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Category: Introductions to the Outdoors

Inheriting a Tradition: Embracing My Dad’s Love of the Outdoors

por Brian Gabriel Canever

I was 7 years old the first time I watched my dad clean a catfish. We were in the kitchen of the old ranch house in the Pocono Mountains where we’d go every summer to escape the city. He cut off its head. Even separated from its body, the fish’s lips smacked together like it was still breathing. I was terrified. And strangely fascinated. The same feeling I had had a few years earlier at my grandparent’s house on the dirt road side of Capitan Bermudez in Argentina, where my grandfather slaughtered a chicken and let it run headless through the yard.

For men like them, when it came to blood and guts, there was never any blushing or hesitation. As for me, I could not have turned out more different.

In the 1980s, my parents immigrated to Bayonne, New Jersey, a densely packed city a few miles and the New York Bay away from Manhattan. My brother, Victor, and I were city dwellers, inheriting my urbanite mother’s traits. She grew up a dozen miles away from my dad in Rosario, Argentina’s second largest city. She wasn’t present on the visit when my grandfather cut off the chicken’s head—she is terrified of livestock. My father, on the other hand, he could be left in the woods beside a river with a knife, a lighter, and a sack of red wine, and hours later you would find him dining on freshly caught Rainbow trout. “Want a piece? It’s good,” he’d likely say.

In my head live these snapshots of my dad’s efforts to ingrain a love of the outdoors in Victor and me. He took us to fish piers in Central Jersey and on the beaches of Staten Island for snapper bluefish, porgy, fluke, and striped bass. He brought us hunting with his Portuguese friends in the woods of eastern Pennsylvania and West Jersey, teaching us to handle a shotgun with care as we sought out pheasant, rabbit, and dove. After we passed our hunter education courses, he bought a simple clay thrower from Walmart so we could practice shooting. That was usually out at the ranch house, where, in the same weekend, he’d drive us to a nearby stocked trout pond, The Fishing Hole it was called, and pay for us to hook into a few fish we’d bring to cook later on the grill and eat.

It took some years for us to catch the outdoor bug I always saw as so inseparable from my dad’s identity.

“In my head live these snapshots of my dad’s efforts to ingrain a love of the outdoors in Victor and me”.

As kids, if Victor and I weren’t outdoors with my dad we were likely helping him on plumbing jobs, running copper, replacing water heaters, and installing baseboard heating everywhere from musty basements to million-dollar houses in the suburbs—when he got a call for a job, no matter what or where, he rarely turned it down. Like many immigrants (and blue-collar Americans), the outdoor hobbies he lived for were paid for with long, hard hours that stretched far beyond the comfortable 40 I’m now privileged to spend behind a desk at my white-collar job—thanks to his sacrifices.

Nearly two years ago, I decided I was going to reconnect with the outdoors. Yes, I had spent some weekends in college camping in the woods with friends. After freshman year, three of us explored Scotland over the course of three weeks. We slept in a tent in the backyards of kind strangers and even once in a valley on the beautiful Isle of Skye. After moving to Knoxville, Tennessee, in 2011, I explored the Great Smoky Mountains. My brother and I took trips to the Rockies in Colorado and camped in the Grand Tetons.

Still, the outdoors hadn’t become a staple of life, yet. It took the guidance of a close friend to reawaken the spirit my dad hoped for years to instill in me. In the last two years I’ve picked up recreational shooting, bass fishing, and fly fishing in the trout-rich waters of East Tennessee. I am never more at peace than while on a small stream in the Smokies watching a dry fly float toward a rising brook trout.

No one could’ve predicted this. When I first left New Jersey after college, I rarely spoke with my dad over the phone. It wasn’t like it is for us younger generations. Old immigrants are hard; they must be that way to make it in a foreign land, not just for themselves but for the families they’re providing for. But, in the past two years, I’ve found myself calling my dad regularly for advice about the best hooks to use and shell sizes for target shooting. He doesn’t know how to use a computer, so all of his wisdom is inherited, learned on the water, in the woods, or through other outdoorsmen he meets. He isn’t shy. It’s incredible to picture the library collections stored in his head, while I spend hours on YouTube and Google searching “how to tie the best fishing knot.”

One day soon I hope my dad will join me here in Knoxville. I meet friends who are curious about a northerner and a Latino who knows something about what it’s like to hunt on opening day or descale a fish. A lot of my Latino brethren here are from rural parts of Central America. They settle in the most urban parts of Knoxville. I am not sure how many have regular access to the outdoors. I imagine their dads, like mine, spend hours hard at work, rompiendose el lomo (“breaking their backs”), to put food on the table. If providence grants it, I hope I play a part in passing on this tradition I’ve inherited from my dad to not only my children but to the many children who don’t have the same opportunities I had thanks to him.

This past August, my wife and I joined my parents and brother for a family vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. My dad was excited to take Victor and me out fishing to the spots he’s learned over the last decade. On the first full day, we drove over to this jetty separating the sound from the ocean. Right where the rocks ended, he cut up fresh mullet and tied pieces to big circle hooks he had us cast far out into the surf. The wind whipped at our faces and dragged the lines into the seaweed. Then, we saw the first rod bend. It looked like the bend on a branch carrying the weight of a hanging child before snapping at the base. My dad never reels in fish when we’re around. He still passes the glory of the catch to his greenhorn sons. On the other end, a more-than-two-foot long redfish. It was one of four we’d catch together that morning—the first time my dad had ever caught redfish. It was a special moment. And it was only possible because of him and this tradition he’s worked hard for us to inherit.

Brian Gabriel is a writer based in Knoxville, Tennessee. He has written about American cage fighters, immigrant soccer players, community educators, front-line health care workers, and hundreds of local, national, and international nonprofit and higher education leaders. Brian learned to fish from his father, an Argentinian immigrant raised on the Paraná River, and spends his free time roaming the Smoky Mountains for wild and native trout.

Connection with the Earth

por Fernando Silveira

All my life, I was really into the outdoors and since I was a little kid, I felt a connection with the Earth. I grew up going to the beach and exploring all around. I used to love to learn about mosses and animal habitats. My family and I had a garden in our house, so I always was in contact with plants and the environment. Shortly after, we built a small community garden for our neighbors. I am proud to say that the garden continues to remain in use by the community.

In high school, I participated in some projects, such as; recycling, conservation, cleaning up beaches, and would volunteer on an organic farm. In college, I had a variety of different experiences in various locations. I worked on a big farm that harvested oranges, worked with an equine-assisted therapy organization, planted flowers, grew potatoes, and worked with agroforestry systems. My last experience before I came to the U.S. was on a sustainable farm, it gave me the experience to explore the conservation and restoration fields. My main goal at EarthCorps now is to improve my knowledge in this area of study.


I am an Agronomic Engineer. I had a solid background with agriculture, learning, and working with different plantations and farms, a variety of plants, and a diverse group of animals – but I miss the horses the most. All of these experiences helped me in learning how conservation and agriculture are interconnected.

“My last experience before I came to the U.S. was on a sustainable farm, it gave me the experience to explore the conservation and restoration fields”.

Fernando Silveira

I learned a lot about conservation agriculture. What is Conservation Agriculture? It is defined as a sustainable agricultural system made up of a set of farming practices adapted to the requirements of crops and local conditions of each region. Its farming and soil management techniques that protect the soil from erosion and degradation, improve its quality and biodiversity and contribute to the preservation of our natural resources. Similar to what I’ve learned at EarthCorps, almost all forms of conservation agriculture share three core principles; regular maintenance of soil cover, minimum soil disturbance, and the practice of regular crop rotations.

At EarthCorps, I am learning different techniques of conservation and forest restoration that I can apply in many situations in the agriculture field both in Brazil or wherever I go next. EarthCorps made me think outside the box. I’ve been with EarthCorps for two years and have learned and grown a lot, not just professionally but personally too. EarthCorps is a community that I will carry with me my entire life, I made connections with people all around the U.S. and the world. Each of them teaches me something every day, a lot of people with different backgrounds and experiences but with the same goal “strengthen community and restore the health of our environment”.

Rediscovering the nature around us

por Maria Baron Palamar

During our previous normal, you know, like a hundred years ago (it feels that long to me), I took advantage of evenings and nights to walk in the neighborhood with the dogs. I would walk 3 miles almost every night and I would hardly see anyone outside. This was a walk for exercise, but also for thinking, meditating and, depending on the evening, for grounding and letting go the stressors of the day. I would smell the scent of new flowers, hear the frogs sing, and see the fireflies call to each other in the night. I would encounter foxes and deer and owls, and I always ended up feeling incredibly thankful for these moments of communion with nature.

In that previous life I would find sanctuary while walking or, during the day, while visiting a little nature preserve we have in our neighborhood. It’s a peaceful little place, with a babbling creek running through it and lots of trees to make you forget you are right next to a city. During my outdoor adventures, I would hardly see anyone else. Even on weekends, when I visited the nature preserve with my kids, I could let the dogs off the leash because we were the only ones there.

That solitude in nature is a thing of the past; the streets, the nature preserve, and even the state parks within biking distance of our home are now being explored by neighbors from close and far.

It seems as if people realized they can literally walk out their front door and enjoy the beauty and healing properties of nature every day, at any time of the day. All of the sudden I see many other children playing in the creek, families strolling down the streets and lots of cars and bikes parked at the entrance of the parks. I am not advocating for not following social distancing guidelines, nor for irresponsibly impacting the natural areas around us, but I am delighted by the connection I am seeing, a connection between people and the land they inhabit. My social media feed is filled with pictures of flowers, insects and little snakes people are encountering on their excursions. Friends send me messages with pictures of critters asking what they are; “science twitter” is exploding with images of birds, reptiles, amphibians and plants, and people are sharing, asking, learning, and admiring the “nature” around us. Mind you, most of these encounters are happening close to home, no need to go to the Alaskan wilderness, just the backyard, or the little stand of trees in the corner.

“I am delighted by the connection I am seeing, a connection between people and the land they inhabit”.

Maria Baron Palamar

My heart feels full when I see people becoming aware of the natural world around them, connecting with nature. I see people noticing the intricate and complex patterns that make nature amazing, and later falling in love with it, craving it more and more. At night, I anxiously imagine the reality of those that live in places with no easy access to nature and my heart becomes heavy with the disparity in opportunities, the injustice of it all pushing me to think about what I could do better to ensure nature is something that we can all experience.

I have been an advocate of getting outside for a while now, you can see it in my work and my other blogs. I am certain people experience psychological and health benefits when spending time in green areas on a regular basis; I have experienced these benefits myself. I hope this rediscovering of nature people are experiencing now, brings them closer to it and helps them prioritize access to nature when thinking of city planning and resource allocation. I hope we all remember the role nature played in our lives during these uncertain times when we go back to the rat race, to the crazy schedule, to overloading our children with organized activities that leave little room for exploration and connection. I hope we remember the value nature had for us during this global emergency when the next parking lot, the next shopping center, the next mega store wants to turn that empty lot, today full of butterflies and flowers, into yet another block of cement.

I think many of us are building a relationship with nature that will stay with us once this is over, one that will propel us into thinking of a new normal, where time outside and connecting to the places and wildlife around us becomes a priority, an intrinsically valuable part of our lives. I hope for a new normal, where access to nature becomes a requirement of any new development, and restoration of the green spaces we have abused for so long in urban settings becomes a prime concern when we look at how to make this a more equitable and just world.

Nature is here for us in our time of need, cradling us through the fear, uncertainty, and loss. She is everywhere, from the pot in our window, to the park in the corner, to the remote arctic wilderness.

Nature is part of us and we are part of her. Let’s not forget this in her time of need.

Maria is a wildlife veterinarian turned social scientist. After working directly with wildlife (her first passion), she started a company in 2018 and now works connecting people to nature and to each other (her second passion), with an emphasis on making access to nature equitable and sustainable. She loves traveling, exploring nature and making things. She also loves wildlife, watching it, touching it, and even poking it when scientifically necessary.