5280 Denver's Magazine
Shari Caudron
Boulder, Colo.

Deep inside the Boulder County Jail, down a maze of long hallways, sits a dimly lit cinder-block room. Inside, six male inmates in blue jumpsuits and Chuck Taylor knock-offs are preparing to do what they do every Thursday morning: meditate.

Boulder's liberal stereotype is well-known, and it might explain Transition's "Boulderesque" feel. Over two days, I see inmates standing in the yoga tree pose, discussing segments heard on NPR, and making confessional statements such as, "I suffer from poor self-control and have a need for instant gratification." Classes require outside reading or homework, and inmates carry around fat folders of paperwork. If not for the blue jumpsuits, locked classrooms, and pungent, omnipresent smell—a mixture of unwashed bodies, disinfectant, and cafeteria food—you'd think you were at a community college.

Before another session, the doors on the cells click-whoosh open—Transition participants are housed together—and soon all the inmates are seated for "Roots and Shoots," a program favorite. They quietly listen to an animal behaviorist talk about the possible endangerment of black panthers, giant pandas, and black-footed ferrets. The course, created by a University of Colorado professor, teaches inmates to care about something besides themselves. Read on.