There are moments in life that shimmer in memory long after they’ve passed, where joy lingers in the air like perfume, and you feel the warmth of something bigger than yourself. That was Easter weekend for me.

As Mrs. Taos County, United States, I had the honor of stepping into Kit Carson Park not just wearing a crown and sash, but carrying a message: that joy, visibility, and belonging are birthrights, especially for our children and women. What unfolded that day was nothing short of magical.

The park buzzed with laughter. Children darted across fields with Easter baskets in hand, chasing colorful dreams tucked inside plastic eggs. My own family joined in the celebration, photo booths, our hearts light, enjoying one another's company, seeing familiar faces, like we had nothing else in the world to do but be present.

But it wasn’t just the games, the DJ spinning joyful tunes, or the Easter bunny giving away bags of cheer, it was the way the community showed up for one another. I watched our local fire department laugh alongside toddlers, and teens race against first responders in playful rivalry. This was the heartbeat of Taos.

And then came a moment that caught me off guard. I had brought glimmering crowns to gift to the children, tiny reminders that they too are royalty in their own right. I didn’t expect what happened next. I expected excitement from the children, but what moved me deeply was watching not only the young girls but their mothers, and even their grandmothers, approach me with wide eyes and hopeful smiles, asking if they too could have a crown.

It was powerful. It was tender. It was sacred.

Each crown passed from my hands became more than an accessory, it became a symbol of self-worth, of generational pride, of shared womanhood. Some women placed the crown on their daughters, some wore it themselves, and some simply held it close as if reclaiming a part of themselves long forgotten.

Before I knew it, the crowns were gone. But in their place, what remained was something far more lasting: joy, visibility, and a renewed sense of belonging.

That’s the power of representation. That’s why I show up.

This isn’t just a title for me, it’s a mission. To remind women and girls of their value, to speak truth into rooms where we’re often asked to shrink, and to celebrate life’s moments not as a bystander but as a positive role model.

To every little girl and every woman who asked me what the crown means, my answer is this:

It means you can grow up and lead with grace.
It means your story matters.
It means we are building something beautiful, together.

…Before I left, I turned back one last time.

Across the field, I saw the crowns, glimmering in the golden light, each rhinestone catching the sun like tiny stars scattered across a sea of laughter and love. It stopped me in my tracks. In that moment, I realized how deeply moving and rewarding it is to help build something, no matter how small, that makes others feel seen, valued, and worthy of celebration.

That day, the crowns may have run out…
But something else had only just begun.

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I’m deeply thankful to the organizations who made this day so vibrant and welcoming:LULAC Council #78, Super Save Discount Food Store, Taos Fire Department, Town of Taos, Dream Choice Photography, Native Winds Radio, DJ Chicharron, Shiphrah Campbell of Acutetremonts Face Painting, True Kids 1, and every volunteer, family, and first responder who showed up with heart and soul.