photo by Erick Meza
Growing up, Spanish was my parents’ first language, but it wasn’t mine. I understood it, spoke it when needed, but over time, it faded. Now, as an adult, I realize what I lost–connection, history, identity.
I’ve felt a similar disconnection from nature. Camping, hiking, exploring–it always seemed like a life meant for someone else. My family didn’t talk about ecosystems, conservation, or water. It was always just there–flowing from the tap, filling lakes, falling from the sky. But when I moved to Tucson, I learned that water isn’t guaranteed. It’s a fight. A fragile resource entire communities depend on.
The desert doesn’t let you ignore its reality. Its beauty is extreme, its scarcity and defying abundance. Life here survives by adapting, and in that resilience.
So when I joined the Sky Island Alliance and Sierra Club on a trip to Mt. Lemmon, in partnership with Latino Outdoors, it was more than a hike. It was a chance to learn–to see the efforts that keep this place alive.
As we climbed the winding road, saguaros gave way to towering pines, the air cooled, and the scent of creosote faded into damp earth. Patches of snow lingered, a reminder of how water moves through this landscape, nourishing everything in its path.
A hydrologist from the US Forest Service spoke about the fires that had scarred Mt. Lemmon, leaving the land vulnerable to erosion. Without tree roots to hold the soil, rain carved deep channels, threatening homes below. It was a stark reminder of how everything is connected–fire, flood, and the rivers that sustain this desert.
Tucson exists because of water. The Tohono O’odham have relied on desert waterways like the Santa Cruz River for centuries. But with increased water use and climate change, those sources have nearly vanished. Today, Tucson imports most of its water from the Colorado River–a river that is drying up.
There are Conservationists who restore watersheds, build rainwater harvesting systems, and push for sustainable policies. The Sky Island Alliance monitors water sources in the mountains, while community leaders work to protect what remains. But the demand is exceeding the supply.
On the trip, I overheard someone say they’ve lived in Arizona their whole life but had never been to Mt. Lemmon. It hit close to home. I grew up surrounded by national parks I never visited, landscapes I never explored–not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t think they were meant for me.
But the truth is, we all belong here. And more than that–we have a responsibility to understand the land beneath our feet, to protect its future.
This trip was a reminder: Connection takes effort. Learning is lifelong. Water is life.
The future of this desert depends on the choices we make today. And I intend to be part of that future.