in that doctor’s voice stayed with me, revealing that of a person who had experienced much more than a simple summer vacation.  That season in the woods had become a milestone in his life.  It was monumental in his memory.

The more I thought about it, the more I understood about the legacy left by the old CCC. Those workers changed parks and forests. But those parks and forests helped those young people fare for the better during difficult times. This future doctor was smart, energetic and impressionable. He came from an urban environment. Yet he knew nothing about working in the woods. It’s possible he was unfamiliar with any toil whatsoever that resulted in sweat. Most likely he had never visited a national park or forest before his first trip west.

He could have cared less about philosophical notions like “stewardship” or “conservation,” since he was seeking something simple—a job that paid a dollar a day.  With few  preconceptions, he came to the Rockies with an open mind and a willing heart, allowing the mountains to work their wonders.  His stay in the park was never intended as a vacation.  Yet he spent that summer in a very scenic place.  I watched him trace the profile of the nearby mountains with the side of his hand a second time, as if in salute, a gesture of memory, perhaps a tribute to the Corps. Just like those CCC boys who served in parks and forests all across the country, he enjoyed his spare hours by hiking or fishing, or engaged in a few camp sports of those days, ranging from baseball games to axe throwing contests.

The Youth Conservation Corps program offers young men and women the opportunity to work in the national parks and other public lands/NPS

What gave his youthful experience some depth, however, was the element of time.  As we all know, time is one of the most precious aspects of life.  And when it comes to experiencing parks or forests, most people today think in terms of a day or two for a visit.  Some enthusiasts may spend a week or more.  A handful of luckier people spend an entire summer; far fewer actually work or live there year round.  But for those seasonal CCC workers, not unlike the few conservation corps programs offered for young people today, their time in the parks and forests lasted several months.

Spending months of time in a national park is not a luxury most people can afford.  In fact, in those Depression-days of the CCC, most Americans couldn’t consider vacations of any kind.  With plenty of young workers available (because of unemployment) and a crying need for improvements (especially roads, trails, forestry) hundreds of projects were completed in less than a decade.  Sprouting from the Corps came a new crop of conservation-minded citizens.

There were several things about my hour with that doctor that haunted me later.  In my haste that day, I never thought to ask the man his name.  I regretted not being able to write him a note, thanking him for his story.  It left an indelible impression.  For me, he exemplified the positive, long-term (in his case, a 50-year) impact that our parks and forests can make on a young person.  I would like to have told him that these days philanthropy supports conservation corps in a handful of parks.  I would have invited him to sponsor a student, if he wished.

Consider this: If someone were to ask you which was “the best summer of your life,” what would you say?  Like the retired doctor, you might enjoy thinking back.  It’s fun, of course, to recall the good old days.  But rather than dwell upon the past, consider an alternative.  Why not press those buttons in our brains that say “play” or “forward” and envision that this coming summer is going to be our best?  Why not exercise our options to get out in the mountains and enjoy them for all they are worth?

Those unable to get outdoors because of age or illness should take pleasure in knowing that there is a new generation of conservationists now primed and willing to tackle those trails.  Like the CCC of years gone by, young folks getting a taste of public service this summer will face ten to 12 weeks of hiking, sweating, and good hard work.  They, too, will be making memories.  The rest of us can support programs like this with our donations.

Many of us do not have the luxury of several months' time nor the energy of youth.  But that doesn’t mean we need to sit in rocking chairs and fret about our fate.  Like that doctor from Brooklyn, we can take the trouble to refresh our memory.  Or we can grab some picnic gear, lace our walking shoes, and blaze a new trail of memories.  Even better, perhaps we can find some youngsters to introduce to the out-of-doors.

Some of what we learn from history are lessons about right and wrong.  What went wrong in the 1930s was called the Depression.  In that era of desperation, one thing that went right was the creation of public service jobs in the form of the Civilian Conservation Corps.  History boasts of its success:  the 1930s saw national parks serving as incubators for stewardship.           

National park leaders today worry about a growing disconnect between national parks and our techno-savvy youth. But our government no longer toils alone with such problems as unemployment and disaffected youth. Today there are hosts of nonprofit park partners and even local communities willing to help.  Recently reintroduced to a handful of parks through public spirited philanthropy,  the conservation corps for youth is an exceptionally impactful program from the past that should be a part of every national park's future.