FEATURE
From Seeking Belonging to Creating It:
Immersing Myself in Conservation, Community, and Living Authentically
Val guiding a Center for Conservation Initiatives (CCI) hike for an education workshop group at The Nature Conservancy's Disney Wilderness Preserve. Photo by Gabby Salazar.
Somewhere between the rustle of palmettos and the slow retreat of a gopher tortoise into its burrow, I found myself—not just as a conservationist, but as a person fully rooted in their truth.
Over the past decade, I’ve devoted my life to environmental stewardship. That work has taken many forms—leading restoration projects, mentoring volunteers, facilitating nature-based education, and building community through shared service. But conservation has also been the backdrop to my most personal evolution: living openly as a transgender person.
In the field, among native grasses and longleaf pines, I learned to live truthfully. Nature asked nothing of me but presence. And in return, it offered wisdom, grounding, and grace.
Where Science Meets Selfhood
Like many in this field, I began as a student—eager, uncertain, driven by a love for nature and a longing to belong. I studied Earth Science, volunteered in local public lands, soaked in knowledge from seasoned biologists and barefoot naturalists alike.
But what I didn’t expect was how much the natural world would also become a mirror. When I was still learning the names of plants and the patterns of fire-dependent ecosystems, I was also learning the contours of my own identity. Slowly, I realized that I was not just finding my voice in conservation—I was finding my truth.
As someone who is transgender, the wild offered me refuge and reflection. I wasn’t “othered” by the woods. I was embraced by them. There, I didn’t need permission to exist fully. I simply did.
Blazing a Trail for Others
Years later, I now find myself in the position I once looked up to—no longer just the student, but the mentor. And that shift has been one of the most powerful transformations of my life.
Whether I’m guiding a tour, participating in a prescribed fire, or coaching volunteers or staff through their first interpretive talk, I carry with me every lesson I once received—and reshape it into a path others can follow.
I used to walk behind someone else’s footsteps. Now, I’m laying down tracks for the next generation.
It’s not lost on me that visibility matters. When I step up as a leader—openly trans, grounded in experience, and deeply connected to the land—I hope it tells someone else that they can belong here too. That they can lead, teach, and transform this field just like I have.
Val with Central Florida Girl Scouts for Girl Scouts Love State Parks an event organized across the United States. Val was the project coordinator on-site at Wekiwa Springs State Park. Together, this group of volunteers picked up 1069 cigarette filters from around the headwaters of one of two National Wild and Scenic Rivers in the state of Florida: the Wekiva River. Photo courtesy of Val Hahn.
Sowing Seeds for the Next Generation
One of the most fulfilling ways I’ve continued this mentorship is through the Junior Ranger Club I founded at Wekiwa Springs State Park, Apopka, Florida. What began as a small community program is now a thriving hub for curiosity, connection, and environmental stewardship.
Once a month, Junior Rangers go on scavenger hunts, journal about wildlife, track birds and talk about what it means to take care of the planet. But more than that, space has been made for children to feel confident in who they are and what they love.
Some of these kids might grow up to be scientists, park rangers, or activists. Others might just carry a deep respect for the natural world wherever they go. Some kids will even remember their first s’more. Regardless, they’ll remember what it felt like to be welcomed, guided, and encouraged.
And for any young person—especially queer youth—who sees someone like me showing up, it could make all the difference. It could be the beginning of their own path.
Val teaching Junior Rangers how to start a campfire at Wekiwa Springs State Park. Photo by Revecca Ponce.
Even though Val no longer works for the Florida State Parks, he still helps them carry out their mission as a volunteer. Val organized, with the help of these incredible volunteers, a special evening junior ranger program all about bats! Photo courtesy of Val Hahn.
Finding Kinship in the Field
Though nature offered healing, it was people who helped me stay. My very first mentor when I myself was an intern. Volunteer circles. Frequent campers who shared their evening fires. Outreach teams. Here, I found kindred spirits—people who believed in service, reciprocity, and getting your hands dirty for something that matters.
It’s hard to choose just one moment—there are so many that stay with me. Like the parents who showed up month after month with their kids, braving traffic and even leaving work early so their children could learn how to care for and protect nature.
And then there are the volunteers: steadfast supporters at every program I’ve led. From translating and setting up refreshments to hauling equipment and even leading that incredible group clap that quiets 200+ people in seconds, they’ve shown up again and again. Their energy, dedication, and behind-the-scenes magic make everything possible.
At first, I didn’t always know if I’d be accepted. But time and shared labor have a way of dissolving barriers. Whether digging postholes with volunteers or preparing leaf-rubbing kits for families at a community festival, I’ve seen how connection grows from shared purpose.
I remember the equestrian campers who stayed for two weeks at a time, eventually putting up a sign at their site that read “Ranger Feeding Station.” They welcomed me into their culture with open arms, filling my holidays with good food and warm smiles. Moments like these remind me that connection is at the heart of conservation.
In these circles, my identity was no longer an obstacle—it was an asset. It gave me perspective, compassion, and a deep appreciation for what it means to belong.
Val Hahn sharing his passion for nature photography with a youth volunteer. The goal of the day was to document the biodiversity of the preserve. Photo by Revecca Ponce.
Val leading a prescribed fire themed tour for Legacy Club members of The Nature Conservancy. Photo by Elaine Liles.
From Guided Adventures to Farewells
The work isn’t always glamorous. Some days, it’s swamp buggy rides and fire ants. Others, it’s spreadsheets and volunteer rosters. But I love it all. Because in each task, I’m building something lasting—not just for the ecosystem, but for the people who walk into these wild places and leave changed.
I’ve mentored folks who’ve gone on to start their own nature programs. I’ve watched first-time volunteers fall in love with a species and then protect its habitat. And I’ve hugged more than a few folks goodbye at the end of a season, knowing our time together made a difference.
Val Hahn presenting on campfire-program-style interpretive programs at the Florida State Parks Ranger Academy. Photo courtesy of Val Hahn.
The Trail Continues
I didn’t set out to be a guide. I set out to belong. But in the process of seeking that, I found myself clearing brush not just for my own passage—but for those who come next.
I met my first intern supervisor at my university’s job fair. Cameron Sanders stood behind a nature-themed table, dressed in khaki and green—by far the most friendly and enthusiastic person in the room. I walked in uncertain about my future, unsure of what would come after graduation. But that day, something shifted. I walked out with a clear image of the path ahead—and, for the first time, a role model to help guide me there.
I still remember telling Cameron how excited I was to graduate—that I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. He smiled and said, “You’ve just made it to the tunnel.” That moment stuck with me. Now, whenever I think I’m reaching the end of something hard, I remember his words. Instead of stopping, I dig in deeper and remind myself: this isn’t the end—it’s the start of another beautiful journey.
So, I now know the power of stepping into such a role. Of saying: “I’ve been where you are. You’re not alone. And this trail? It’s yours too.”
Because when you root yourself in conservation—not just as a job, but as a way of life—you find more than wildlife. You find community. You find courage. And if you’re lucky, you become the kind of person you once needed.
