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Category: Crecemos Outdoors

Feeling

I walk, I breathe, I can feel the heat, I appreciate the birds singing, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, my earth-colored skin, where flowers bloom. I look to my left and I see construction workers, building an apartment building, each of them working hard to give opportunities of a better tomorrow to their families. Many of them will never be able to hug their parents or grandparents again. The day they left was never to return, their footprints marked the path they had to walk, early one morning the dew covered the crop and the roosters crowed to say goodbye.

In that walk all the stories of childhood passed through your mind. You were on your way to meet with a group of people leaving north, that day the coffee did not taste the same, that day the sky was witness to another departure. They told you not to take much, but your grandmother never got that information, she woke early to prepare tortillas to take, the smoke from the fire wrapping you like a farewell hug; she packed that last meal loaded with hope. The neighbors said goodbye Tachajil awi, you will no longer be part of Tachajil awi the plantation this year. Your mother gave you a blessing and with tears in her eyes and a broken heart, wishing you a good trip and knowing the Yuum K’aaxo’ob protects you. You leave. You get on a truck, the next stop is uncertain, it is uncomfortable, it is hot and there is barely any water or space. Above all there is a smell of fading earth, as the hours pass and the mountains of your village become distant, everything is more real, you are going north. After several hours you remember that backpack and take out the meal, which will fill your stomach but also your heart. The backpack is heavy because you realize that it is loaded with dreams, but above all it is loaded with sorrows, anguish and fear. Suddenly in the crowd you notice there is a child watching you. You not only share a smile but food as well. The main ingredient is resilience because your grandmother, who is a widow, suffered from the internal war that lasted 36 years, a war that was called the Mayan Holocaust.

It is getting dark, the air is cold, while dozing off in the middle of the desert. You remember that your family had to sell their few possessions, your mother’s wedding hüipil and your grandmother’s precious silver necklace, they sold that so you could undertake this journey, and in this way become a weather vane that can change the course of the ship. You have to get there no matter how you have to get there, because the remittance will pay for the trip and you will finally be able to buy that stove for your mother. How she wishes she could keep cooking like her mom over an open fire, but she does not have the time now that she works for a salary that is barely enough to pay the rent.

Years have passed and that story has been forgotten, traditions live in your heart and grandma is no longer around. Now you go back to work, strapping on your toolbelt ready to finish the day’s work. It is extremely hot. Something the occupants may not notice as the apartments will be air-conditioned once your work is complete. I keep walking and I see day laborers, it is lunch time. There is nothing close to provide them with shade, they eat their lunch from their van to get a break from the sun. A quick lunch and silent talk. They have to make a better life for their children, now they have a house and don’t have to share the same room made out of corrugated steel.

Days pass and I call my friend to find out how she is doing in the suburbs of Los Angeles, they are living in fear. They do not want to go out even to the supermarket, their children are locked in an apartment in the middle of the summer, she says this is worse than the pandemic. She tells me to please use my privilege to share her story. She lost her husband two years ago, she came when she was young and has no papers because the system did not work for her. A system that has left her in this undocumented status even after both her husband and mother were granted legal status. She asks, “what happens if they deport me when my children are in school, who will cook dinner for them that night?” These stories are of people that are working in a country that has benefited economically from immigrants, illegal, legal, and all the different stages in between.

Our government set up these systems to benefit many sectors in the United States and now the very same people who have worked are being punished for supporting those systems.

My story begins in this country 20 years ago, when after graduating from college I was traveling and met the person who would become my husband. We got married 18 years ago, after moving to the US, I received a box full of souvenirs, some junk, and a clay pot, which has drained after I emigrated leaving my family, friends and a country full of esotericism, history, and a culture that pulsated in my heart. I was now in a foreign country with a culture I did not understand. After trying to fill this vessel with tears and longing, in human connections, I found empathy and new stories of resilience. In the community, I found hope.

My work with the Latino community began two years ago with Irene Vilar the founder of AFC+A. Providing opportunities for access to open space, forest bathing, and cultural events to communities that have historically and systematically been discriminated against. It has been a world-wind of change where I could see my actions directly affecting the lives of many people.

Unfortunately, after the election everything changed for the worst. Our DEI (Diversity, Equity and Inclusion) programs were presented in a way that made it look like we were doing something illegal or bad. Our funding was withheld and we have only been able to hold a few events this year. These programs are used to create community, understanding and create safe spaces where families can find peace and hope, but these spaces are shrinking daily.

When raids began in one county in Denver, 50% of the children in that county did not attend school for several days. The stories are nuanced, and this generational anxiety over federal immigration detentions and policies rooted in fear and exclusion has gripped thousands of immigrant residents and led many to limit the time they spend in public. In a divided times leading with compassion and respect, is how we can heal and grow together. Check on your immigrant community, help create an emergency preparedness plan, and use your voice, and privilege. You can learn more on Latino Outdoor’s Know Your Rights Resource page.

“Immigrants are a backbone, yet they’re being targeted and mistreated. This isn’t just wrong, it’s unacceptable. Our community deserves respect, dignity, and protection”. -Casa de Paz

Reforma Migratoria

Partiendo de la premisa

De que el pueblo inmigrante es la leva-brazo impresindible

De esta colosal máquina

Denominada Estados Unidos

Esta desesperanza tiene más de tres décadas

De ingerir el mismo caldo de cultivo

Charola con falacias de ambos partidos

Además del trato de indole tercermundista

No más seudopromesas

Ya basta de convertirnos en trampolín político

De retóricas trilladas estamos hasta el hartazgo

Por eso y muchas cosas

más

Nos encontramos en pie de lucha.

Urge reforma migratoria

Comprensiba, inclusiva, humana e imparcial.

– J.M. Patraca

Books recommendations:

  • A Magnificently Ordinary Romance: A Poetry Collection. – Celia Martinez.
  • Serving the Underserved: Strategies for Inclusive Community Engagement. – Dr. Catharine Bomhold
  • IMMIGRANT: I am a Mayan Q’anjob’al, a Guatemalan, an immigrant, a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a tech entrepreneur: my ancestry roots are my strength, and my people’s history my testimony. -Marcos Antil.
  • Say the Right Thing: How to Talk About Identity, Diversity, and Justice. – Kenji Yoshino , David Glasgow
  • La distancia entre nosotros. -Reyna Grande.
  • No somos de aquí. – Jenny Torres Sanchez
  • Stamped. Rendi Racism, Antiracism and You. – Jason Reynolds and Ibram X.
  • The Wind Knows My Name. – Isabel Allende
  • De Pánama a Nueva York: La historia de Jacquelina. – Jacqueline Atkins

It Started in My Backyard

por Jazzari Taylor, Policy Advocate

Every morning as a child, I could see the San Gabriel Mountains tucked between buildings across the street from my home. Their snow-covered peaks in winter, and more often than not, hazy outlines in smog-filled summers, shaped my view of afuera; what felt like another world beyond my city streets. Despite living just 10 minutes from the foothills, I rarely visited. Barriers like transportation, limited understanding of safe exploration, and a sense of cultural disconnection stood in the way.

Between the ages of 7 and 12, I joined a local summer camp that introduced me to the mountains. Little did I know those same landscapes were an extension of my backyard. As a kid, I didn’t quite grasp that connection to my hometown. It wasn’t until decades later that I returned with Latino Outdoors and Nature for All. Their programming expanded my perspective, highlighting the benefits of the outdoors, the interconnectedness of nature beyond city limits, and the confidence to explore safely.

📸Unceded homelands of the Ancestral Puebloans and the Fremont people –  learn more.

In just the past five years, that confidence has taken me beyond my community to visit and respect public lands across the country. Each place tells its own story, reminding me of the deep connection between nature, identity, and healing. From human-powered recreation like hiking, camping, kayaking, or simply breathing fresh air, I’ve found my purpose. These visits also connected me with local communities and small businesses whose livelihoods are tied directly to the landscapes around them.

 📸Unceded homelands of the Ute and Arapaho people – learn more.

Yet, every time I visited these places, I was reminded how access continues to be a challenge and how there were so many folks back at home who have never experienced these sacred lands and the many benefits they hold, in addition to not feeling safe in unfamiliar areas. Too often, people are profiled, targeted, or made to feel unwelcome based on their appearance, the language they speak, the music they listen to, the color of their skin, or their income level. Safety is a real concern, compounded by underfunded infrastructure, lack of representation, and limited transportation. For many of us, safety comes through solidarity; through group outings and community trust.

  📸 Unceded homelands of the Pit River Tribe and Modoc Peoples – learn more.

As we continue to advocate for equity, conservation, and community-centered stewardship, we must remember that protecting public lands also means protecting our stories, our identities, and our rights. These lands face constant threats, budget cuts, rollbacks, and even sell-offs. If we care about clean air, clean water, cultural survival, and inclusive access to nature, now is the time to act. Our voices and stories matter in shaping the future of conservation.

📸 Unceded homeland of the Gabrielino-Tongva, Chumash, Kitanemuk, Serrano, and Tataviam peoples – learn more.

One of the most powerful tools we have for that protection is the Antiquities Act of 1906. This law has been used for more than a century to safeguard cultural, historic, and natural treasures as national monuments. Defending the Antiquities Act means defending our shared heritage and future access to these lands, but it is currently being targeted at the Federal level of government for private investment and natural resource extraction that will impact the land, animals, and cultural sites. Now more than ever we need to hold the line for conservation and for our future

Last week, we wrapped up Hispanic Access Foundation’s Latino Conservation Week, a national celebration of cultura and community in the outdoors across “community, non-profit, faith-based, and government organizations and agencies”. We are reminded that conservation is not only about protecting landscapes, it’s about ensuring they are safe, accessible, and reflective of all communities. As we celebrate milestones like the 25th anniversary of the National Conservation Lands system, we must also look ahead.

📸 Unceded homeland of the Southern Paiute people – learn more.

Representation in our storytelling and the representatives we elect matters because our country is not a ‘one size fits all’. We are beautifully diverse. That diversity is the dream I hold onto, the hope and beauty of a conscious and changing America… but dreams alone are not enough. We must hold our leaders accountable to that vision, to act with courage, and to ensure policies reflect the voices of all communities. We need their voices to take action, because the future of our gente, conservation, and our democracy depends on it.

Together, we can ensure these breathtaking places remain protected for generations to come, and that every child, no matter where they live, can look to the outdoors and know they are safe and belong there too.

Help us tell Congress to fully fund outdoor access and protect conservation programs, and oppose policies that threaten these vital places with Outdoor Alliance. Our voices, our stories, and our future depend on it!

The Voices of the Rio Grande: Reclaiming Connection to the Outdoors on the Border

Por Marisol Vazquez

For many, “outdoor recreation” flashes images of someone hiking in national parks, camping under the stars, or backpacking through forests. But in South Texas, “outdoor recreation” can mean fishing, hunting, or carne asada. For those of us living on the border along the Rio Grande—especially in cities like Laredo, Texas—our connection to the outdoors looks different, but it’s no less real or meaningful.

Growing up here, the river wasn’t just scenery—it was survival. It’s our primary water source, a sacred space, and the heartbeat of our community. The outdoors to us means walking along dusty roads, fishing with uncles on the weekend, or gathering under mesquite trees for that stretch past sunset. We engage with the land through necessity, tradition, and love. Nature here isn’t always green or gentle—but it’s alive and deeply interwoven with who we are.

My personal connection to the outdoors wasn’t inspired by nature documentaries or summer camps. It was because I saw the importance of protecting and conserving the Rio Grande to ensure Laredo is habitable for future generations.

Outdoor engagement must be redefined to include experiences like ours—those rooted in survival, stewardship, and everyday life. We may not have high mountains or tall pine trees, but we have ritual, respect, and history on this land. The outdoors should welcome all forms of connection, especially those that have been ignored or undervalued.

Unfortunately, access to nature along the border comes with barriers. Militarization, pollution, and limited green space often make the outdoors feel like a restricted zone. The river that nurtures us is also guarded by checkpoints and fencing. There’s fear—of surveillance, of displacement, of contamination. Even public parks feel political when you grow up in a place where your backyard is a border.

Still, we find ways to reclaim it. That’s why it’s so important to create an outdoor movement that sees and values diverse experiences. The more we include people like us—who may not look like the “outdoorsy” stereotype—the more we restore justice to our relationship with the land. The Rio Grande reminds us that nature isn’t just out there. It’s here, at home, and it deserves our protection and belonging.

Marisol Vazquez is a recent graduate from Texas A&M International University, where she majored in biology. She aspires to ignite a passion for the outdoors in her community by advocacy, education, and outdoor activities like kayaking, bird watching, and hiking. Marisol’s outdoor adventures began in California, where she learned to kayak and rock climb and gained a love and appreciation for nature.