Being Black in Nature

Connecting to nature is connecting to your roots; it’s connecting to yourself.

My mother was raised in Haiti, where "hiking" meant walking to the next village, and fishing was simply how you got dinner. So I knew I wasn't reinventing the wheel when I started Routes to Rootz. Growing up between my grandmother's home in Chicago and visiting the parks of Montreal, I spent my childhood outside, fully aware of its splendor.

Then, around nineteen, I worked as an educator with youth in group homes and secure facilities. Hikes started as my hack to help kids who struggled with aggression, anxiety and depression. I watched as they transformed into different people on the trail. It was also around this time when I met Leslie, a coworker who spent every free moment hiking, camping, and moving through the woods with a confidence in nature I’d never seen exhibited by anyone Black before. From there, I was hooked.

Years later, when the pandemic hit, my mental health took a serious hit too, so I started getting outside more. My partner, who could happily spend a whole day outdoors, came with me, and soon our kids and extended family joined. The younger kids complained almost the whole way, but by the end of a long hike they’d be beaming with pride. Eventually, I put a call out on social media and slowly more people showed up. We moved our bodies, connected with each other and got out of our heads for a day. It became clear that being in nature had impact far beyond the trail.

In Western culture, nature is a place you go, it’s not integrated into everyday life, especially if you live in urban environments. So I wanted to encourage my community and other people of color to see themselves outdoors as a path back to our roots. We come from indigenous people—nature belongs to us too. 

Every part of Routes to Rootz is intentional, even the very model of hiking in groups. When we’re out there in numbers, not only are we taking up space that is rightfully ours, but we allow each other to show up fully and without fear. I’ll never forget when one of our regular hikers told me she was used to moving through the trails small and quiet, like a mouse. On her first hike with us, she was intimidated by the ceremony—playing music and dancing as we walked— and her instinct was to quiet down. But, I encouraged her to show up authentically and dare to contradict limitations that someone made up. We already carry the weight of performing Monday through Friday. We shouldn't have to do it on the weekend with our people, too. Eventually, she gave herself permission to take up space. And I encourage everyone to do the same.

People still call hiking, camping, skiing and other outdoor adventures "white people stuff." And I take that as a personal challenge. If you tell me I don't belong somewhere, I’m going to show up and prove you wrong. If you tell me a pandemic mental health hack is just a fluke, I’m going to turn it into a movement. Which is why I’m so proud to be celebrating 5 years of Routes to Rootz. In everything we do, and with every barrier we eradicate, we help ensure that Black & POC see themselves, on the slopes or on the trail. Because we belong everywhere we want to be.