por Luisa Vargas

I remember when the summers I spent in Colombia on my grandparent’s farm only required some old rubber boots to keep our feet dry. The moment breakfast was over, we ran out of the house in jeans and cotton sweatshirts, staying out until the sun began to set. We climbed trees and roamed fields, but I couldn’t tell you what we did that took up eight hours of our day. We did this for three months straight and we never got bored.

We didn’t need waterproof hiking shoes, technical pants, or protein bars to fuel our adventures. All we needed were those feijoa fruit trees to pluck off an afternoon snack and the wool ruanas my grandma would have ready for us the moment a breeze started to pick up. 

I remember the camping trips to the Everglades my parents would take us on. We’d pack up inflatable mattresses, frozen arepas, and a few hand-me-down bikes for what I thought was the most exciting weekend of the year. We used the same inflatable mattresses we slept on the first few months of our life in the United States. On special trips, we’d stop at a smoothie shop called Robert is Here on our way to the park, and I can’t think of a time I was happier.

We didn’t need ultralight sleeping pads, down sleeping bags, the latest model of carbon-fiber bikes, or freeze-dried meals to have an epic adventure. The things we brought were familiar, comfortable, and inexpensive. Most importantly, they were all things we had at home which made saying yes to exploring so much easier for our family of four.

I remember when I first started running around my neighborhood in high school. I ran in cotton t-shirts from school-sponsored events, my favorite sneakers were the ones with holes in them, and I didn’t track how fast or far I ran. I started running because my feelings were overwhelming and it was the only time I felt like I could quiet down my thoughts. Most importantly, I didn’t have to ask my parents to pay for a class or a membership to a gym. It was one of the few things I could do independently.

I didn’t need the latest running app, technical gear, or a goal. All I needed was the pure joy of moving my body, a safe neighborhood, and something to cover my feet. It became a daily ritual, rain or shine, to listen to my steps and connect with the ground beneath my feet. 

I don’t remember when I started thinking I needed specific gear to enjoy time in nature. Up until I was 14 years old, going outdoors meant the most humble activity. It required nothing more than the necessities we already owned and taking a step out the door. As time passed, I grew into a world that sold me things to go outside and suddenly I began limiting what I thought I could do.

I don’t remember when “outdoors” became an industry. The outdoors is no longer a place, but an idea. “Going outdoors”, “being outdoorsy”, and “enjoying the outdoors”, have become phrases to encompass more than just being outside, but a set of activities you must do in a certain way and with certain things. It has become a box and with boxes come inequalities. 

Access to public lands disproportionately affects people of color. In Texas, my home state, 95% of land is privately owned, limiting the amount of green spaces available for those who do not own land. Access to parks and green spaces is significantly more difficult for people who don’t own a car. Language barriers can also be a limiting factor for Latine communities getting outdoors. 

Remembering my past has become a tool of empowerment, proof that the outdoors is a place that we get to experience however we feel called to. It doesn’t take much and it doesn’t matter what you choose to do—roam fields, camp, run, paint in a park, or exchange chisme in your backyard—as long as you do it outside, it counts as being outdoors. 

This year, Latino Outdoors is making an intentional effort to honor our raíces. As I began thinking about my own story and roots, I noticed how intertwined they are. Unknowingly, I’ve been reaching for opportunities and a community that carries those same ideas. LO is transforming the outdoors into a place to share and celebrate stories, knowledge, and culture. Little did I know that the little girl roaming fields in Colombia was already doing that. My work as an adult would not only be about sprouting leaves but it would be largely dedicated to digging deep and honoring my raíces with a community by my side.