Being Trans In Southern Nature
Being a nature freak in the south as a well-passing trans man is a surreal experience. I live in north Georgia in a blue county in the suburbs. But as often as I can, I drive out into the middle of nowhere for hiking, camping, paddle boarding, or other outdoor activities. The drive there, in and of itself, is bizarre. Inside my car Iām blasting āThis Is Meā from The Greatest Showman. But outside Iām driving by confederate flags, Trump signs, the Donāt Tread On Me flag, a sea of American Flags, and Christian billboards that literally say āyouāre going to hellā with pictures of fire.
I often think if I ever get a flat tire on one of these trips, and anyone ever figures out Iām trans, Iād be hanged or shot. But I havenāt been clocked in years, so I push those kinds of thoughts to the back of my mind. I turn off the country back roads and onto the gravel drive leading up to a nature preserve. Pulling into the dirt parking lot thereās about a dozen other cars. Many have Trump bumper stickers. Thereās no bathroom, so no concern about me being beat up for taking a piss. I always go in the woods anyway on these kinds of trips.
A full bladder is a concern for any trans person. But for this kind of trip I always take major precautions. They start back at home. After I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I wait a full hour before leaving. I pee at least twice. I make damned sure my bladder is completely empty and thereās no chance any liquid is on itās way there before getting into my car. I just described the kind of place I have to travel through to get to a good hiking trail. And I aināt stopping. Not for anything. Iād rather pee my pants.
So when I pull into the lot I have my gear with me. A small backpack containing my rolled up hammock, a bottle of water, protein bars, toilet paper and my taser. When hiking, I drink barely enough to fuel my body. And if I do it just right, I donāt have to pee even if Iām out in the park the entire day. I donāt risk it. And if there really is just no choice, Iām going to go way off trail to do it. And I mean not just out of sight of the trail, but so far off the path someone would have to be crazy to come out there and spot me. Those are the kind of precautions I take.
But I just pulled into the parking lot and my dangerous bladder is empty. So no concerns at the moment. Backpack on, I start walking up to the trail head. Thereās a sign there with a map of the trails on it. A blonde woman in a bright yellow shirt immediately approaches me.
āExcuse me!ā she says. āCan you tell me if this is an easy trail?ā
Iām used to this. Every time I go out hiking, people approach me. Everyone is friendly. Everyone smiles. And I think I must have a very approachable face. Or maybe I look experienced. Whatever the reason, complete strangers come up to me many times during any hike.
This is my first time on this trail, but I researched it beforehand, so I can answer her.
āSome of it,ā I said. I turn and point at the map. āMake sure to take a right at the first fork. The entire eastern loop is easy. See, itās marked green. You want to avoid the western loop as that goes straight up the mountain.ā I pointed to the red part.
The woman nodded, āI see. And are there a lot of people on this trail?ā
āFrom what Iāve read no. Thatās why I came today. The reviews say you see hardly any body.ā
āThank you! Youāve been a great help! You seem like a really nice young man. Enjoy your hike!ā
We part ways. I enter the trail head to begin my hike and I wonder the same exact thing I always wonder when I have these encounters. Would that nice lady turn mean and ugly and hate me if she knew I was trans? I think it every single time. Thereās no way not to. I drove through Trump land to get here. I know what conservatives think of me. Or at least the idea of me. Itās not hidden. Itās not a secret.
Trump has been president for 20 days at the time Iām writing this, and he has already signed 4 anti-trans specific executive orders. He is planning on discharging 15,000 trans military service members, possibly dishonorably and without their benefits. Heās planning on making it illegal for trans people to play sports. And he also wants to make it illegal for us to use a bathroom in a federal facility. Heās trying to make healthcare illegal for trans people under 19 years of age, threatening to throw parents and doctors in jail. And I watched as Trump signed these executive orders in front of a huge, cheering, smiling, clapping, crowd of conservatives.
They hate me. They want me to die. But when they meet me in real life, they all smile. They approach me. Ask me questions. Thank me for helping them. Many, especially older white men, seem to want to give me guidance, like a father figure. When I run into them on the trail, they are quick to tell me, āthe river flooded that way so be careful,ā or āthe fishing is great at this pond! Bring your pole next time!ā
I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping. And I cannot help but wonderā¦ what if they knew? What would those smiles turn into?
I choose the most difficult route on purpose to try and get out into nature alone. I want the peace and quiet it gives me. I donāt want to hear anything other than the birds, the wind, and the branches moving together. If Iām working hard enough, then my own blood pumping in my ears. For the first hour this is what I get. And Iām immeasurably happy. Itās early February and itās 60 degrees on a sunny day. There are no leaves or greenery yet, but Iām smelling the warmth from the earth mix with the cool air. The pine trees give me plenty of green to be happy with.
But soon, as is always the case, the peace is interrupted. I hear voices from the trail ahead break the quiet. Theyāre loud. And there are many. Anxiety immediately kicks in. A prick of fear I can never quite control. It sounds like a group of men. And raised as a girl, I knew from a womanās perspective just how dangerous this could turn out to be. Even having been transitioned and living as a man for the past 8 years, that was embedded in me. Possibly forever. But also having lived as a trans man for so long, my fear shifts from the possibility of being raped to being beat up instead. But againā¦ that would only happen if someone clocked me. And that hadnāt happened in years.
I breathe in and calm myself down. Iām aware of the weight of my taser in my back pocket. I reach back and flip off itās lid. But I leave it hidden for now. Iāve never needed it, and likely never would. After all, I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping.
As the voices draw nearer, I suddenly hear a woman laugh. My fear immediately vanishes. This was a mixed group of hikers. I keep going and crest the ridge. I can see them now. Thereās five, three men, and two women. And one person was black and another Asian. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I always found it interesting just how many other minorities I ran into in the middle of nowhere in the North Georgia Mountains. And how many foreigners for that matter. During this hike, I had run into two separate Germans. Where were they staying? And out of all the places in America they could visit, they chose this tiny trail? But that seemed to be the case almost anywhere I went.
I start passing the group of hikers, and as always, Iām stopped.
āHi! Nice weather isnāt it?ā The lead hiker says.
āYes it is!ā I reply.
āAre we close to the top of the mountain?ā One of the women asks me.
āYes,ā I said. āItās not far. Youāre almost there.ā
āYou hear that honey?ā She calls back to a man huffing and puffing as he comes up at the rear. āWeāre almost there!ā
āUuugh!ā He groans. The woman turns back to me. āAre there really good views at the top?ā
āKinda,ā I said. āYou have to look through the trees, but it is a good view.ā
āOh great, thank you!ā
We part ways. I once again have the same exact thought. All of them were so nice. But how nice would they have been if theyād known?
At the top of the mountain I stop. It had been a tough hike. Steep the entire way. I go off trail a decent distance so no one would see me, find me, or bother me. I set up my hammock where I can be alone. Rocking myself in it, I look out to the view. I can see across two sloping peaks in the distance and itās really beautiful. But I canāt enjoy it as much as usual. Nature always heals me and puts my mind right. But Iād found out just the day before that the Georgia Legislature had introduced a bill to strip away healthcare from transgender people. It would ban all gender affirming care, even for adults, from anything government or state related.
I was on a private insurance plan from my job, but I didnāt know if my nurse practitioner, whoād been treating me for over 5 years, accepted any government or state funding. If her practice relied on that kind of money, I would be in a lot of trouble. She likely wouldnāt be able to treat me anymore, or risk losing all her funding. Or worse. If treating trans people was illegal, she could potentially be arrested for helping me.
It had taken me years to find someone competent when it came to transgender health. I wouldnāt be able to find someone else. Or rather, I could, but it would likely take years again. And I might be in a situation where Iād be forced to drive out of state. But even thenā¦ Trump was targeting blue states, and trying to force them to stop offering healthcare too. So going to a blue state might not have even helped.
I lay in my hammock, wondering what on earth it was I could do. My best friend the day prior had suggested flying to Canada once a year just to get my medication and then coming home. That was a very expensive solutionā¦ but one I might have no choice but to consider. Could they even prescribe me a whole years worth of testosterone at a time? I didnāt think so. But maybe I could have it shipped from Canada? How expensive would that be?
I heard a mom shouting at her giggling kids coming up the path just out of sight. They wouldnāt be able to see me where I had set up. So I was free to lay in my hammock and try to fathom what kind of lives this family likely had. How wonderful it mustāve been to not have to worry about where you could legally take a leak, or how you would legally get your medications. That mom didnāt worry about her doctor being thrown in jail. Or if she and her husband would be thrown in jail for getting her kids the proper care they needed. That little familyā¦ had no idea that absolute and ruthless hell trans families had to go through.
I wait until I hear them leave. Then wait several minutes more. Then I pack up my hammock and other things and continue down the trail. Iām blissfully alone for another hour or so. But soon I hear voices again. This time itās a couple: a man and a woman. As they start to approach I assess them. The husband is wearing a shirt with a huge American flag across the front and the Punisher logo on top of that.
I immediately tense up. I knew well enough that the far right wore the Punisher logo. It meant the same exact thing to me as a confederate flag, donāt tread on me flag, christian cross, American flag, or anything else of the like. All of those symbols were the same. And all of them sent the same message. The woman smiles at me as they approach.
āHi! Have you seen the pond yet?ā
āYes, itās just up ahead.ā
The man doesnāt speak or smile. He barely looks at me. The woman thanks me and they move on.
If they knew, they absolutely would have killed me. I think.
I run into only one other person on the hike, a Korean photographer. We were both lost at the time we met, and his English was difficult to understand. But I made out that he was looking for the trail to the parking lot. I pointed and told him the way I thought it was, but that this was my first time on the trail and wasnāt sure. I didnāt know if he fully understood me. So I just pointed down the trail. After we parted way, I wondered again,
What if he knew? I knew nothing at all about Korean culture. Did they hate trans people too? Or was that just in America?
I wandered for some time, trying to find the right path back. I had 2 hours of daylight left so wasnāt too concerned and my compass said I was heading west, the direction I knew the parking lot was in. So I knew even if I didnāt recognize this part of the trail, I was heading the right way. I stopped by a little stream. Tired, I sat down on the small wooden bridge going across it. Letting my legs dangle over itās edge and feeling my blood pound in my feet, I took out a protein bar and a bag of apple slices. As I ate my snack, I looked out to the scenery. It was so peaceful and quiet. So quiet in fact that I could close my eyes and listen to the leaves move through the gentle breeze. It was my absolute favorite sound in the entire world. The day was perfect. And it was exactly why I drove so far out of the suburbs to hike in a place like this.
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