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The
history of plants is intertwined with the history of people, with the forces of
destruction and creation.
Kimmerer,
R. W. (2013). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and
the teachings of plants. Milkweed Editions.Sources:https://milkweed.org/book/braiding-sweetgrasshttps://nuts2406.medium.com/book-review-braiding-sweetgrass-474dcd9ecb21This
week, I'm reading Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge,
and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Kimmerer is a botanist and
Distinguished Teaching Professor of Environmental Biology at the State
University of New York, but she holds a more unique identity as a descendant of
North American Indigenous people, specifically of the Potawatomi Nation. In
Braiding Sweetgrass, Kimmerer weaves together Native American folklore, ancient
wisdom, science, and personal memoir, much like the three strands of sweetgrass
in a braid. These interwoven elements—science, spirituality, and
storytelling—aim to inspire readers to understand and
protect our natural world. She offers a remedy for our fractured relationship
with the Earth, calling for a new kinship between people and the land: a
relationship where humans heal the land, and the land, in turn, heals us. The
book emphasizes that fostering a reciprocal relationship between humanity and
nature is essential for Earth’s conservation.![]()
Source:https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/may/23/robin-wall-kimmerer-people-cant-understand-the-world-as-a-gift-unless-someone-shows-them-how
Sweetgrass
braiding is used throughout the book as a recurring metaphor. In Native
American tradition, sweetgrass is seen as the first plant to grow from Mother
Earth, and braiding it represents a gesture of love and care, much like
braiding one’s own mother’s hair. Here, sweetgrass braiding
symbolizes the ideal relationship between humans and the Earth. The book’s structure centers around sweetgrass and is divided into five
parts: Planting Sweetgrass, Tending Sweetgrass, Picking Sweetgrass, Braiding
Sweetgrass, and Burning Sweetgrass. Three intertwined threads run through the
narrative: Indigenous knowledge, scientific knowledge, and personal narrative.
The book illustrates the countless ways North American Indigenous communities
have maintained reciprocal relationships with nature and details various
examples of plants and animals working in harmony, explaining the scientific
principles behind them. Kimmerer also shares her family history and personal
experiences as a Native American descendant, adding depth to her teachings.In
Native American creation mythology, sweetgrass holds a significant place and is
honored as one of the four sacred plants. Its scientific name, Hierochloe odorata,
means “fragrant, holy grass.” In Potawatomi, it is
called wiingaashk, meaning "the sweet-smelling hair of Mother Earth."According
to Indigenous legend, sweetgrass was the first plant to grow on Earth, its
fragrance a tender reminder of the Sky Woman’s touch. Sweetgrass is
considered to be the hair of Mother Earth, and braiding it in three strands
symbolizes care and gratitude toward her. Sweetgrass is not only useful—for weaving baskets and as a medicinal plant—but also spiritually meaningful. During ceremonies, it is burned to
create a ritualistic smoke, a scent that reminds people to “remember to remember,” helping to heal both
body and spirit.The
book contrasts Indigenous and Western ways of life and thought, most notably
through their differing creation stories.At
the beginning of the book, the Indigenous creation myth is recounted. The Sky
Woman fell from the heavens, clutching a handful of something in her fear. As
she plummeted into the void, many animals came to her aid. First, geese flew beneath
her, trying to break her fall. Then others joined, including the loon, otter,
swan, beaver, and various fish, until she rested on the back of a turtle.
Animals tried diving to retrieve mud from the ocean’s
depths, many not returning, some giving their lives. Finally, a muskrat
sacrificed itself, bringing back a handful of soil. Sky Woman spread this mud
across the turtle’s shell and, with gratitude, danced
and sang, transforming it into the Earth. As she fell from the heavens, she
held a branch from the Tree of Life, which carried fruits and seeds from
various plants. She scattered these seeds across the newly formed land, and,
under the warmth of the sun, they sprouted, bearing fruits and seeds to nourish
all living beings, creating a paradise where life thrived in harmony. ![]()
Source:https://peopleofthelonghouse.tumblr.com/post/111803813873/dwebongwe-heres-a-painting-by-my-dad-bruce-king
In
contrast, the Western creation myth also features a woman, named Eve, who is in
a garden with a tree. However, for the simple act of taking a bite of an apple,
Eve is cast out of the garden and into the wilderness, condemned to toil for
her sustenance. Kimmerer contrasts these two creation myths: one is about
mutual aid, generosity, and embracing the world of life, while the other
centers on punishment and exile. Kimmerer imagines a conversation between Sky
Woman and Eve: “Sister, you got the short end of the stick…”Kimmerer
points out that Sky Woman was, in fact, an immigrant and draws a parallel to
those who came to this new land after 1492, immigrants who arrived on Ellis
Island, New York, where they set foot on what was known to Native Americans as “Turtle
Island.” Kimmerer herself is a descendant of both
groups: some of her ancestors were from Sky Woman’s
people, while others were later immigrants, including a French fur trader, an
Irish carpenter, and a Welsh farmer.The
descendants of Sky Woman met the children of Eve, and the land, plants, and
Indigenous people of the Americas bore the scars of this encounter.The
history of plants is intertwined with the history of people, with the forces of
destruction and creation.Since
Sky Woman first planted sweetgrass, it has flourished on this land. But today,
sweetgrass has nearly disappeared. Just as the Mohawk language has been
displaced by English, Italian, and Polish, sweetgrass has been crowded out by
foreign plants. For a culture, the loss of a plant poses a threat akin to the
loss of a language.European
immigrants brought plants they were familiar with to the New World, along with
the weeds that accompanied the plow, which together replaced native plants.
Plants reflect shifts in culture and changes in land ownership. Today, fields
are dense with foreign plants that the sweetgrass harvesters of the past would
hardly recognize: quackgrass, timothy, clover, daisies. Invasive purple
loosestrife spreads along the wetlands.Sweetgrass
seeds have an unusual trait: while it produces flower stalks by early June, its
seeds are difficult to propagate. If you plant a hundred seeds, you might be
lucky to see even one grow. Sweetgrass has its own method of reproduction. The
best way to grow it isn’t from seeds but by planting its roots directly into the soil.Every
green, shiny blade that emerges sends out a slender white rhizome, weaving its
way through the soil. These rhizomes are lined with buds that can sprout new
shoots, reaching out to the sunlight. Sweetgrass rhizomes can extend several
feet from the parent plant, allowing the plant to travel freely along
riverbanks. When the land is intact, this is an effective strategy.But
these soft, white rhizomes cannot penetrate roads or parking lots. Once
sweetgrass is lost to farming, it cannot be replenished by external seeds. The
primary cause of its decline is development: wetlands are drained, fields are
converted to farmland and roads, and native populations are wiped out. Invasive
species flood in, pushing out the sweetgrass—replaying the history of its
people.In
discussing the challenges of reestablishing sweetgrass, Kimmerer writes
meaningfully: “Reciprocity is a key to success. When the sweetgrass is cared for
and treated with respect, it will flourish, but if the relationship fails, so
does the plant.”The
federal Indian removal policies forced many Indigenous people from their
homelands. Within just a generation, Kimmerer's ancestors were “removed” three times—from Wisconsin to Kansas, with
several stops along the way, and then to Oklahoma. This policy separated
Indigenous people from traditional wisdom, lifestyles, ancestral remains, and
the plants that sustained them. Yet, even so, Indigenous identity endured. So
the government tried another approach: separating Native children from their
families and cultures, sending them to schools far from home.Kimmerer’s
grandfather, Asa Wall, was sent to the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in
Pennsylvania at the age of nine, severing his connection to Indigenous culture.
He later joined the army, worked as an auto mechanic, supported a middle-class “American Dream” life, but he was unable to
pass down the stories of sweetgrass from his Potawatomi heritage. This cultural
rupture remains a lasting sorrow for Kimmerer.When
Kimmerer first started college, her professor asked her why she wanted to study
botany.Kimmerer
answered, “I chose botany because I want to understand why asters and goldenrod
look so beautiful together. Why do they, though each could grow separately,
choose to stand side by side? Why have they become a pair?”![]()
Source:https://edgeofthewoodsnursery.com/asters-and-goldenrods
Unexpectedly,
the professor replied, “That’s not science.”Kimmerer didn’t argue back but found herself navigating
two worldviews: one grounded in the naturalist tradition of observation and
experience, the other in scientific inquiry. After years of study, achieving
her master’s and doctoral degrees, and finally securing
a faculty position, she returned to her original question. It was a scientific
question, an artistic one, and a question of beauty—one
that science alone could not fully answer.Today,
Kimmerer has an answer. Human perception of color depends on specialized
receptor cells in the retina: rods and cones. Humans have three types of cone
cells, each sensitive to different wavelengths—one best at detecting
red, one specialized for blue, and a third adept at recognizing both purple and
yellow light.Artistically
speaking, purple and yellow are complementary colors; they create an energetic
contrast that our eyes find especially vivid. Bees’ eyes
are similarly attuned to purple and yellow. When asters and goldenrod grow
together, their striking contrast makes them the most eye-catching spot on the
prairie, a beacon to bees, who are drawn to them. Together, asters and
goldenrod attract more pollinators than if they grew apart.Why
are asters and goldenrod so beautiful together? The answer is both physical and
spiritual. We need the entire spectrum of light, and we also need profound
understanding. When viewed through a purely scientific lens, we see only
complementary color afterimages of purple and yellow. But could science and
traditional knowledge exist together like purple and yellow, like asters and
goldenrod? If we look at the world through both perspectives, our vision of it
becomes more complete.Science
and art, material and spiritual, Indigenous knowledge and Western science—could
they become each other’s goldenrod and aster?
1.“The
dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced here at the
edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”- Ursula
K. Le Guin, Dancing at the Edge of the World, 1989
2.“modern
capitalist societies, however richly endowed, dedicate themselves to the
proposition of scarcity. Inadequacy of economic means is the first principle of
the world’s wealthiest peoples.”- Marshall Sahlins, Stone age economics, 1972![]()
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