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Author: Ruby Rodríguez

Connecting to National Trails

por Crystal Salvador-Zapote

Growing up with undocumented parents limited what was available to me as a child. Most of our family outings were to the local park, which was less than a mile away from where I lived. We stayed within this one-mile radius for the first decade of my life, until my parents became naturalized citizens. Meanwhile, I got older and ventured outside less. Florida is extremely humid, even in winter, which makes going outside less than desirable.

My grandfather was an important part of the reason I got back outside. He was 60 years old when he moved to the United States, spoke no English, and had no way to navigate around town, yet he somehow managed to find the closest walking trails. He was content to venture away from home and would disappear from sunrise till sunset.

Crystal with her Grandfather

He was 60 years old when he moved to the United States, spoke no English, and had no way to navigate around town, yet he somehow managed to find the closest walking trails.

After a few instances of my grandfather “staying out too late” (or getting lost), my family decided he needed a chaperone. My cousins and I became obligated to be his walking partners. Our only advantage: we knew English and could work a smart phone. We reluctantly accepted, and quickly found out that we had to run to keep up with his walking pace. When I got a job as a backpacking guide he was one of the first people I told, and more than pride I sensed his envy of my opportunity to wander around in the desert.

Recently, through a lot of hard work and persistence—and with the help of an organization called Hispanic Access Foundation— I was able to land a fellowship with the National Park Service. My fellowship is with the National Trails System, a component of the National Park Service that aims to protect and preserve natural and cultural resources through designated National Trails.

While these trails may be unrecognized by a majority of the American public, they offer tremendous opportunities to recreate and reconnect to the history of the nation. The people that I have met since starting my fellowship are working to share this history and promote and provide access to these treasured resources.

Ream Wilson Clearwater Trail, Florida

Soon after starting my fellowship I discovered that the trail my grandfather loved to frequent, the Ream Wilson Clearwater Trail, is a designated National Recreation Trail—one of the four types of trails that make up the National Trails System—I had no idea.

This piqued my interest and, because I knew National Trails Day was approaching, I wanted to share a story about a National Trail with roots in an intriguing history of Latinos in the west, which brings me to Naomi Torres.

Naomi joins Latino Outdoors for a day of training.

Naomi is an advocate for involving the Latino community in conservation work and serves as Superintendent for the Juan Bautista de Anza National Historic Trail. She has been working with the National Park Service for many years and emphasizes the importance of encouraging pride of place with Latinx youth. She has worked with many partners to bring youth programming to the trail and is also working to connect people to the history of the Anza trail, a story that is not typically shared in the classroom.

Naomi also believes the story told today focuses on the Spanish colonial, which does not paint a whole picture of the history of the Anza trail. She hopes to be able to share the story of the diverse characters that make up the trails’ history, which include Afro-Latinos and the native peoples that lived and still live along the trail.

Photo Credit: Anza Trail NPS

This work is not easy to do, as it takes a lot of involved time, but is necessary and the payoff is great. The Anza trail offers many opportunities to get on the trail or to visit historic sites, as well as opportunities to get involved. If you are in California or Arizona, I encourage you to connect to the Anza trail, and if you reside elsewhere just know that there are many other National Trails to visit.

At the beginning of February I was at Hike the Hill, a National Trails conference, when I got a call from my dad. My grandpa had been in and out of the hospital for a few years and had always managed to get back on his feet, but that was not the case this time around. Unfortunately, I did not get the chance to say goodbye, so when I flew into Florida to attend his funeral I knew I wanted to find my own way to commemorate his life. 

When I was still living in Florida and would visit from college, my grandpa and I would often walk the Clearwater trail to a small bay where we could watch the sunset. On my visit to Florida I walked the same trail, this time without my grandfather. As I watched the sun set I reflected on his quiet nature and how he was the one who introduced me to quiet walks. The first that I can remember were walks on his farm in Mexico when I was only a toddler.

For this upcoming National Trails Day, June 6th, I have planned an early morning hike. The outdoors is a space where I can meditate and re-center myself, and with the events going on in today’s world I know I could benefit from carving out some space for quiet contemplation. I am also taking a pledge to leave the trail better than I find it, with the plan of going out with a trash bag to pick up any waste I find along the trail. I invite you to also get outside if possible. However, I understand it may feel difficult to step away from the world due to diverse reasons. If this is the case, no worries, the trail will always be there. 

A Founder’s Perspective

por José G. González

The times an organization is founded are full of joy, excitement, hope, optimism, and certainly anxiety, stress, and uncertainty. They include going from an “idea” to an actuality with responsibility. And for all the highs and successes, they are often intertwined with visible and invisible challenges, and defeats. All of which of course are ultimately lessons and opportunities for learning. 

When it’s the work of our younger years, there is especially so much boundless optimism of what we can do. Ultimately, actually doing it, with some trial and error, tempers those creative fires into what is actionable. 

That is neither to diminish the successes or romanticize the work, but rather to genuinely celebrate what we accomplish, because at the end of the day, we bring something into creation that matters to us. That positively affects our communities, and it exists. 

The early days of Latino Outdoors were full of all the aforementioned feelings, emotions, aspirations, and more. If you were to ask me what the future of Latino Outdoors would be five years on from our first outing, I was not sure I would have an adequate answer to capture it– I would likely still be stressing out about the fact that our first cohort of leaders wanted to undertake programming. Do they understand how much responsibility that is? The liability? The training? That we have no money? And on and on, I asked myself. 

Of course I still had hope and commitment, because one thing that has been consistent since then is our volunteers’ own hope, commitment, not to mention passion and corazón. From the beginning our volunteer leaders have been the ones to make it happen, and Latino Outdoors exists because of that. My job was to do what I could to ensure the support and resources to facilitate that. 

When this all started, I was looking for “others like me”, and here you are, here WE are. You made the aspiration of JUNTOS a reality, you continue to do so, and I do not doubt that will ensure the success of Latino Outdoors into the future, regardless of the amount of resources we have and the scale at which we operate. 

We went from finding each other on social media to taking familias outdoors across the U.S. From a WordPress blog to screening a film at the White House. From a small group of mothers with strollers on the trail to programming partnerships with land management agencies, outdoor brands, and other kindred organizations. Latino Outdoors is ever evolving with our roots still grounded in community. 

When I first designed the logo for Latino Outdoors, the challenge was to represent gente, medio ambiente, y cultura. To capture people and the outdoors without limiting too much the diversity of the Latinx experience and scope–not an easy task in any way whatsoever. But I am proud of the creation. The sun represents a common element in many of our communities, while also pointing to the four directions. The volute glyph, in relation to the sun looks like wind or a wisp of a cloud, completing a natural element. But it is also the tlahtolli, symbolizing our voz, a statement of presence. Thus, all together, in the style of a petroglyph, they represent a mestizaje of human and non-human nature, an interdependent relationship grounded in cultura.

You’ve taken that logo across many landscapes, from urban centers like L.A., D.C., and N.Y.C. to distant nature such as the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. As Latino Outdoors volunteer leaders, you’ve all put in the work for that logo to mean something and expand its significance. When people come across it and recognize it, it stands for the work you’ve all done and are doing, a collective reminder and invitation that can stand apart from the words. 

Speaking of reminders and invitations, what we do is not limited to the Latinx experience– every time people think we are being exclusive, they miss that point. That is our grounding experience as part of equitable work for that idea of an Outdoors for All– equality through equitable access, diversity through inclusive experiences. We provide a focused conversation on the Latinx experience (and in reality, a spectrum that captures Raza, Hispanxs, Chicanxs, and a broad mestizaje that honors indigenous roots).  While this is done so that our communities see themselves represented through intra-community valuation, it also allows for the inter-community relationship building that is vital to the growth and development of present and future constituencies that experience and protect our public lands. 

Yeah, you do all that; we do all that. At the end of the day, I think the words pride and humility are a close approximation of what I feel for you and the work you do.

In Your Blood

por Jasmin Antonia Estrada

My uncle came to this country in the bed of a truck. He crossed the desert hidden and hot; nature was not separate and he was connected. To the outdoor industry that I have become part of my uncles’ story is not the typical idea of an experience that builds one’s connection to nature. And though it was not a positive connection, it was potent to his relationship to the desert and to himself as part of nature.

He and many people who don’t have access to interacting with nature as a leisure activity deserve to have moments in nature that are not in passing nor fear. Moments that are not plummeted in the history of the wild and dark being used as a place for violence against themselves and their ancestors, for trauma, or seen as dirty for being in it—but as a place of positive connection, for growth, for home and exploration, a place that can be a refuge.

I was a kid, sitting in a red plastic chair with the words Coca-Cola written on the top, in the heat of Guatemala City.  The chair stuck to me no matter how I sat in it. A small parrot cooed. There was no distance between the outside and the inside; I was inside looking up at the sky heavy with weather. The hallway lead from the “patio” to the kitchen, no doors in between and when it rained you would get wet going from the bathroom to the kitchen. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of wet pavement and flowers bobbing under the weight of the midday shower. I was part of nature deeply, the mix of concrete and potted plants was the beginning of my understanding that there is no right way to be the part of nature that you are. 

“I was part of nature deeply, the mix of concrete and potted plants was the beginning of my understanding that there is no right way to be the part of nature that you are.”

Jasmin Antonia Estrada

The young people on the trips that I now lead are from wood and concrete structures. They know the taste of tap water and they feel the pollution in their lungs, they are connected. I found my place in connecting them to the trails and the mountains. They knew about the bus stops and the weeds that have the profound ability to break concrete. I wanted them to also see the rivers and the unadulterated morning light. To hear the birds. 

We were in the White Mountains at our campsite on the fourth day of two weeks on the trail with a group of majority youth of color we were debriefing the day late into the night, sitting in a circle recalling the success and learning moments. I remember this night is when we discovered that “together as a team, when we are on the same page, we can do anything.” The revelation of success. These young people who have never been backpacking before deciding that their group was a home they could have, that nature was a house they could thrive in. The rest of us didn’t notice it, but when it was Michael’s time to share he was silent. This look of awe and fear fell on his face, “Is that the moon?” the question fell out of his mouth so loudly as if forced out by his brain. We all looked towards the dark silhouetted mountains. The red sliver of the rising moon was sparkling over the peaks. “Yes, that’s the moon.” Miles responded slowly. We sat there in a contracted silence. Ten minutes passed. “I have never seen anything like this.” Michael had tears in his eyes, Miles put his arm around him, and we sat there, all slowly sharing the moon we all knew. 

I have many narratives of myself in the wilderness. My history as a mixed person, as colonized and colonizer, my experiences as a child being mesmerized by ants, my time as an educator coming to the understanding that there is no “right” way to be in nature. I have exhausted and am exhausted by the way I have presented my narrative to be part of white institutions, to express a difference yet a similarity that they are comfortable with. 

I can see that moon burned into my eyes, that moon for me is the positive connection that we all deserve. Not just the sunny days in a park, but the part of nature that reminds you that you are nature and that that is a beautiful thing.  He deserved this. There is no number of glossy photos or gear that can make you more or less part of it, it is in your blood, and it belongs to you, and that moon, it was Michael’s.