I read
Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teaching of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer for a book club. The book description says, "Drawing on her life as an indigenous scientist, and as a woman, Kimmerer shows how other living beings―asters and goldenrod, strawberries and squash, salamanders, algae, and sweetgrass―offer us gifts and lessons, even if we've forgotten how to hear their voices. In reflections that range from the creation of Turtle Island to the forces that threaten its flourishing today, she circles toward a central argument: that the awakening of ecological consciousness requires the acknowledgment and celebration of our reciprocal relationship with the rest of the living world. For only when we can hear the languages of other beings will we be capable of understanding the generosity of the earth, and learn to give our own gifts in return."
This was one of those books that I would have never picked up if it weren't for book club. And even when I started it, I don't think I really knew what to expect. I thought it was going to be primarily a factual book when really it turned out to be a beautifully written memoir of sorts, with facts and lessons woven throughout. I listened to the book on audiobook, and I'm so glad it was read by the author because I think it just captured the beauty of the writing. There were times that I was just like, Wow. Other parts of the book bored me a little bit (long section on the deep science of lichen and things like that), but overall the book really opened my eyes and was thought-provoking. I left pondering my relationship with the earth and reflecting on the wisdom of the indigenous people that is really missing in our world today. I loved the author's wide knowledge -- that she was well educated in the scientific field but also had this important background of being Anishinabekwe. Really, this was a beautiful book, and I almost wish I didn't read it on audio because I was often driving and couldn't write down or mark the parts that really stuck out to me. It was a long book, so I don't know if I really want to re-read it, but I am actually tempted.
Rating: * * (2/3 = Liked it)
There was one section I remembered particularly liking (about motherhood), so I got a hard copy of the book to mark some of the quotes to share at book club. So I'll record them here:
- So it is my grandchildren who will swim in this pond, and others whom the years will bring. The circle of care grows larger and caregiving for my little pond spills over to caregiving for other waters. The outlet from my pond runs downhill to my good neighbor's pond. What I do here matters. Everybody lives downstream. My pond drains to the brook, to the creek, to a great and needful lake. The water net connects us all. I have shed tears into that flow when I thought that motherhood would end. But the pond has shown me that being a good mother doesn't end with creating a home where just my children can flourish. A good mother grows into a richly eutrophic old woman, knowing that her work doesn't end until she creates a home where all of life's beings can flourish. There are grandchildren to nurture, and frog children, nestlings, goslings, seedlings and spores, and I still want to be a good mother.
- The earth, that first among good mothers, gives us the gift that we cannot provide ourselves. I hadn't realized that I had come to the lake and said feed me, but my empty heart was fed. I had a good mother. She gives what we need without being asked. I wonder if she gets tired, old Mother Earth. Or if she too is fed by the giving. "Thanks," I whispered, "for all of this."
- We are showered every day with gifts, but they are not meant for us to keep. Their breath is in their movement, the in hale and the exhale of our shared breath. Our work and our joy is to pass along the gift and to trust that what we put out into the universe will always come back.
