It’s about relationship and reciprocity

 Many years ago I read a book that has strongly influenced my thinking since then. The independent book store at which I bought it is still in business, but at a vastly different location than when my purchase was made. A second edition of the book was published some years ago and I haven’t been able to figure out if there’s enough difference to get a copy, so I just keep rereading my first edition. The book I’m writing about is Braiding Sweetgrass, Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants, by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

In  the years since I first read Sweetgrass, I have tried to better reflect in my life many of the teachings the author shared. Alas, overcoming the definition of reciprocity that I learned as a child [“an eye for an eye” more than  “do unto others as...”] has been but one of the challenges I’ve faced in adopting the wisdom in the book.

Tonight I’ll be remotely watching Ms. Kimmerer present the keynote at the Land Stewardship Project’s 40th anniversary celebration. Perhaps, through osmosis or something like it, I’ll find that my heart has been changed as much  as my mind. As she notes:

“Restoring land without restoring relationship is an empty exercise. It is relationship that will endure and relationship that will sustain the restored land.” 

The keynote will be followed by a conversation and a question and answer session.  I’m looking forward to watching, listening and maybe even taking notes.

As I recall, I first became involved with the Land Stewardship Project [LSP] many years ago when they had Wendell Berry reading at an event. You might want to follow the link above and consider joining or supporting LSP if you believe we have too much industrial agriculture and not enough regenerative agriculture.

Meshkadoonaawaa Ikidowinan: Exchanging Words

By Kimberly Blaeser, Molly McGlennen, and Margaret Noodin

baazhigwaadiziwin—persistence

Ningii-bazhinemin, we have barely escaped

nightly, a threshold looms in the cold.

Again, we sing ourselves strong—

Anishinaabikwewag, women of history and persistence.

Observe: constellations have long illuminated patterns,

relentless stories, adizookanag,

of who we might be, noongom aawiiyaang

gemaa waa-aawiiyang, or become.

Across skies trace belonging, ezhi-dibendagoziyang

in the land of wiindigoo-cannibals, awaken the crumbling spirit.

Become swirling light, motion—where Bagonegiizhig

still lives. This ancient portal a promise.

Become the shadow others expect—aagawaatesen

hiding in significance. Like stars, anangoog, excluded.

Anyone could read this.

No matter this bitter

winter, still.

wiingashk—sweetgrass

How she stitched the rim, gashkigwaadan.

Leaf blades and needle fingers circled,

smallest curve, waaganagamod, of song—

endless like the scent.

Held, there are, atenoon, some parts

one cannot see—

but she knows, gikendaang, what they hold.

Words from bogs and marshes.

Heaven fits neatly, mii gwayak, under

the snug lid, shut tight as lips

long used to gaadood, keeping secrets

of grandmothers and crane companions.

Notes:

The authors write about the collaborative process behind this piece here.