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Category: Mapping Migraciones

Abre Los Ojos

por Margarita Vargas Patrón

My mamá immigrated here when she was 20 years old, leaving her home, dreams, and loved ones behind on a questionable promise that she would return. Roughly 40 years later, she is in her home in San Diego talking to me on the phone. We call each other at least three times a week to talk about everything. It almost always ends with my questions about her childhood, my abuelitos, her hometown, and her life before us, her kids. On this particular call, I ask why she thinks I love the outdoors; was there a history of camping in our family?

From her perspective, this question was like most of my probing ones- random and filled with curiosity. This time, there was a purpose because I had never shared my love of the outdoors with her. Now I did, to make up for lost time. I’ve told her about my small hikes, the parks around my neighborhood, and the beaches we’ll explore when she comes to visit me. Before getting to this point, she helped me heal first.

“Allí, tu abuelita hacía de cenar y nos contaba historias bajo las estrellas.”

I considered a biology camping trip my first real encounter with nature. It required all the supplies I thought made it official: a tent (I rented), a sleeping bag (I borrowed), and no indoor plumbing for miles. I loved everything: the fresh air, the campfire, and sleeping under the stars. After that experience, I didn’t question my love for the outdoors. Except for the fact that amongst my friends it was considered a white people thing; it was something that required money- something my family and I didn’t have. Growing up, the common phrase was “no tenemos dinero.” Whenever I overheard a classmate share their upcoming family camping trip or their annual skiing trip, to me there was an unspoken barrier of access and a common thread that only white people had access. That classist and racial distinction made it easier to shrug those experiences as white people things. Internalizing whiteness prevented me from connecting with my mom on something that I didn’t know we both loved- the outdoors.

Because my idea of the outdoors was remarkably limited, I chose not to share my experiences with my mamá. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings; I didn’t want her to say that she wished she could do more. So, I buried this experience and thought I was doing both of us a favor. What I really did was give whiteness all the power to erase my experiences and define the outdoors. Returning to that phone call, her answer was a dose of healing:

“Claro. Íbamos a una casita más allá de la milpa. Allí, tu abuelita hacía de cenar y nos contaba historias bajo las estrellas. Íbamos para ayudarle con las cosechas de frijoles. No mas no le decíamos ‘camping’. Y aunque nosotros no tengamos mucho aquí, sí los llevaba al parque, a la playa, y caminar para tomar aire fresco. Eres libre y la naturaleza está a tu alrededor. Nada más abre tus ojitos, mijita.”

Thanks, mamá.

Margarita is a first-generation immigrant and the first in her family to graduate college. She enjoys reading, cycling, and learning new things. She honors the folks who came before her, who paved the way for any success that has come her way.

Mapping Migraciones: Product of Migration

por Tototl Barajas

Like many, my parents emigrated to California during the 1960s as teenagers in search of a better life. Ironically they were both born in nearby towns in Ajijic and San Miguel el Alto, MX, but they didn’t meet until later in Santa Ana, California. There, they married, settled, and created their own nest and flock, like birds that migrate in search of new nesting sites and food for foraging to provide for their families.

I feel a deep connection to birds. I feed the Wildbirds, provide water sources, and watch them in amazement for hours on end. I engage with my local crows and corvids; they are incredibly smart. I always feel like they converse back and forth in dialogue. They remind me that their flocks have lived in and around the trees longer than I and that I am on their territory. I always look forward to the spring visits of the orioles, grackles, and mourning doves as they begin breeding in the trees. They are incredibly resilient and ingenious with their nesting skills. I see the growth of their fledglings, and it’s endearing. Some birds migrate, and some are natives. Just a constant reminder that we are in their world.

I am no longer a fledgling. I have migrated myself towards Riverside, and am creating my own nest.

What’s Your Migration Path?

Add your story to the collection of varied voices united in celebrating diversity using our Yo Cuento Submission Form.

Mapping Migraciones: Querétaro to Fresno

por Ruby J. Rodríguez

Guadalupe Pérez González, my maternal great-great-grandmother, was born in Querétaro, Mexico. Orphaned at a young age by the loss of her parents during the Mexican Revolution, she endured many hardships in life. 

Guadalupe Pérez González in Fresno, California

Sometime around 1930, Guadalupe and her two children (Phillip and Mary) journeyed north to a border town called Mexicali, where they would remain for about twenty years. She labored hard over a stone stove top to produce tamales for sale and eventually purchased a humble home for herself and children. 

Grandma Eleanor and siblings during a rest stop while travelling for work.

Mary married Leon Torres Ruiz, and gave birth to my grandma Eleanor in 1940. About 10 years later, my great-grandpa Leon moved the entire family to El Centro, California. They became migrant workers and labored at farms across California’s San Joaquin Valley, eventually making Fresno their permanent home. 

My family came to the US in pursuit of a better life. From their journey, I have learned that the meaning of “a better life” is often incomplete unless it includes the process of (un)learning, healing, and growing.

Ruby prepares a meal with her Latino Outdoors team

So much of my cultural heritage was lost to assimilation. While this disconnection is a painful experience for me, nature supports me with feeling connected to myself, my history, and everything around me. Being involved with Latino Outdoors (LO) helps me reconnect to my culture and embrace my experience as a third-generation Mexican American. Through LO, I am learning about the many facets and richness of the Latinx identity.

Ruby with her three children in Humboldt County

I was twenty-seven years old when I left Fresno and made my own journey nearly five hundred miles north to Humboldt County. For six years, my three children and I lived there while I finished my undergraduate studies and tapped into the woman and mother that I wanted to be. Close to the end of my time in Humboldt, I shared with my grandma my experience of living away from home in the most beautiful landscape I’d ever seen. On that day, I learned that I was living her dream. 

Ruby with her grandma Eleanor, mom, and daughters in Downtown Fresno

While in Humboldt, I slowly connected with barn swallows, Canadian geese, and snowy egrets as I observed them from my apartment window. Returning to Fresno was an adjustment; however, I do see snowy egrets passing over my home. They serve as a reminder that nature knows no bounds. 

What’s Your Migration Path?

Add your story to the collection of varied voices united in celebrating diversity using our Yo Cuento Submission Form.