I'm taking CCS 612 (Cross-Cultural Studies: Traditional Ecological Knowledge) as a step toward my PhD in Indigenous Studies.
This is a reaction to Original Instructions: Indigenous Teachings for a Sustainable Future by Melissa K. Nelson.
This week’s chapter readings (Nelson) gave me a lot to think about. I came away from it thinking about the positive impact that indigenous knowledge, native science, could have on western civilization if only the concept of colonization could be wiped clean. As I type this, I’ve got my hair pulled up because my face is covered with a greasy salve that I bought from a lady in Nome. The salve doesn’t have a name and she makes it with local ingredients. It’s a healing ointment for dry skin, psoriasis, and such, and my face is just flaking away from dryness, partly because of physical therapy in a pool once/week and partly because it’s just so dry this time of year. I’ve had the salve for several years and seldom use it. Instead, I turn to mass-produced lotions and skin care, but the face creams I’ve been using don’t seem to be helping at all, and I saw this little jar in my medicine cabinet today and thought, “Well, duh! Isn’t this just what I’ve been reading about? Native science!” It seems like just a bad habit that I fall into, searching for answers on Amazon or in storefronts. I’ve been making a concerted effort lately to really pay attention to what food and drink I’m putting into my body, so it only makes sense to pay attention to what I’m putting on it, as well.
In Chapter 18, Mohawk was talking about food as medicine, and it made me pause and think about the floral jellies that I make. I research edible flowers and then grow them from seed, harvest the petals, and make jelly. I’ve learned a lot over the last few years about nutritional, even medicinal, benefits of many of the flowers. Some of the flowers, I harvest in the wild, like Fireweed and Dandelion. I also find it fun to learn what the different flavors are that come from the flowers. Nasturtium jelly tastes like nectarines. Black Pansy jelly tastes like blackberries. Calendula jelly tastes lemony. Bachelor Button jelly tastes like strawberries. There are more that I have discovered, but I’ll stop here. Last summer, when my then 3-year-old grandson was walking with me through the garden, I would pick petals off of this flower or that one and give them to him to eat. The raw petals don’t have much flavor, but it was fun to teach him that he could eat grandma’s flowers. When Mohawk wrote about elders being a repository of knowledge, it made me think about that day and about how my daughters, and even my sister, often call me for advice or information regarding cooking, baking, and gardening. Before my dad passed, he would also call me with questions about those things. Now, I get to start passing on that knowledge to my grandchildren and it’s difficult to describe the feeling of leaving an almost tangible impression on other humans to carry with them long after I’m gone.
In Chapter 19, Nelson was talking about being Ojibwe and the deep meaning behind the annual wild rice harvest. I spent some time teaching at a BIA school on the Lac Courte Oreilles Ojibwe reservation in northern Wisconsin, and students were often “in class” outside of the classroom in the mornings. In the fall, often coinciding with the beginning of the school year, was the wild rice harvest. This pulled students into the local lakes and waterways until late morning on most days. However, the integration of Traditional Ojibwe Knowledge into the regular school day was the key lifeline for those students. The reward was having wild rice for lunch! The K-12 school had no more than 100 students when I was there in 2005-2007, and the cafeteria cooks made lunch from scratch every day, and the menu depended on the season. However, whenever they said we were having a feast, it meant that wild rice was on the menu. In that culture, if you had wild rice, you were livin’ large. Fall also meant deer hunting, so it was not unusual for us to have venison with our wild rice. Duke mentioned this same feast tradition in Chapter 22. It brought back good memories and a hunger for wild rice!
I loved how Rivera, Chapter 20, put it when he said that the Andeans would have a conversation with wild plants before, during, and after harvest. It reminded me of picking berries on the tundra behind our cabin on the Unalakleet River. Hundreds, probably thousands, of acres of blueberries, salmon berries, cranberries, black berries (crow berries) all mixed in together. There was a special time in late summer and early fall when I could go out to the tundra and sit in one spot and pick all 4 kinds of berries within arm’s reach. I was always alone, the spot being 12 miles from town, so I would often sing or just talk to the berries and the mountains in the distance, partly because it made me feel a connection with the earth and partly because I didn’t want a bear or a wolf to just happen upon me out there.
Memories of my own ocean food gathering were brought to mind as I read Ross’ Chapter 21. When I lived in Homer, we would go digging for razor clams in September. Earlier in the summer, we would go across the bay to camp. While over there, we would scour the boulders at low tide for mussels and butter clams which would be steamed and served with a coconut curry broth and big hunks of fresh French bread. It was so delicious that I can taste it as I type. Ross also emphasized thinking small - home gardens, using what’s around on the land and in the water, and steering clear of big-business food products. It’s all so true and I’ve lived most of my adult life according to that very principal. My daughters, having been raised with gardens, now have their own gardens and are teaching their children about organic (native) home-grown food. Food gathering can also be a fun, family experience like when I go blueberry picking with my daughter and grandson out at Hatcher’s Pass. We have made it an annual family tradition. This coming Saturday, we (my husband, myself, my daughter, her husband, and my grandson) are all going ice-fishing together. I love that we do those things together. Bonding over the catching and harvesting of food is food for the soul in itself.
Finally, in Chapter 23, when Mohawk talked of the fragility of a high tech civilization, it made me reflect on how thankful I am for the modern conveniences that we now have, that we didn’t have when living offgrid in the 400sf cabin on the Unalakleet River. Much like the Andeans, I have conversations with my appliances on a regular basis. I don’t know that I’ll ever turn on a tap for warm running water again and not be grateful for it. I’m thankful every time I open the refrigerator to get a cold glass of iced tea. I’m so very thankful to have ice in the summer, not just in the winter. The robot vacuum, dishwasher, washing machine, and dryer - I’m very spoiled now, but I am thankful. However, the fragility of it all is not lost on me. I’ll always garden, hunt, fish, gather, and put up all that I can.
Food is medicine and so is the acquisition of that food. Mindfulness in all steps of the process is as nourishing as it is healing. Now is the time to extend that thought pattern to medicine for the external. Over the last couple of years, I have been learning about essential oils and rely on my homemade roll-ons to ease back pain, capsules to ease stomach pain, and cleaners to keep my home as nontoxic as possible. Why didn’t I turn to that healing salve first? From now on, I will.
This week’s chapter readings (Nelson) gave me a lot to think about. I came away from it thinking about the positive impact that indigenous knowledge, native science, could have on western civilization if only the concept of colonization could be wiped clean. As I type this, I’ve got my hair pulled up because my face is covered with a greasy salve that I bought from a lady in Nome. The salve doesn’t have a name and she makes it with local ingredients. It’s a healing ointment for dry skin, psoriasis, and such, and my face is just flaking away from dryness, partly because of physical therapy in a pool once/week and partly because it’s just so dry this time of year. I’ve had the salve for several years and seldom use it. Instead, I turn to mass-produced lotions and skin care, but the face creams I’ve been using don’t seem to be helping at all, and I saw this little jar in my medicine cabinet today and thought, “Well, duh! Isn’t this just what I’ve been reading about? Native science!” It seems like just a bad habit that I fall into, searching for answers on Amazon or in storefronts. I’ve been making a concerted effort lately to really pay attention to what food and drink I’m putting into my body, so it only makes sense to pay attention to what I’m putting on it, as well.
In Chapter 19, Nelson was talking about being Ojibwe and the deep meaning behind the annual wild rice harvest. I spent some time teaching at a BIA school on the Lac Courte Oreilles Ojibwe reservation in northern Wisconsin, and students were often “in class” outside of the classroom in the mornings. In the fall, often coinciding with the beginning of the school year, was the wild rice harvest. This pulled students into the local lakes and waterways until late morning on most days. However, the integration of Traditional Ojibwe Knowledge into the regular school day was the key lifeline for those students. The reward was having wild rice for lunch! The K-12 school had no more than 100 students when I was there in 2005-2007, and the cafeteria cooks made lunch from scratch every day, and the menu depended on the season. However, whenever they said we were having a feast, it meant that wild rice was on the menu. In that culture, if you had wild rice, you were livin’ large. Fall also meant deer hunting, so it was not unusual for us to have venison with our wild rice. Duke mentioned this same feast tradition in Chapter 22. It brought back good memories and a hunger for wild rice!
Memories of my own ocean food gathering were brought to mind as I read Ross’ Chapter 21. When I lived in Homer, we would go digging for razor clams in September. Earlier in the summer, we would go across the bay to camp. While over there, we would scour the boulders at low tide for mussels and butter clams which would be steamed and served with a coconut curry broth and big hunks of fresh French bread. It was so delicious that I can taste it as I type. Ross also emphasized thinking small - home gardens, using what’s around on the land and in the water, and steering clear of big-business food products. It’s all so true and I’ve lived most of my adult life according to that very principal. My daughters, having been raised with gardens, now have their own gardens and are teaching their children about organic (native) home-grown food. Food gathering can also be a fun, family experience like when I go blueberry picking with my daughter and grandson out at Hatcher’s Pass. We have made it an annual family tradition. This coming Saturday, we (my husband, myself, my daughter, her husband, and my grandson) are all going ice-fishing together. I love that we do those things together. Bonding over the catching and harvesting of food is food for the soul in itself.
Finally, in Chapter 23, when Mohawk talked of the fragility of a high tech civilization, it made me reflect on how thankful I am for the modern conveniences that we now have, that we didn’t have when living offgrid in the 400sf cabin on the Unalakleet River. Much like the Andeans, I have conversations with my appliances on a regular basis. I don’t know that I’ll ever turn on a tap for warm running water again and not be grateful for it. I’m thankful every time I open the refrigerator to get a cold glass of iced tea. I’m so very thankful to have ice in the summer, not just in the winter. The robot vacuum, dishwasher, washing machine, and dryer - I’m very spoiled now, but I am thankful. However, the fragility of it all is not lost on me. I’ll always garden, hunt, fish, gather, and put up all that I can.
Food is medicine and so is the acquisition of that food. Mindfulness in all steps of the process is as nourishing as it is healing. Now is the time to extend that thought pattern to medicine for the external. Over the last couple of years, I have been learning about essential oils and rely on my homemade roll-ons to ease back pain, capsules to ease stomach pain, and cleaners to keep my home as nontoxic as possible. Why didn’t I turn to that healing salve first? From now on, I will.
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