Our new series, “Human Nature,” begins today! Over the next seven weeks, we’ll share stories centered around our relationship with the natural world. In today’s episode, we’ll explore how our storytellers’ experiences with nature — for good or for bad — helped them grow into the adults they are now.
Part 1: Longing to explore nature, a tumultuous trip to her grandparents’ farm sets Johana Goyes Vallejos on a path looking for the biologist inside her.
Johana Goyes Vallejos is a Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Missouri. She graduated with a B.Sc. in Biology in Colombia and received her Ph.D. in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology from the University of Connecticut. Her research has taken her to many tropical forests across the world, including Panama, Costa Rica, Guyana, the Philippines, Malaysia and Brunei Darussalam. At the University of Missouri, Dr. Goyes Vallejos continues her research on mating behavior and parental care strategies using frogs with elaborate parental behaviors as study systems.
Part 2: Under pressure to fit in at summer camp, Misha Gajewski signs up for a canoe trip that she’s not ready for.
Misha Gajewski is a freelance journalist, educator, and a senior producer for the Story Collider podcast. Her work has appeared on Vice, Forbes, CTV news, and BBC, among others.
Story Transcripts
Story 1: Johana Goyes Vallejos
I'm a seven-year-old sitting on the back of a jeep with at least five of my cousins and my older brother, who's six years older than me. We’re headed to my grandparents’ farm outside the city and I'm extremely excited. I have been there before, but this would be the first time without my parents, and this was key.
Johana Goyes Vallejos is a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Missouri.
To say that my parents were overprotective is an understatement. I grew up in a city with concrete buildings and paved roads with some parks here and there but nothing that resemble real nature, at least not close by.
When I was little, I wasn't really allowed to do many things. Whenever I went to the park, I couldn't get on the monkey bars or go on the Merry-Go-Round. I could hurt myself. I could fall, scrape a knee.
To top it off, my mother would dress me in this flowery and pink puffy-sleeved dresses with matching hair bows and patent leather shoes. That made it very hard to run around so I was not what you would call an outdoorsy kid. I couldn’t climb trees and I was never able to kick the ball which always seemed to find my face first.
So this trip to the farm, this was my chance. I was going to be able to explore the forest, look for critters, go on adventures.
We are traversing along the dirt road and we're jumping on the back of the car with every rock and pothole with our heads nearly missing the roof of the car. Around the curve, we had to come to a stop. A huge landslide had blocked the road and not even my grandfather's rugged yellow jeep was going to be able to cross it. So the grown-ups decide that we're close enough to continue on foot.
My cousins are elated. They are running around racing each other, playing tag and I'm last. We start going down a steep hill towards a river and, before I realize what's next, everybody is taking their socks and shoes off and getting in the water. They look like they have done this a hundred times and I haven't.
My brother led the way and we followed. One by one, everybody's making it to the other side. I follow suit. I took my socks and shoes off and hold on to them for dear life and I started wading the water. The rocks hurt my feet and my vision is obstructed by an oversized orange hat my mom made me swear I would use at all times.
Halfway there, the inevitable happens. The current is too strong and the water is reaching my waist. I lost the grip of one of my shoes and it starts floating away.
All I can think of at that moment is that I cannot come back home with just one shoe, so I scrambled to grab it but now the stupid, orange hat falls in the water too. At this point, shoe, hat, me are in real danger of floating down the river forever.
I'm terrified. I'm terrified of my mom's wrath. She's going to kill me without my shoe. But I'm also terrified of the river. I cannot lose my shoe but I could also drown.
My brother realizes this before I do, so he quickly gets in the water saving the shoe and grabbing my arm, in that order, to help me to the other side.
Completely soaked, I can hear the laughter in the background as tears fill my eyes and the sight of an orange hat floating downriver sears in my memory.
The river incident was enough to deem me unfit for the outdoors, so I found refuge in books reading about all sorts of animals in faraway places. In particular, I was fascinated by animal behavior. The first time I went to the beach, I would sit in front of the ocean and stick my fingers in the sand digging for clams. I would set them neatly in a row and wait for them to stick their muscular foot as they start digging themselves back into the sand.
I wanted to study nature with all my heart. In college, I applied to the biology program behind my parents’ back. When they found out, my ever-loving but extremely protective mother would say, “Biology? Why not medicine or engineering?”
Even after I was halfway my undergraduate degree, she would say, “Fine, but can you specialize in genetics? You will be in a lab. You may be able to get a job and you don't have to deal with animals.”
But that was the point. I wanted to work with animals. I wanted to be out and explore nature so badly, but I hadn't had the chance to prove myself that I was not the weak, scrawny kid that barely made it through the river that day.
But of course it's a Catch-22. I needed field experience to get field experience. Somehow, everybody around me would get this amazing opportunity to do field work, chasing monkeys in the forest or going to remote field stations, looking for fossils in the desert. To this day, I have no idea what the channel of information was, but somehow I was never in the loop. So I graduated with a bachelor's degree in Biology with zero real field experience.
After graduation and as a last-ditch attempt, I knocked at the door of my ecology professor and, one more time, I expressed my desire to get field experience.
He paused for a second, maybe dubiously looking at me. But then he told me about this woman who needed a last-minute research assistant.
Johana, in the field today.
“It’s far away. On an island,” he said. “Are you in?”
“What? Yes.”
“There's no electricity.”
“Yes. I'll be there.”
“It’s just going to be the two of you.”
“Okay.”
And that was it. I was headed to a tiny island on the Pacific Ocean to track a population of sloths. This was my first proper field experience, my chance to prove myself that I can do this. I learned, I fell, I scraped my knees, but I made it. I became a field biologist.
I never went back to my grandfather's farm but I have been to some of the most amazing forests in the world. I replaced the patent leather shoes with my trusted rubber boots. I love nothing more than doing field work. And the mental and physical energy needed every day makes me feel strong, like I can do anything.
And I have replaced that image of my orange hat floating away with many, many happy memories of me jumping into rivers with my clothes on to cool down after long forest hikes looking for the animals I love.
Story 2: Misha Gajewski
So I’m 15 at an all-girls’ outdoor camp for three weeks and the only reason I’m here is because I begged my mom to let me go to any camp but band camp again, so all-girls’ camp it is.
Misha Gajewski is a senior producer at The Story Collider.
I’m standing on the lawn with a bunch of girls I don't really know and two camp counselors because I signed up for this four-day canoe trip because all the other girls in my cabin did and I don't want to be the only one who doesn’t go on a canoe trip.
We’re standing in a circle planning our meals and going through what to expect and all the other girls look like they know exactly what’s going on. But I’m realizing I am so very confused and lost.
Now, to be clear, I've been camping before. My family went camping almost every summer, but that was with a car and a tent trailer and there were showers there and toilets that flushed. This canoe trip is a totally different kind of camping. It’s the kind of camping where you canoe out into the middle of nowhere backcountry Canada and you have to take a satellite phone because if anything goes wrong, you need to be helicoptered out of there.
And there are definitely no showers or toilets that flush. There's also portages on the strip and until this point, I'd never even heard of what a portage was. But I learn it’s where you have to carry all your stuff from one body of water to another, like hiking but with a canoe on your back.
As we go through all of the things that we need to know for this four-day stint in the middle of nowhere, I am nothing but questions. “Um, sorry, what?”
“You have to dig a hole to poop in and then bury it.”
“Eww, gross. Wait, what’s gorp?”
“Oh, it’s just trail mix.”
“Sorry, what do you mean we’re only allowed to bring a dry sack with a sleeping bag, toothbrush, and a change of dry clothes? What about toothpaste? Shampoo? Soap? A change of underwear?”
The counselors look at me and laugh. “Okay, there, princess.”
I’m about to ask about meds but I decide just to be quiet at this point because I really hate that the counselors and probably all the girls there think I’m a princess. But meds is a particular concern because all year I've been having stomach issues that make pooping kind of unpredictable.
So far, it hasn’t been too much of a problem at camp because the bathrooms are only a few minutes away from the cabin and I've been eating Pepto-Bismol like it’s candy. But on this trip, oh, God. I can just see myself having to dig a hole in the middle of the night with a flashlight and having explosive diarrhea and like a girl finding out and then telling the whole camp and like, oh, my God, no. It just can’t happen.
Young Misha at camp
So I come up with a plan. While I’m trying to stuff my giant sleeping bag into this tiny dry sack, I decide I’m just going to add my Pepto pills and take some everyday so I don't poop for four days. Because, obviously, nothing could be worse than having a pooping catastrophe around these girls who would then tell the entire camp.
Then on the day of the trip we all get dropped off at the river. The canoes are unloaded along with the paddles, the life jackets, the packs, the food and our belongings and it’s a beautiful sunny day. None of us put on enough sunscreen because we all want a tan, and we set off into the great unknown.
We paddle for hours. It’s pleasant and I’m kind of excited to be on this grand adventure. Trees and rocks and the occasional human pass us by. It’s really pretty out here.
We stop for lunch and it’s sandwiches, but the meat and cheese is sweaty. So I pick at the bread because who wants to eat sweaty cheese? And also lunchmeat that hasn’t had like any type of refrigeration all day in the hot sun probably going to give me food poisoning, so I’m going to avoid that. But everyone seems unfazed by the sweaty cheese so I don't want to complain and have them think I’m being a princess.
The day wears on and I’m sunburnt and I have blisters forming on my hands. My arms ache from the hours of continuous paddling. All of a sudden, we come to the end of the river. Now, I knew there were portages on this trip but on the lawn at camp, it was more of a conceptual carrying of stuff. The reality of it didn’t hit until right now.
So we all start unloading the gear onto the rocky bank and now we have to carry all this gear and the canoes to the next bit of water. Obviously, I pick up the latest pack, because the thought of hoisting a canoe over my head seems impossible, like literally impossible. I’m barely five feet and I weigh about 100 pounds, so I’m pretty sure that canoe weighs more than me.
But before I can take off down the portage trail, my leader looks at me and sees right through my plan not to carry anything over 20 pounds and laughs at me and says, “No way, princess. You got to take more than that.”
So she starts loading me up with all the paddles and these life jackets. She puts another pack on me and it almost makes me fall backwards because it’s so heavy. All I can think is like, “What have I gotten myself into? Why have I voluntarily signed up for this?”
When I finally look like a pack mule, she tells me to start walking to the other side of the portage trail. I can barely move but I manage to put one foot in front of the other until I’m face to face with this huge fallen tree. As I look up the path, it’s littered with all these big trees that have fallen down. Turns out, a storm a few nights ago took down a ton of trees and they're all over the portage trail walking our way to the other side.
I stand there trying to figure out how to navigate this obstacle course with like 50 pounds on me, very much wishing I was not in this situation, and in the distance I hear thunder clouds start to rumble. Perfect. Nothing in any of my family camping trips has prepared me for a situation like this.
And from behind me I hear my camp counselor yell, “Well, don’t just stand there, let’s go.”
I start heaving my body over the first tree, under the next, over, under, around. Two hours later, we've only made it halfway through the portage and the leaders call it. We’re going to have to camp in the middle of this because the storm is too close.
I’m tired, sore and covered in mosquito bites, because it turns out it’s really hard to swat at bugs when your arms are full of gear. You just have to slowly let them bite you.
I’m miserable. And before we can even eat our delicious dinner of unrefrigerated hotdogs, it starts to pour rain.
As the thunderstorm rages, I crawl into my sleeping bag without brushing my teeth and all I want to do is go home to my mom and my bed. There's a rock in my back and I’m using a bunched-up t-shirt as a pillow. I am so itchy and hungry and I want to cry and all the other girls kind of bond over this because they've known each other since they were six, but I feel like an outsider.
I’m regretting coming, but I can’t even get out of it because there's still three days left of this stupid trip and how do I even leave? They're not going to call a helicopter because I’m homesick and a wimp.
The next day, it rains the entire eight hours we’re on the river. Everything, and I mean everything is wet and damp and gross. My Pepto bottle’s label has completely warped off because of how wet it is.
Even my dry clothes are damp and I’m worried I’m going to get crotch rot from being in a wet bathing suit for so long.
Our water pump breaks so now we have to put iodine tablets in our water bottles so we don’t get a parasite from drinking lake water. It makes the water taste like blood. It’s disgusting and I’m convinced I've probably already gotten a parasite from drinking poorly filtered lake water as it is. And I’m probably now going to poop my pants and be the laughing stock of the trip, so I take more Pepto.
But at least today, the counselors don’t have to put the pack on for me. I managed to get it on all by myself.
Day three, more rain. I hate everything and everyone. I haven't seen signs of civilization in two days. Like not a single human apart from the ones in the canoes next to me. Also today, while going through rapids, the canoe tips and, with it, the packs. We lose a paddle and I'm losing the will to live. I dream of my bed at home, home-cooked meals that don't taste weird and fermented. I wish for warm running water and just hand soap. I want toothpaste to brush my teeth and I want water that doesn't taste like blood.
But I am so exhausted at this point that even my scrunched-up t-shirt feels like a down pillow and I fall into a deep sleep.
Then on the morning of our last day, I wake up with this renewed energy. I can taste the freedom. Also, I've made it four days without having to dig a hole in the woods, so thank you, Pepto. And now, I'm only like eight hours of paddling away from the end of this nightmare.
So I crawl out of the tent and the sun is shining for what feels like the first time in a year. I quickly pack up all my stuff. I help heave packs into the canoe like a pro and I even volunteered to do the dishes. My socks aren't wet and I'm getting off this fucking river. I'm going to make it out alive and pooping-incident free.
As we set off, I find myself starting to enjoy the paddling. It actually becomes meditative. I watch as my paddle dips in the water pushing us forward. I've mastered the J stroke and I even figure out how to use a compass to navigate. I start to smile and let the sun warm my back and I'm actually having fun.
Oh, no. No, no. Not now. Not now. My stomach doesn't feel good. I try to ignore this churning feeling that I'm having and I just I try and focus on the paddling. Down, back, sweep, up. Down, back, sweep, up. Down, back… nope. No. I can hear my stomach now over my internal meditative chanting. It becomes clear that if I don't get to land soon I am going to shit myself.
I'm breaking out in a cold sweat and starting to panic because there's a large chance I'm going to need to poop off the side of a canoe, like literally stick my ass out over the side of a canoe, pull down my bathing suit while everyone watches.
The camp counselor interrupts my catastrophizing visions and says, “Let's stop up ahead and go cliff jumping.”
Oh, thank God. Okay. The relief washes over me and the land doesn't look too far away. Okay. I can do this. And I paddle like I've never paddled before and clench my butt cheeks tight. Down, back, sweep, up. Down, back, sweep, up. Down, back, sweep, up.
The second the canoe hits the rock, I leap out without an explanation and start scrambling up the rock face on my hands and feet like some crazed mountain goat girl and my eyes search frantically for any sort of covering. And there it is, a bush just high enough to cover my squatting body.
I look behind me to make sure no one's close by and drop trowel and, oh, sweet. Jesus, I feel so much better. My stomach is no longer revolting at my very existence and, oh. Oh, fuck! I forgot to bring toilet paper. Fuck.
Okay. Great. Yeah. This is fucking great. My ass is out and I've just shit three days of food and now I have nothing. Fuck, fuck. What am I going to do? No one can see me like this? No one. I'm not calling for anyone to bring me TP. No one will be my friend at camp if I do that.
Also, I'm not even that close with anyone that I would like even feel anything but horrible shame if someone saw me in this position. Also, God, that would be the most princessy thing of me to do is make someone hand deliver me TP. No. That's absolutely not happening.
You know what? Fine. Fuck it. I'm just going to use these dry leaves, and I do. I grab a few handfuls of dry leaves and I wipe.
And in that moment, wiping my butt with dry leaves is the least glamorous and most unhygienic thing I have ever done, but I am one with nature and out of fucks.
I pull up my bathing suit and I go find everyone. They're all getting ready to cliff jumps. And you know what? Since jumping is the quickest way to water so I can wash my hands, I take a running leap and free fall into the water below.
As I pop up, I feel like I've been reborn. I survived mosquitoes, a thunderstorm, potential crotch rot and pooping on the side of a cliff. You know what? I bet I could even lift a canoe over my head at this point. That's how high on life I am. I am princess no more.
I break into a smile and I kick towards the boat and heave myself in, wet socks and all. Thank you.