This past weekend, my husband and I were hiking near Yachats on the Oregon Coast when we stumbled across something that might be easily missed—a set of moss-covered stone steps tucked into the trees. The remnants of a Civilian Conservation Corps camp.
If it weren’t for the educational sign posted by the US Forest Service, you might walk right past. It was difficult to imagine that—nearly a century ago—young men lived and worked right here (and elsewhere around our country), shaping the parks we now take for granted.
As ferns and moss spilled over the stone steps, the forest seemed to be slowly erasing all signs of the camp’s existence. Standing there, I couldn’t help but think how easily the stories of the men who lived here could also fade.
The Civilian Conservation Corps was created during the Great Depression, when jobs were scarce and many families struggled to get by. Young men—mostly from large urban centers—signed up for work that would take them far from home and deep into the country’s wild places. They earned thirty dollars a month, but only five of those dollars were theirs to keep. The rest was sent home to help support their families.
They built roads and trails. Planted trees. Constructed bridges, fire lookouts, and campgrounds. They worked long days in all kinds of weather, often in places that felt far removed from anything familiar.
And yet, after their time in those remote camps, they walked away with more than practical skills. They also gained friendships, resilience, strength, and self-confidence. And as World War II began, many of them stepped straight into military life already prepared for the realities of camp life and following orders.
It’s easy to think of the CCC in broad strokes, as a program or a piece of history. But standing there among those moss-covered stones, it felt much more personal than that.
Someone carried each of those rocks.
Someone shaped those steps by hand.
Someone stood right where I was standing, nearly a century ago, looking out at the same stretch of forest.
Creating My Own Civilian Conservation Corps Story
In 2018, as I was writing my Yellowstone National Park novel, Ever Faithful, I found myself drawn to this moment in history.
I kept thinking about the young men who signed up for the CCC. Many of these former “city boys” were leaving home for the first time and heading into places that must have felt both exciting and intimidating. The work was hard, and the conditions were often harsh and unforgiving.
But there was a sense of purpose in it that kept drawing me in.
In the novel, my hero, Nate, arrives at a camp in Yellowstone carrying more than just a bedroll. He’s spent most of his life believing he’s not very smart—he struggles to read, and his father never let him forget it.
The CCC is the first place where that narrative begins to shift.
Out in the forest, Nate discovers he has an eye for things others miss—especially when it comes to spotting diseased trees. And as time goes on, he finds himself stepping into leadership in ways he never expected, earning the respect of the men around him. Elsie Brooks, an aspiring teacher, even helps him begin to unlock his ability to read.
It’s not an easy road. But slowly, he begins to see that maybe the problem was never that he lacked ability—only that no one had helped him recognize it. And more than that, he begins to understand that God had not made a mistake in how He created him.
That the gifts were there all along.
They simply needed the right place—and the right moment—to come into the light.
The stories don’t need to disappear
The forest may go on reclaiming places like that old camp.
But the stories don’t have to disappear with them.
If your family has a connection to the Civilian Conservation Corps, I’d love to hear it.