Growing Something That Will Outlive Me

Hi friends, I’m writing this from my bed after one of those showers that feels like it washes more than just dirt off your skin. My hair is still slightly damp, my room smells like clean soap, and I’m carefully digging the last bits of earth out from beneath my fingernails. I feel the kind of tired that sits gently in your bones — the good kind. I’m trying very hard not to fall asleep while writing this, but it feels important to capture this while it’s still fresh.

This week started the way most weeks seem to here, with a quiet, familiar rhythm. On Tuesday, my cultural photography class took a field trip to Mercado Central for our final project. The goal was to pick an element of Tico culture and explore it through film.

I had been to the market before, so I walked in already knowing exactly where my feet wanted to take me — the leather shoe shops.

Tucked away inside the chaos, between narrow aisles, hanging lights, and overlapping conversations, are these small stalls selling handmade leather shoes with the most beautiful, intricate designs. There is something about leatherwork that has always fascinated me — the patience, the precision, the artistry. I knew I could find something special there, and I was right.

I floated through the market slowly, snapping photos, breathing in the warm, rich smell of leather and spices, exchanging shy smiles and short conversations with the shop owners. I left with a camera full of photos and a heart full of gratitude. I always love wandering that market and talking with the locals — it holds such a special place in my heart.

The rest of the week moved smoothly… until Friday, when things took a very different turn.

My environmental impact class was going on a real trip — not just a short outing, but a full weekend away. We crammed ourselves into a van that was absolutely too small for the number of people and backpacks we had. Bags were stacked nearly to the ceiling, filling the aisle like some kind of chaotic tower. After a long, beautiful ride and several chapters of my book, we reached the Caribbean coast and arrived in Cahuita.

One of my favorite things about Costa Rica is that hammocks seem to exist everywhere, but this time there was an actual teal-blue hammock attached to the wall in our hotel room. I genuinely considered sleeping in it. We all tried to sleep early, knowing the next day would be a long one.

Around 7 a.m. on Saturday, we made our way into Cahuita National Park — and it felt like stepping into another world.

The park was overflowing with life in every direction. We saw two-toed sloths curled lazily in the trees, eyelash pit vipers coiled perfectly still, emerald basilisks flashing green through the brush, and tiny bats hiding in the shadows. Walking through a place that alive felt unreal, especially while learning from our guides. I remember one of them mentioning he had never gone to college, and thinking that there is no one I would trust more than a barefoot, machete-carrying, binocular-wearing native who knows this land by heart.

From one point in the park, we took a small boat out toward Cahuita Point, where local marine biologists have been growing coral in hopes of restoring the reef. Listening to them speak about climate change and their efforts to heal the ocean was moving in a way I didn’t expect. We didn’t just get to listen — we got to snorkel.

And not just anywhere — we swam above living, growing coral. I even got to anchor my own piece of coral onto the reef. Real, living coral. I can’t even fully explain what that felt like.

Swimming through the reef felt like a dream — sunlight flickering through the water, schools of fish moving like glitter, coral swaying with the currents. I even had a gentle close encounter with a small nurse shark... never gets old. Even hearing about how much of this ecosystem has been lost made the experience feel more important. It reminded me how desperately these places deserve protection.

That night, we went on a rainforest night hike.

With our headlamps on and rain jackets zipped tight, we walked back into the dark. The jungle sounded alive in a way I’ve never experienced — croaks, clicks, rustles, scuttling. It felt like the forest was breathing around us. We spotted red-eyed tree frogs, tarantulas, huge centipedes, and more frogs than I thought could possibly exist in one place. It felt surreal. I can now say I’ve walked through a rainforest in complete darkness — and somehow felt more alive than afraid.

By the time I laid down that night, I passed out instantly.

By 6:30 Sunday morning, we were back on the bus, heading deeper into the rural parts of Cahuita. Our professor introduced us to a man named Sebastian, whose father once owned a massive wood-harvesting farm. Now, Sebastian has completely transformed the land into a reforestation project, determined to give back to the earth instead of continuing to take from it. Our class became the very first group to help him.

Our job was simple: plant trees.

After a long walk further into the land — including crossing a small river that gave me flashbacks to the bajos — we reached the planting site. We learned that tree planting is far more complex and intentional than I ever imagined. One of the trees we planted was the Ceiba tree.

The Ceiba is known as the “world tree,” a sacred giant believed to connect the heavens, the earth, and the underworld. Its roots are said to cradle the resting place of ancestors, while its massive branches stretch endlessly toward the sky. For the Bribri people of Costa Rica, this tree symbolizes strength, stability, and the invisible threads that connect all living things to one another. Standing there, surrounded by thick air, tangled roots, and filtered sunlight, it felt impossible not to feel small in the most humbling way.

I had the deep joy and honor of planting not just one, but two of the five Ceiba trees being donated to the farm in Cahuita. Kneeling in the dirt, pressing soil gently around their fragile roots, I kept thinking about the fact that these tiny plants could one day tower over the land, offering shade, shelter, and life to generations I would never meet. It felt sacred in its own quiet way — like leaving behind a small piece of gratitude in the earth.

While I was working, I came face to face with a surprisingly large boa snake, stretched out almost silently through the brush. For a split second, my heart dropped, and the world felt very still. After reminding myself I wasn’t in immediate danger, I felt this strange sense of calm wash over me. It felt like a quiet, wild reminder that I was truly standing inside a living, breathing ecosystem.

And just a few minutes later, I was greeted by the cutest stray puppy, who decided to follow our group around for the rest of the day. From sacred trees, to silent snakes, to muddy paws padding softly through the forest behind us — there was just so much life everywhere I looked.

The men running the project were incredibly kind and knowledgeable. At one point, they brought us fresh coconuts, cracked open by hand, to help us stay hydrated. Sitting in the dirt, sipping coconut water straight from the shell, surrounded by growing things — it felt like something I’ll never forget.

By the time we left, I was covered in mud, exhausted, and a little sunburnt. The kind of tired that makes everything feel earned. Even the cramped bus ride back didn’t matter. Being coated in dried mud and sweat felt like proof that it had all been real.

I feel so incredibly thankful to have experienced Costa Rica this way — not just as someone passing through, but as someone who got to give back, even in the smallest possible way. These ecosystems are breathtaking, sacred, and alive in a way I can’t properly put into words.

Now I’m ready to sleep and sketch everything I saw this weekend before it fades into memory.

As always, pray for me and wish me luck!