"They Wouldn't Get Passed On If They Weren't Useful"
Re-learning the old stories of connection
As we drove out of our neighborhood, the brush mower was pulling in. Selfishly, I thought of the beautiful patch of yarrow I had planned to harvest that afternoon. I didn’t think of the nine large caterpillars who had become chrysalises or the cup plants that we check each morning while walking Lucy to see how much water they hold for the birds and the bugs.
All of these were gone when we returned home. As we walked and scootered around the neighborhood, I scooped up fallen yarrow, far beyond what I had planned to harvest. My daughters and I found a series of small heartbreaks as stories we had been following had been indifferently shredded.
What always enrages me the most is how they turn the brush mower on its side to shred the tree limbs and trunks that encroach on the brush mower’s turf. Using a chain saw or a lopper would accomplish the same goal, with either a higher likelihood of a healthy repair of the injury or a quick end if you are removing the tree. However, when the story you know is there’s nothing of value here and my job is to preserve the sight lines for driving, why bother getting off the seat of that brush mower.
It seems to me that there are two main competing stories that guide our relationship to nature. Both are inaccurate and both remove humans from the myriad stories unfolding around us all the time. The first is that humans have dominion over nature. The earth and the creatures living on earth are here for us to use and control as we see fit. At this point in history, I think many of us can see the flaws in this approach as we see how even from a purely self-serving perspective, the loss of biodiversity, habitat destruction, and resource extraction are biting us in the back side. The second rises from the first, that humans have been such terrible stewards of the natural world that the best we can do is “leave no trace”, to have pure, pristine areas that are essentially cut off from human influence. That’s an equally false story. As scholar Tyson Yunkaporta says, we are custodians, “Some new cultures [cultures newer than indigenous cultures, like modern Western culture] keep asking, 'Why are we here?' It's easy. This is why we're here. We look after things on the earth and in the sky and the places in between."
We are an integral part of the story. Here, I feel like I’m missing a word that I need. There are the stories that we humans tell about separation that I mentioned above. Then, there are the more than human stories that we are intertwined in whether we want to be or not. We are characters in this story, but it is not about us. We can’t remove ourselves from the story either out of a desire to exploit or out of our own shame. We must re-learn the stories happening all around us. There's an interesting, vital, dramatic story happening on every cubic inch of earth under your feet, every cubic inch of water holding up your floating body, every cubic inch of air you breathe in. When we understand those stories, we are a part of them, tending to those stories with our minds, hearts, and souls moving toward thriving life cubic inch by cubic inch.
Robin Wall Kimmerer, botany professor and author of my all-time favorite book Braiding Sweetgrass, gives us many examples of how we fill this custodial role. In Braiding Sweetgrass, she tells of Lena, an elder with whom she is gathering plants. Lena tells her, “‘Our teachings,’ she says, ‘are very strong. They wouldn’t get handed on if they weren’t useful. The most important thing to remember is what my grandmother always said: ‘If we use a plant respectfully it will stay with us and flourish. If we ignore it, it will go away. If you don’t give it respect it will leave us.’” Lena twisted a handful of a plant into a loose knot to signal to others that she had harvested sweetgrass from that area. We have lost and need to recreate a shared language to communicate where we have harvested and a shared understanding of what the proper respect and care for the more than human world looks like.
From what she learned from Lena, Kimmerer and her student Laurie, created an experiment. Laurie presented their proposed experiment to a faculty committee. The scientists on the committee were dismissive. The dean said, “Anyone knows harvesting a plant will damage the population.” They tried two different sweetgrass harvesting methods–pinching the stem off at the ground or pulling them up by the roots. They also had some control plots where they did not harvest anything. When she finished her experiment, you didn’t need statistical analysis to see the results though they had that too. Some of the plots were a rich golden green and some were dull and brown. Our “leave no trace” ideology would have us believe that the harvested plots were the ones that were struggling, but in reality, the opposite was true:
The sweetgrass that had not been picked or disturbed in any way was choked with dead stems, while the harvested plots were thriving. Even though half of all stems had been harvested each year, they quickly grew back, completely replacing everything that had been gathered, in fact producing more shoots than were present before the harvest. In the first year’s harvest the plants that actually grew the very best were the ones that had been yanked up by the handful. But, whether pinched singly or pulled in a clump, the end result was nearly the same: it didn’t seem to matter how the grass was harvested, only that it was.
Learning to listen to the stories of the more than human world is essential, but there are human stories of connection rather than separation we can start from. There are more layers to our myths, stories, and folktales than we typically realize.
shared that some scholars believe the story of the Pleiades is over 100,000 years old. I find this gobsmacking. Imagine how strong, how useful a 100,000 year old story must be! The Pleiades are unique because they are grouped together as a constellation universally, in cultures across the world, according to Anthony Aveni, author of Star Stories. The Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) tell a story about gratitude, respect for tradition, and respect for children that was also shared in Star Stories. I challenge you not to find modern application for the story:Having traveled for many generations, the ancestors finally settled in a new land with lush forest and many clear lakes…But as they prospered, they began to lose sight of the ancient rituals of Thanksgiving taught them by their creator.They began to quarrel. Some even left their homes. They taught their children not to speak or play with anyone who wasn’t part of the immediate family. Children who disobeyed were whipped and denied food. Older siblings recalled stories, told by their grandparents of better times when great feasts had been held and everyone had sung, danced, and feasted in honor of Mother Earth. During that earlier era, parents had truly cherished their children as gifts from the creator.
One day a group of seven children decided to sneak away into the woods and stage their own Thanksgiving ceremony…During one storytelling session at a forbidden ceremony, one of the children related a tale told by her grandmother about a special place called Sky World…One night, while the seven children were dancing and singing around the fire, they asked Heaven Holder to take them up to Sky World. They did a special dance and sang a special song. Just as they began to feel themselves being lifted into the sky, a group of parents who had followed their trail into the woods showed up. They first cried out angrily to the children for disobeying them, but their anger turned to despair as they stood in awe watching their young ones rise slowly into the heavens. When the parents heard the songs the children were singing, they suddenly realized how badly they had harmed their own flesh and blood…
But higher and higher the seven children rose…After this, when parents witnessed a shooting star they would vow never to strike their children again. And when the People of the Longhouse go outside in the early evening and the time of the harvest–Thanksgiving–they look to the northeast for the Pleiades, that little cluster of stars in Sky World to which the young ones had ascended, then tell their children how much they love them.
This is a story about caring for the young, tending our traditions, and having gratitude for what we have, but there’s also scientific accuracy. In this story, Sky World, the realm of the stars, is where these people had come from originally. This is true for all of us in both a literal and magical way, as our bodies are composed of stardust.
The story of Orion chasing Atlas’ daughters, the Pleiades, teaches the paths of the stars through the sky, but also teaches when to harvest and plow. Hesiod also referenced how the Pleiades can be used to predict stormy weather. Using the Pleiades to predict stormy weather continues to this day in the high Andes. If the Pleiades are clear and bright in the predawn sky, the weather will be good over the next few months. If they are obscured, it is better to wait to plant because rain will be late and infrequent. Modern scientific research has found that this practice is a quite accurate predictor of an upcoming El Nino, which causes droughts high in the Andes. Indonesian, Xhosa, and Zulu farmers also use the early morning rise of the Pleiades to guide planting.
We have been caught in stories of separation, but our reality is one of connection. We can become part of the story again by listening to the old human stories and re-learning to listen to the more than human stories. Once we carry those stories we can begin to rebuild those relationships, show respect and make proper use of the world around us. When we carry those stories, we let go of domination and shame. Perhaps the first step is letting go of the brush mower and the stories it destroys.
That was beautiful Amy. 'Braiding Sweetgrass' is also my all time favourite books. I love the Haudenosaunee story of the Pliaedes. In Australia, the Pleiades star story is one of the most widespread stories connected to many different First Nations through song lines right across the country. In these stories, the Pleiades are seven sisters who are running away from the unwanted advances of a man or group of men who are the wrong 'skin'.
My great-grandmother seven generations past was taken prisoner by the Mohawk (part of the great Iroquois Confederacy) after the Lachine Massacre in Montreal. She was with them for seven years before being returned in a prisoner exchange through the peace treaty that ended the beaver wars. The Mohawk are matriarchal and matrilinear and also had strong laws about the treatment of prisoners. Children were adopted into Mohawk families. As my great grandmother was of childbearing age, she may have married/partnered with a Mohawk and bore children, which she would have left behind when returning to her husband (my great-grandfather x7).
I always wondered how she felt and what she learned. She most certainly heard the beautiful Pleiades story and I'm so glad to hear it now. Thank you so much for sharing!
A beautiful piece of writing, Amy, and I share your conclusions. I'm currently re-reading "Braiding Sweetgrass" for probably the 10th time, both because I need it for the essay I'm currently writing, and because it's such a soul-nourishing book that I keep returning to. Thank you 🌱