Another afternoon finds Colorado Springs’ leading candy family in their element.

In the hilltop factory on 21st Street, machines are whirring and churning. They’re creating some of the confections that have been beloved in the Pikes Peak region for more than 100 years. But there’s also an essential, human touch — something the Niswongers know all too well over three generations at Patsy’s Candies.

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“We still do things the old-fashioned way,” says Si, one of the family cooks. “We do it the way we were taught growing up.”

Here he is over a kettle of toffee heated to 236 degrees, mixed with just the right amounts of ingredients.

There’s his brother, Mike, the trusted chocolatier overseeing a rollout of cookies-and-cream squares.

There’s their sister, Christine Farrell, the trusted bookkeeper at the computer. There’s their aunt, busy packaging the treats that are shipped daily to hotels, clubs, parks and other accounts around the country.

There’s their father, patrolling the production floor with a pipe in his hard, scarred hand. Into his 80s, Wes is still fixing things that need fixing. He’s still taking meetings; he has a conference call this afternoon with manufacturing people in Ireland about the latest and greatest equipment Patsy’s needs.

“He comes down every day, and he’s on his feet a good portion of the day,” Mike says. “I think it drives him to see this business really succeed and go in the direction we’re going.”

Yes, one of Colorado Springs’ oldest businesses is still evolving, still dreaming.

“We’re really trying to build it up and get to the next level,” Christine says here in what’s been the company base since 1976. “I think we’re going to outgrow this building. I think eventually we’ll either add on or move, but we definitely need more square footage.”

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No matter what, the aim will be to stay true to the roots. It’s a promise that can be tasted. The crunchy, candy-coated popcorn is one recipe that has stayed the same, dating to the very beginning.

Patsy Mahaney, an immigrant from Ireland, brought the treat to Manitou Springs and opened his store in 1903. (The store is now a franchise leased by the Niswongers.) Mahaney sold in the next decade to a local family, the Osborns, who introduced saltwater taffy and peanut brittle to the selections. In 1956, they sold to friends Howard and Carolyn Niswonger.

Their son, Wes, would introduce the chocolates alongside the girl next door who would be his wife. Annette would be the friendly, smiling face of the business, which was then situated in a brick Quonset hut by the train tracks near downtown. Annette would bring the kids there after school.

“We had started the chocolate business, and it was all done by hand,” Si says. “We got there, and we would work until 11 at night. We hand-rolled each and every cream.”

Their father moved them up 21st Street, where he could ramp up production with automated technology and expand clientele. From high on the hill, the kids watched the city change below.

They remember open fields where there is now a neighborhood. They remember searching for fossils. They remember a drive-in theater, a bowling alley.

The landscape was changing, too, for the candy industry.

“When we were growing up, there was a ton of small mom-and-pop businesses like ourselves,” Mike says.

“Over the years, we’d see them go out of business or get bought out; things were consolidating to where there were big players and very few small ones. We had reached a point where we weren’t a mom-and-pop, and we weren’t large-scale. We were in this hard spot where we were competing on both sides.”

Si remembers tight finances. He remembers working more when paychecks were hard to write. “If it meant longer hours or fewer people, we just did it,” he says.

All along, their mom smiled, greeting customers who came back for her as much as the candy. In the hard times, she was “an amazing, guiding light,” Christine says. “She brought that element of grace.”

Annette brought that grace to her fight against cancer. She died in 2013. She was 72.

“That really knocked the wind out of the sails,” Si says.

It didn’t feel the same at the factory. It felt empty. That was partly why in 2016, when an offer came, the family decided to sell.

They weren’t away for long. The Niswongers soon found themselves in a legal battle, as previously reported by The Gazette. They alleged the buyer breached the purchase agreement and promissory note obligations. The court ordered the business be returned to the family.

Those were “the dark ages,” Si says. They gave way to a needed reminder.

A letter came from The Broadmoor, welcoming the family back and calling them “a gift to the community.” Regulars flooded through the doors, past the memorial for Annette. People hugged. Some cried. “It made me cry,” Si says. “I couldn’t believe how much support we got.”

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They still feel support from their mom. They don’t feel that emptiness at the factory anymore.

“I feel like I walk in here, and it’s like my mom’s here,” Christine say.

Customers walk in to the smiling face of Gay Keeny, a longtime helper behind the counter. It’s about to get really busy, she says.

“When the holidays come, we’ll have people lined up this way and that,” she says.

“But it’s fun, because it’s candy. It makes people happy.”