raquel zaldívar

Heather Flor Cron grew up in a Peruvian family in Portland, Maine, where love was shown through food and home-cooked meals. When the pandemic hit, she got involved in a food brigade through @presentemaine , and that effort eventually led to the creation of Presente’s farm. Cron and others harvest food that people in Southern Maine’s Latinx community want and enjoy. The farm work – weeding, tilling, harvesting – has opened up a space for Cron to reach back and connect with her abuela, who died when Cron was 21. She says her abuela’s connection to the land was so important to her upbringing and her life in rural Peru. It’s also been a chance to begin healing the past and contemplating the future. “It’s very beautiful for me to see how we all are working within this organization that wants to heal those pains by being the next generation, that’s like, ‘We’re gonna do things a little differently.’” Stay tuned for new Conexión episodes each Thursday this fall. — Heather Flor Cron creció con una familia peruana en Portland, Maine, donde el amor se demostraba a través de los alimentos y comidas preparadas en casa. Cuando llegó la pandemia, se involucró en una brigada de alimentos con @presentemaine , y el esfuerzo llevó eventualmente a crear la granja de Presente! Junto con otros, Cron cultiva la comida que la comunidad Latinx del sur de Maine quiere y disfruta. El trabajo de agricultor — desmalezar, labrar, cosechar — ha permitido que Cron regrese al pasado y se conecte con su abuela, quien murió cuando Cron tenía 21. Ella dice que la conexión que su abuela tenía con la tierra fue muy importante en su crianza y en su vida en la zona rural de Perú. Esta también ha sido una oportunidad para comenzar a sanar su pasado y contemplar su futuro. “Es muy bello ver cómo todos estamos trabajando en la organización que quiere curar los dolores de ser la próxima generación, y dice, ‘Vamos a hacer las cosas un poco diferentes’”. Síguenos en @ournewengland para ver los nuevos episodios cada jueves este otoño. 📷 Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️ Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️ Translations by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre #maine #garden #community #latinx #nature

First screening of the documentary I'm working on happens in THREE DAYS. If you're in Chicago, please come check it out. DM me for more info on time and place!! Here's a quick teaser 🙈🇨🇺 #labienvenidadoc #cuba #medillschool #medillreports #camagüey #travel #explore #adventure #documentary #chicago #film

For the last few weeks I’ve been working on a story about tree equity in Chicago. Reporters @morggreene and Joe Mahr found that over the past decade Chicago has backtracked on ambitious goals made years ago to provide residents with trees, particularly on the South and West sides where researchers say trees are needed the most.

I am so grateful to the people who spoke with us and let me photograph them for this story. I’ll be sharing more photos from the project, but I designed this Instagram post for the @chicagotribune with my visuals, so I thought this would be a good place to start. Link in bio for the full investigation. 🌳  —— From the story: “The failures come as research shows trees blunt the warmer, wetter effects of climate change in the Great Lakes region. Fewer trees in neighborhoods can mean hotter temperatures, more flooding, dirtier air and higher electric bills — all of which can affect mental and physical health. The Tribune analyzed the rate at which street trees were planted per mile of streets from 2011 through 2021, finding higher planting rates in wealthier, whiter neighborhoods deemed less of a priority. In Gage Park, for example, a working-class neighborhood that’s become home to thousands of Latino immigrants, this translated to fewer than 300 street trees planted during that time period. Yet the city planted more than 850 trees in a similar-sized community on the North Side: North Center. And Edgewater, with fewer miles of streets than Gage Park, saw more than 1,000 trees planted in that time. The city’s efforts come as tree equity has grown into a national issue.
 ‘It’s become undeniable,’ said Ian Leahy, vice president of urban forestry for the national nonprofit American Forests. ‘Trees have gone from nice–to-have-background to life-changing infrastructure.’ ⠀ #onassignment for the @chicagotribune

Total solar eclipse in Millinocket, Maine ✨ #onassignment for  @ournewengland @npr #2024eclipse

Super Tuesday in western Massachusetts 🗳️ #onassignment for  @nepublicmedia #supertuesday

When @tanya_talamante_art arrived in Vermont, she wanted to find friends who were also from Mexico. In Vermont, that can be more challenging than other states. Just 2.3% of the state’s 643,000 residents is Latino. But through some mutual friends and Facebook, Talamante met Elvira Tripp, a designer. They hit it off on their first friend date almost 10 years ago. One day, they realized they both followed @montstreamstudio , a painter in Burlington, on Instagram. They’d also seen her page @redhotchillydippers , a group that goes cold water dipping. “What if we go one day?” Talamante asked. “I’ve thought about it, too,” Tripp replied. When they went out on a dip with the Red Hot Chilly Dippers in 2021, with several other first-timers, the two women fell in love with it. They’ve met new people and formed friendships along the way. - Cuando @tanya_talamante_art llegó a Vermont, buscaba amigas que también fueran mexicanas. En Vermont, esto puede ser más difícil que en otros estados. Solo el 2.3% de los más de 643,000 residentes en Vermont son latinos. Mediante amigos común y en Facebook, Talamante conoció a Elvira Tripp, una diseñadora. Hicieron clic en su primera salida a tomar café hace casi 10 años. Un día, se dieron cuenta que ambas seguían en Instagram a @montstreamstudio , una pintora en Burlington. También habían visto su página @redhotchillydippers , un grupo que realiza lo que se conoce en inglés como cold water dipping, quiere decir, tomar baños de agua fría en un lago. “¿Si un día vamos?” preguntó Talamante. “Yo también lo tengo pensado”, Tripp respondió. Cuando salieron a tomar un baño de agua fría con las Red Hot Chilly Dippers en 2021, con muchas otras personas que lo hacían por primera vez, las dos se enamoraron de la actividad. Conocieron gente nueva y formaron amistades en el camino. 📷 Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️ Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️ Translation by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre

Gardening became Emely Ricci’s hobby during the pandemic. Among her tomatoes and cucumbers she planted huacatay, an herb used in Peruvian cooking. Ricci’s dad was a bit skeptical; he didn’t think Connecticut had the right climate for it. Only a few seeds sprouted the first year. But the next spring, little huacatay seedlings were growing all around. “It has this really gorgeous fragrance to it,” said Ricci, 24, holding a bundle of freshly harvested huacatay in her garden in Shelton, Conn. Ricci’s grandmother was the most surprised the plant actually took root. She grew up in the Peruvian Andes and hadn’t seen the herb in a long time. Gardening huacatay has also been a way for Ricci to stay connected to her Peruvian culture. “The food for me … encompasses a whole bunch of things,” Ricci said. “What’s cultural, my heritage, my grandmother, my family, my parent’s parents’ childhood — you know, just my own search of really connecting to my Latino identity.” - La jardinería se convirtió en el pasatiempo de Emely Ricci durante la pandemia. Entre sus tomates y pepinos, sembró huacatay, una hierba que se utiliza en la cocina peruana. El papá de Ricci estaba un poco escéptico; no pensaba que Connecticut tenía el clima ideal para esto. Solo pocas semillas brotaron el primer año. Pero en la siguiente primavera, pequeñas plántulas de huacatay estaban creciendo a su alrededor. “Tiene una deliciosa fragancia”, dijo Ricci, 24, sosteniendo un manojo de huacatay recién cosechado en su jardín en Shelton, Conn. La abuela de Ricci fue la que más se sorprendió con el huacatay. Ella creció en los Andes peruanos y no había visto esa hierba hace tiempo. Plantar huacatay también le ha permitido a Ricci conectarse con su cultura peruana. “Creo que la comida para mí abarca muchas cosas más”, dijo Ricci. “Mi cultura, mi herencia, mi abuela, mi familia, la infancia de mis padres, mi propia búsqueda de conectarme con mi identidad Latina”. 📷 Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️ Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️ Translation by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre

As Nando Jaramillo shucked corn in early November, he slowed down for a moment to look at his harvest. The purple husks revealed the white corn kernels and pink lines of zapalote chico, an heirloom corn variety. It’s one of the first strains of domesticated corn from Oaxaca, Mexico, and one the varieties Jaramillo grows at three different farms in Vermont’s Upper Valley. He uses them to make arepas and empanadas for the organization he founded, @moonandstarsvt . He aims to connect regenerative farming practices and cultural traditions. Because Jaramillo uses heirloom corn, his arepas are earthier and slimmer than the arepas typically made with mass-produced corn flour. Jaramillo says he hopes his version can expand people’s idea of what an arepa could taste like. “Good food doesn’t need to have an organic label,” he said. “It’s about creating a local economy, and how we connect with the people that are growing the food.” - Mientras Nando Jaramillo pelaba maíz a comienzos de noviembre, se detuvo por un momento para observar su cosecha. Las cáscaras moradas revelaron los granos de maíz blanco y las líneas rosadas del zapalote chico, una variedad de maíz tradicional o de reliquia. Esta es una de las primeras cepas del maíz domesticado de Oaxaca, México, y una de las variedades de maíz que Jaramillo cosecha en el Upper Valley de Vermont. Lo utiliza para preparar arepas y empanadas para la organización que fundó: @moonandstarsvt . Busca conectar prácticas de agricultura regenerativa y tradiciones culturales. Ya que Jaramillo utiliza un maíz que describe como originario, sus arepas tienen un sabor más terroso y son más finas en comparación a las arepas hechas con harina de maíz producida en masa. Jaramillo dice que espera que su versión expanda la idea que las personas tienen sobre el sabor de una arepa. “La buena comida no tiene que tener una etiqueta de comida orgánica”, dijo. “Se trata de crear la economía local y de cómo conectamos con las personas que están cosechando la comida”. 📷 Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️ Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️ Translation by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre

Ruth Castillo grew up in Honduras spending time at the beach or with her family in the countryside, riding horses and hanging out at the farm. When Castillo moved to Maine for college more than 10 years ago, she realized her peers had a different definition of what it meant to be outdoors: rock climbing, camping and hiking, all of which she tried for the first time in one epic weekend her junior year. But as she spent more time outside in New England, Castillo realized that in seven years, she had only met two other Latinos doing the same outdoor activities as her. Not having that cultural connection left a hole in her heart, she said. Then Castillo joined @latinooutdoors_boston . She’s made it her mission to make it easier for people of color, and Latinos specifically, to climb, hike, surf or bike. She also does that work through @morewomensurf and @summitsinsolidarity . And she hopes to help people get outside and define what makes their relationship to nature special for themselves. - Ruth Castillo creció en Honduras, pasando tiempo en la playa o con su familia en el campo, montando caballo o en la granja. Cuando Castillo se mudó a Maine para estudiar hace más de 10 años, se dio cuenta de que su manera de disfrutar la naturaleza era diferente a la de sus colegas: acampar, escalar y hacer senderismo, que trató por primera vez en un fin de semana lleno de aventura. Pero mientras pasaba más tiempo en las afueras de New England, Castillo se dio cuenta que en siete años sólo había conocido a dos Latinos más participando en las mismas actividades. No tener esa conexión cultural dejó un hueco en su alma, dijo. Luego, Castillo joined @latinooutdoors_boston . Desde allí, se planteó que su misión era facilitar el acceso de las comunidades Latinas, negras e indígenas a actividades como escalar, senderismo, andar en bicicleta o surfear. Hace esa labor en @morewomensurf y @summitsinsolidarity . Castillo también quería que estas actividades inciten un momento de reflexión para los participantes sobre su propia relación con la naturaleza. 📷Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️Translation by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre

Lewiston, Maine is a city that has been transformed by immigrants, particularly a large community of refugees from Somalia. Many of them fled violence in their homeland. Now, they have experienced it in their new home. I spent some time with @mainepublic reporter Ari Snider speaking to members of the Somali community about how they were feeling following last month’s mass shooting. The full story on @pritheworld is at the link in my bio, but here are some excerpts: “Five days after the worst mass shooting in Maine’s history left 18 people dead at a bar and at a bowling alley in the city of Lewiston, Shukri Abasheikh, photo 1, was ringing up a customer at Mogadishu Store downtown. She’s known to her customers as Mama Shukri, and has been a fixture of Lisbon Street — Lewiston’s main drag — since she opened her store in 2007. She offers an array of East and West African food, spices, clothing, and other products.” “Like many Somalis in Lewiston, Abasheikh and her family fled the Somali Civil War in the 1990s. After being initially resettled in big cities such as Atlanta, Georgia, many came to Lewiston looking for a smaller, safer place to live and raise families. The community now numbers in the thousands, and business owners like Abasheikh have been credited with reviving what had been a moribund downtown in this former mill city. Now, in the wake of the shooting, some Somali residents are grappling with a kind of violence many had tried to flee by coming to Lewiston in the first place.” — Muktar Hersi, owner of Naima restaurant, photo 7, is originally from the Somali region of Ethiopia. When he first learned of the shooting, he said he immediately got in touch with his two boys who attend Bates College to make sure they were safe. Ifraax Saciid-Ciise, photo 8, who runs a nonprofit focused on nonviolent communication and restorative justice, said the shooting triggered fear and dark memories for many community members, who, like her, had already escaped war. Fowsia Musse, photo 10, attends the OneLewiston Community Vigil on Oct. 29. Musse, who runs a nonprofit focused on girls’ empowerment, was shot in Ethiopia exactly one year ago while visiting family.

Ruth Castillo grew up in Honduras spending time at the beach or with her family in the countryside, riding horses and hanging out at the farm.  When Castillo moved to Maine for college more than 10 years ago, she realized her peers had a different definition of what it meant to be outdoors: rock climbing, camping and hiking, all of which she tried for the first time in one epic weekend her junior year.  But as she spent more time outside in New England, Castillo realized that in seven years, she had only met two other Latinos doing the same outdoor activities as her. Not having that cultural connection left a hole in her heart, she said.  Then Castillo joined @latinooutdoors_boston . She’s made it her mission to make it easier for people of color, and Latinos specifically, to climb, hike, surf or bike. She also does that work  through @morewomensurf and @summitsinsolidarity .  And she hopes to help people get outside and define what makes their relationship to nature special for themselves.  - Ruth Castillo creció en Honduras, pasando tiempo en la playa o con su familia en el campo, montando caballo o en la granja.  Cuando Castillo se mudó a Maine para estudiar hace más de 10 años, se dio cuenta de que su manera de disfrutar la naturaleza era diferente a la de sus colegas: acampar, escalar y hacer senderismo, que trató por primera vez en un fin de semana lleno de aventura.  Pero mientras pasaba más tiempo en las afueras de New England, Castillo se dio cuenta que en siete años sólo había conocido  a dos Latinos más participando en las mismas actividades.  No tener esa conexión cultural dejó un hueco en su alma, dijo.  Luego, Castillo joined @latinooutdoors_boston . Desde allí, se planteó que su misión era facilitar el acceso de las comunidades Latinas, negras e indígenas a actividades como escalar, senderismo, andar en bicicleta o surfear. Hace esa labor en @morewomensurf y @summitsinsolidarity .  Castillo también quería que estas actividades inciten un momento de reflexión para los participantes sobre su propia relación con la naturaleza. 📷 Visuals by Raquel C. Zaldívar @raqzal ✍️ Caption by Daniela Allee ✍️ Translation by Maria Aguirre @masilaguirre

On Sunday, Oct. 29, people visited the memorials outside of Schemengees Bar & Grille Restaurant and Just-in-Time Recreation where the 18 victims of the Lewiston mass shooting were killed. Many left flowers and notes, some reading #LewistonStrong while others just had a moment of silence to pay their respects. Follow my colleagues at @mainepublic for ongoing coverage. ---- In photo 1, Lewiston resident Heather Bradbury, who knew some of the victims, pays her respects in front of Schemengees. In photos 2, 4 and 6, members of the New Apostolic Church in Westbrook, Maine, leave flowers in front of Schemengees. The church members drove to Lewiston to sing and leave flowers to honor the victims of the Lewiston mass shooting. There is a video reel of their song on @mainepublic and @ournewengland_ !!re!!_039;s feeds. In photo 8, Maine residents Autumn Ouellette and Saige Moore leave Monsters Inc. themed pumpkins that also read “Lewiston Stong” as Julie Fitch looks on. And in photo 10, Lewiston residents Donna Pelican and her husband Larry Pelican pause for a moment in front of the pumpkins and signs in front of Just-in-Time Recreation. Both are Lewiston residents and frequented both the bowling alley and Schemengees. They also knew one of the victims.