We’re not as close anymore, so it’s been a while since my last visit. You look beautiful. Not surprisingly, you’ve drawn the attention of many others on this lovely day. You’ve always had that appeal. Where there’s a dearth of them, you’re a gem, and time and again, you find a way of making people feel as good as a ten.
Some, openly express the joy you inspire in them, as if hoping to impress you while reveling in their varied pleasures and passions in your presence. People of all kinds show off their strengths and abilities, vying for your attention, looking to connect.
Others are more reserved around you. I fall into this camp, leisurely and contemplatively walking, reacquainting myself with you. Whenever I’m here, the challenges seem that much more bearable. The troubles are not so troubling. I’m both nostalgic and forward-looking when I’m with you. You’re an oasis in the middle of too much.
I yearned for you before I even knew you. Then we met and my expectations were beyond met. You became an inextricable part of my life. Birthdays, gatherings with friends, special family moments, you were there for them. When I left, I always returned, no matter the distance. During our reunions, you centered me, reminding me of who I am and where I come from. And although you’re no longer a fixture in my everyday life, seeing you do for others, what you did for me brings me wellness and joy.
Maybe it’s silly, but I love you. Always will.
From left: Luis and his piñata at South Gate Park, Luis learning that he’s not going to the park, Luis enjoying the park more recently.
Luis loves parks, especially local ones. He grew up in southern California’s urban density and has had a close relationship with South Gate Park since he was a small child. Despite moving away, it continues to this day.
I am a second year graduate student studying Environmental Science at Pace University in New York. I am currently 26 years old and will be starting my thesis soon on the effects of man-made dams on aquatic ecosystems.
I become engulfed with pride and joy as I’m able to share my photos and knowledge with everyday people who also care for our natural world and the creatures living side by side with us.
I am currently working as an intern at Rockefeller State Park Preserve. During my time there, we are surveying the local turtle population to better understand what species are present and how abundant they are. In one of the photos, I am holding the largest common snapping turtle we recorded in our survey which weighed in over 20 pounds. While we conduct our research we teach parents and kids who pass by about our project and why it is important for us to know what is present in the preserve area. When we are not conducting the survey, we watch over our local Purple Martin nesting site and make sure they are breeding safely and stay well protected.
Although I’m only an intern working with the state, I become engulfed with pride and joy as I’m able to share my photos and knowledge with everyday people who also care for our natural world and the creatures living side by side with us.
Felix González is currently a Master’s of Science student at Pace University in Pleasantville, New York. A 26-year-old Puerto Rican from the Bronx, he is also a fisherman, hiker, trail runner, and wildlife photographer. Felix’s passion for the outdoors has been with him since he was a child, and he is finally able to live out his dreams of working in and protecting the great outdoors.
Growing up in Queens, New York within a Latino immigrant family the closest I got to being outdoors was the neighborhood playground, along with occasional trips to Central and Flushing Meadow Park. These were short day trips that consisted of barbecues, lawn lounging, and sneaking over to the handball courts to crush on whatever dreamy boy was around. In essence, these were socializing opportunities and not necessarily moments designed to commune in nature.
the experience was torturous; my only escape was the woods.
My interest in the outdoors was originally ignited during a short residency I had in the Upstate New York area. I was 6 or 7 years old and was sent off to live in a now-defunct facility called the Asthmatic Children’s Foundation (ACF) for a year or so. Though my parents had the best intentions in placing me there, the experience was torturous; my only escape was the woods. Nestled in between a network of lush trees, mountains, and lakes stood an industrially designed single-story building where I was housed with other Brown and Black asthmatic city kids. We all had different issues acclimating to our new surroundings and reacted accordingly. Some acted out while others created alternative families with the other kids. I did a little of both, but I also made the surrounding woods my haven. I hid amongst the trees, ran in fields, caught tadpoles, and made up imaginary worlds to escape into. Once my parents recognized how unhappy I was living there, they pulled me out and brought me back home. I was happy to be back, but I missed the woods. I missed the feeling of being alone yet connected to something bigger than myself even if I didn’t recognize that feeling for what it was at the time. It wouldn’t be until my adult years that I would ever really get to visit the woods in the same way.
My interest in the outdoors was reignited by the promise of a trip to Alaska that did not end up panning out. And although I was unable to make it that far out into the Northwest, I was determined to make it as far out as I could. I reached out to a good friend who lived in Washington State and shared my plan with him. He offered me his support, a place to stay, and his company on my journey. So with that in mind I bought a ticket, trained weekly, and started collecting gear for my trip. To say that this experience changed my life would be an understatement—it was a homecoming. We ended up driving through and camping out on Mt. Rainier, hiking arbitrary trails that caught our fancy along the way. Everything up there felt magical, lush, and picturesque, like a postcard or state emblem come to life. I could taste the earth in the air.
Spending time outdoors is how I find peace and connection, not only to the Earth, but to my ancestors who lived off the Earth. It is my inheritance.
Every sight I saw, every moment experienced, I experienced with my heart in my throat and excitement pulsing through my veins. It was a spiritual awakening of sorts and I haven’t looked back since. Spending time outdoors is how I find peace and connection, not only to the Earth, but to my ancestors who lived off the Earth. It is my inheritance. The outdoors were and continue to be my sanctuary. As Frank Lloyd Wright said “I put a capital N on nature and call it my church.”
Nadia enjoys a homecoming at Mt. Rainier National Park.
Being in contact with nature has tremendous healing powers and it belongs to us all. Too often Brown and Black communities do not have the same access to outdoor spaces as white Americans do, and we lose touch with nature and our connection to it. It is imperative that we maintain our lineage to the Earth and allow ourselves to experience everything the outdoors has to offer when we have the opportunity to do so. My hope is that we continue to create more and more opportunities for ourselves and for our communities.
Nadia Rodriguez is a hiking/camping enthusiast from New York who takes special interest in social and environmental justice, and equity advocacy. She works for the National Audubon Society and contributes to the organization’s ED&I efforts. She’s also the Co-Owner of Luna Ruda, an online retail business selling ethically sourced – fair trade products from South American artisans. Nadia enjoys spending time with her son, thrifting & record shopping, and engaging in self-care practices.
