As this program comes to a close, I find myself holding onto an immense new respect for nature. It is one that stretches beyond admiration into something closer to the sublime. I came to Costa Rica expecting beauty, biodiversity, and maybe a few bug bites. What I didn’t expect was how deeply this place would change the way I see not just tropical rainforests, but the land back in Indiana I call home.
Our time here has introduced me to places I could only have imagined before: banana farms stretching across the topsy turvy hills, pineapple farms smelling of sweetness, and rows of coffee shrubs grown in neat rows. These aren’t just scenic locations. They are living systems, powered by human hands and shaped by choices about land use, chemicals, economics, and care.
Visiting these farms, especially those that are small/organic, has completely reshaped the way I think about food. It’s easy to walk into a grocery store and reach for a bag of coffee without thinking about who picked the beans or how the soil was treated. But standing on the land where it all begins, talking with the farmers and seeing the labor involved, changed that. It is quite humbling to know that a Nicaraguan person harvested that same coffee under the hot sun, knowing that the work is back breaking and the pay is often minimal. In the year of 2025 there’s something sacred about the effort it takes to do it organically, which is without cutting corners or relying on harsh chemicals.
Now, when I think about the difference between small scale, organic coffee in comparison to non-organic, it’s not just a label. It’s a difference in values. A difference in labor conditions, in soil health, in water quality. Because of my research project, I’m more aware than ever of the darker sides of big agriculture. Specifically, how corporations like Dole and Chiquita have historically exploited land and labor. Now I know what to look for when choosing my food, and I know why it matters. The human and environmental cost of convenience is too high to ignore.
For me, the most breathtaking moment of this trip was standing in the cloud forest near the Continental Divide. There was truly no part of that experience that I was ready for. Standing at the edge of two different sides of the world I was awestruck, and not by the scenery, but by the lack of anything visual as well as the complexity of it all. To be in a place where two watersheds meet, where the Atlantic and Pacific sides of the country are divided by mountaintop clouds – it felt like standing at the edge of the world, but at the same time you couldn’t see a thing!
These experiences have deepened my desire to keep exploring. Studying abroad has officially bitten me with the travel bug. I want to see more. Learn more. Walk through more forests and meet more people who live lives completely different from my own. But at the same time, and maybe even more intensely, I’ve developed a desire I didn’t anticipate: to savor home. Not just miss it, but appreciate it. Protect it.
I’ve always loved the forests of the Midwest. Indiana might not have toucans or sloths, but it has red oaks and sycamores, woodpeckers and salamanders. It has subtle, seasonal beauty. It’s where I grew up walking in the woods, learning to love green things. And it breaks my heart to see so many of those forests not at 100% health. They are fragmented, polluted, and undervalued. I don’t want to only care about tropical ecosystems 4,000 miles away. I want to care just as fiercely, if not more, about the trees in my own backyard.
I’ve seen what real sustainability looks like in Costa Rica. My host mom dries clothes at night to save electricity. She composts everything. She works on a farm and lives by rhythms that feel older and wiser than any convenience-based system back home. Our guides knew the names of most every bird, every tree, every bug we passed. That level of love for place, your place, and actually knowing and caring about what grows around you, is something I want to bring back with me.
It’s clear to me now that conservation only truly works when it’s personal. Costa Rica is beautiful because it’s protected, but it’s protected because people care. Because they know the names of native trees. Because they understand what birds are supposed to sound like. Because the environment is not treated as an accessory, because it’s a way of life. And I want that for Indiana. I want people to walk through our forests and be able to say, “That’s a redbud,” or “That’s a pawpaw tree.” I want kids to grow up learning about native plants not as trivia, but as the living, breathing community they’re a part of.
That’s the real lesson I’m taking home with me: the change we need doesn’t start far away. It starts at home. The answer isn’t to care only about rainforests in foreign countries, it’s to take care of the one patch of land you live on. To know it. To protect it. To teach others to see its value.
So yes, I’ll carry with me the memories of watching hummingbirds dart through heliconia flowers, the taste of fresh-picked pineapple, the echoing calls of howler monkeys in the early morning fog. But I’ll also carry something quieter and deeper, a commitment to my own home, to its trees, its soil, its quiet streams. I want to be the kind of person who knows the names of the wild things around me. I want to be the kind of person who teaches others to care.
It’s not enough to be amazed by nature. We have to act on that amazement. We have to bring it home. PURA VIDA!
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