| «La mano morena y arrugada toma una brizna de hierba entre el pulgar y el índice. “¿Ves cómo brilla? Aunque se esconda entre el resto de las hierbas, en realidad quiere que la encuentren. Por eso reluce así”», 181. | “She runs a ribbon of grass through the thumb and forefinger of her wrinkled brown hand. ‘See how glossy it is? It can hide from you among the others, but it wants to be found. That’s why it shines like this.’” 187. |
The plants themselves have shown us this— mishkos kenomagwen, Robin tells, with the emphasis on the Potowatomi’s words, so we can read the importance of the sentence: “The plants themselves have shown us this”. But, as we’ll see later, to ask for something from a plant requires to give something. Lena, as a wisdom elder, makes her offering: tobacco strands, to request permission from the plants.
This listening activity cross the book. For example, Robin listen to the plants in her research as a scientific:
| «las plantas pueden ser igual de elocuentes a través de las respuestas físicas y el comportamiento. Responden a las preguntas a través de su forma de vivir, reaccionando a los cambios. Solo hay que saber cómo preguntar. [...] Los experimentos no buscan descubrir algo, sino escuchar y traducir los saberes de otras criaturas», 184. | “But plants can be eloquent in their physical responses and behaviors. Plants answer questions by the way they live, by their responses to change; you just need to learn how to ask [...] Experiments are not about discovery but about listening and translating the knowledge of other beings.” 190. |
It’s important to notice that even when the listening practice is executed by a member of an Indigenous community, there’s no exclusivity on that, as the Laurie example (in the Final Thoughts) will reveal. However, as knowledge holders, the revindication of the Potawatomi nation to perform that is unquestionable. Indigenous knowledge proved to be a key to scientific development and because of that, it’s important to reframe the scientific approach:
| «Los ancianos cuentan que, en épocas antiguas, los árboles hablaban entre ellos. Tenían sus propias reuniones y elaboraban sus propios planes. Sin embargo, hace ya tiempo que los científicos decidieron que las plantas son mudas y sordas y que permanecen / aisladas en sí mismas, incapaces de comunicarse. De ese modo, la posibilidad de una conversación quedó anulada con efecto inmediato [...] Hoy se han hallado pruebas que confirman lo que decían nuestros ancianos: los árboles están hablando entre ellos. Nunca han dejado de hacerlo. Se comunican a través de feromonas, compuestos similares a las hormonas que flotan en la brisa y transmiten significados», 30-31 | “In the old times, our elders say, the trees talked to each other. They’d stand in their own council and craft a plan. But scientists decided long ago that plants were deaf and mute, locked in isolation without communication. The possibility of conversation was summarily dismissed. [...] There is now compelling evidence that our elders were right—the trees are talking to one another. They communicate via pheromones, hormonelike compounds that are wafted on the breeze, laden with meaning.” 29-30. |
Linguistic Features
When young, the author was choosing between studying poetry or Botanical Sciences. For her formal education, she decided on the last one, but the poet in her is visible in the wide range of resources used to make her point.
The relationship with the earth passed through the language: Potawatomi and Robin —an English speaker— made sense of the world around them naming the elements of it, creating a bond with the land and space, opposing that idea to the current relationship that many citizens have with the space —we are purposely avoiding the word “land” to talk about this relationship—:
«Teníamos palabras propias para los nogales que crecían más al norte, donde había estado nuestro hogar, pero cuando nos expulsaron del territorio, nos arrebataron también los árboles, los nogales blancos, los nogales del pantano y los nogales americanos» 23. «La mayoría de la gente ignora el nombre de las criaturas con las que convive y, de hecho, muchos apenas se percatan de su presencia. Pero es a través de los nombres que los seres humanos forjamos relaciones no solo con los demás, sino también con el mundo natural», 241. | “The hickories, black walnuts, and butternuts of our northern homelands have their own specific names. But those trees, like the homelands, were lost to my people” 21. “Most people don’t know the names of these relatives; in fact, they hardly even see them. Names are the way we humans build relationship, not only with each other but with the living world”, 248.
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It was not only about a tree but the specific relationship with each type of tree, as they related to them in their practices: black ashes for baskets, maples for sugar, pecans for their nuts, etc. Diasporas forced the Potawatomi nation to move from different lands, changing their practices and specific relationships with nature, as not all trees were present in the different types of weather. Words were forgotten. Language practices were lost. Practical relationships with the trees flew into oblivion.
«Cuánto se perdió y se olvidó en ese camino. Las tumbras de la mitad de la población. Lenguas. Saberes. Nombres. Mi bisabuela, Sha-note, “El Viento Que Atraviesa”, fue rebautizada como Charlotte. Los nombres que los misioneros o los soldados no eran capaces de pronunciar estaban prohibidos», 23. | “So much was scattered and left along that trail. Graves of half the people. Language. Knowledge. Names. My great-grandmother Sha-note, “wind blowing through,” was renamed Charlotte. Names the soldiers or the missionaries could not pronounce were not permitted.” 21. |
However, a virtue of the book is the focus in creation: the Potowatomi’s nation sees time in a linear way, so their fundamental myths are, also, a prophecy. Indeed, in their time of splendor, these communities had the chances to live according to their own interpretation of the Original Instructions, but the civilizational crossing led to the redefinition of these practices. To the question “what is the word impregnated with when the world that made it possible ceases to exist?”, Robin replies:
«Lo que escuchaba en las palabras era el mensaje de nuestro desarraigo, un idioma que era el del exilio. Realizábamos ceremonias de segunda mano. Los que conocían la auténtica ceremonia, hablaban el idioma perdido y sabían los nombres verdaderos, el mío incluido, no estaban con nosotros. [...] Al presenciar las ceremonias antiguas, comprendí que nuestra ofrenda del café no era de segunda mano. Era nuestra», 50-51. | “I heard in the words a message that we did not belong because we spoke in the language of exiles. It was a secondhand ceremony. Somewhere there were people who knew the right ceremony, who knew the lost language and spoke the true names, including my own. [...] It was in the presence of the ancient ceremonies that I understood that our coffee offering was not secondhand, it was ours” 49-50. |
Current linguistic practices are important not only as a part of history but also because they shape the daily life, the beliefs, values, and identities of people, including Robin. This is an important factor to keep in mind before introducing ourselves to the phonemes and morphemes of the Potawatomi language that Robin shares in her book.
The original man in Potawatomi’s stories is Nanabozho, who walked through the world for the first time and assigned names to what he observed. Robin tries to separate her “science mind” and name things the way Original Man would have: “strong arms covered in moss” instead of Picea sitchensis, or “Branch like a wing” instead of Thuja plicata (208). Also, Robin insists and brings awareness about the power of naming: a meaningful name can provide dignity to a land.
«En las lenguas algonquinas, Tahawus es el monte Marcy, la montaña más alta de los Adirondacks. Lo han llamado monte Marcy en honor a un gobernador que nunca pisó sus agrestes laderas. El verdadero nombre, el que hace referencia a su naturaleza esencial, es Tahawus, “El Que Raja Las Nubes” [...] Mi padre había subido muchas veces a la cima del Tahawus y por eso conocía su nombre verdadero: había experimentado íntimamente ese lugar y la relación con quienes le precedieron. Cuando llamamos un lugar por su nombre verdadero, hacemos de él un hogar», 48. | “Tahawus is the Algonquin name for Mount Marcy, the highest peak in the Adirondacks. It’s called Mount Marcy to commemorate a governor who never set foot on those wild slopes. Tahawus, ‘the Cloud Splitter,’ is its true name, invoking its essential nature. [...] My father had been on Tahawus’s summit many times and knew it well enough to call it by name, speaking with intimate knowledge of the place and the people who came before. When we call a place by name it is transformed from wilderness to homeland”, 47-48. |
According to Robin, the space is not only a condition to establish a production activity but a living force where species converge between them in reciprocity relationships, a land. Naming a place with a word that can recognize the meaningful connections between the creatures that inhabit creates a home. She practices this when she remember her childhood and is able to integrate a word with her visuals:
«Nuestros mapas mentales contenían todas las señales que necesitábamos entonces: el fortín bajo los zumaques, el pedregal, el río, el enorme pino cuyas ramas / estaban dispuestas de una manera tan regular que podías trepar por él como si se trata de una escalera. Y los fresales», 35. | “ Our mental maps had all the landmarks we kids needed: the fort under the sumacs, the rock pile, the river, the big pine with branches so evenly spaced you could climb to the top as if it were a ladder—and the strawberry patches.” 34. |
The relationship with the space proves to be fundamental to keeping the language and the culture alive. In the present, for example, nine Potawatomis’ tribus reunites in Oklahoma for days, every year, looking for belonging. Culinary and musical values come together in the claim for identity. These shared spaces allow the language to survive. Every time a word is spoken, it bring breathe into the language, as Robin’s teacher told her.
However, in the first approach to the phonetics, we realize there’s an issue when trying to hear the language, as it’s a language at risk:
«La asimilación se llevó a cabo con éxito y la posibilidad de / escuchar ese idioma —mi posibilidad y la tuya— desapareció en el jabón con que lavaban la boca de los niños indios enviados al internado, donde estaba prohibido hablar en idiomas indígenas. [...] La historia hizo que la gente y las palabras se dispersaran. Yo misma vivo hoy lejos de la reserva: aunque pudiera hablar ese idioma, no tengo a nadie con quien hacerlo», 65. | “The powers of assimilation did their work as my chance of hearing that language, and yours too, was washed from the mouths of Indian children in government boarding schools where speaking your native tongue was forbidden. [...] This history scattered not only our words but also our people. Today I live far from our reservation, so even if I could speak the language, I would have no one to talk to.“ 66. |
Robin addresses the issue of not having a community of speakers as one of the threats to the language, “the words that praised creation, told the old stories, lulled my ancestors to sleep”, 67, faces and put it in danger to disappear. She describes how her community, through their yearly tribal gatherings, started language classes as a resistance practice, inviting the fluent speakers: nine persons. To get involved in the language of her people, Robin decided to cover her house with sticky notes that could help her navigate through the words in both languages, as she became able to develop a rough usage, translating words from English into Potawatomi while speaking with her sister. But, how to capture the “heart of the culture” in these translating exercises?
The strategic she uses was to understand the structure of the Potowatomi languague. With her teacher, it was possible to get to the sounds of the language and identify the phonemes:
«El idioma hablado es otra historia. Nuestro abecedario tiene menos letras, por lo que a un principiante le resulta más difícil identificar las diferencias entre las palabras. Los hermosos grupos consonánticos zh, mb, shwe, kwe y mshk suenan igual que el viento entre los pinos y el agua sobre las rocas, sonidos a los que nuestros oídos tal vez estuvieron acostumbrados en el pasado, pero que ahora resultan prácticamente indistinguibles. Para aprender es necesario escuchar de verdad», 68. | “Hearing the language is a different story. There are fewer letters in our alphabet, so the distinction among words for a beginner is often subtle. With the beautiful clusters of consonants of zh and mb and shwe and kwe and mshk, our language sounds like wind in the pines and water over rocks, sounds our ears may have been more delicately attuned to in the past, but no longer. To learn again, you really have to listen.” 70. |
A listener who’s not used to these phonemes can have a hard time trying to identify words with different meanings and subtle differences in the sound.
«Stewart King, uno de los grandes profesores y guardianes del saber, nos cuenta que el Creador quería alegrarnos y que por eso la sintaxis está cargada de sentido del humor.Un pequeño error de pronunciación puede convertir “Necesitamos más leña” en “Quítate la ropa”», 69. | “As Stewart King, a knowledge keeper and great teacher, reminds us, the Creator meant for us to laugh, so humor is deliberately built into the syntax. Even a small slip of the tongue can convert ‘We need more firewood’ to ‘Take off your clothes.’” 71. |
Morphology itself proves to have considerable differences between the two named-languages. English is a language of nouns, an Potawatomi is one of verbs:
«Y para hablar de verdad hacen falta verbos, y aquí es donde mi habilidad infantil para nombrar las cosas me abandona. El inglés es un idioma basado en los sustantivos, lo que parece apropiado para una cultura obsesionada con las cosas. Solo el 30 por ciento de las palabras inglesas son verbos. En potawatomi, en cambio, la / proporción es del 70 por ciento. Eso significa que el 70 por ciento de las palabras tiene que conjugarse y que en el 70 por ciento hay tiempos y casos diferentes que dominar», 68-69. | “To actually speak, of course, requires verbs, and here is where my kindergarten proficiency at naming things leaves off. English is a nounbased language, somehow appropriate to a culture so obsessed with things. Only 30 percent of English words are verbs, but in Potawatomi that proportion is 70 percent. Which means that 70 percent of the words have to be conjugated, and 70 percent / have different tenses and cases to be mastered.” 70-71. |
Going deeper into this difference, Robin remembers checking a dictionary of Ojibwe, a related language: in there, she found out that mostly all words are verbs: “to be a hill,” “to be red,” “to be a long sandy stretch of beach,” “to be a bay” (wiikwegamaa). In English, all of these words are nouns. In Potawatomi, the word designated something that was alive:
«Podía oler incluso el aroma del agua, observarla romper contra la orilla, escuchar su murmullo en la arena. Una bahía es un nombre solo si el agua está muerta. Bahía es un nombre cuando la define el hombre, atrapada tras la orilla, contenida en la palabra. Pero el verbo wiikwegamaa —ser una bahía— libera al agua de su cautiverio y la deja vivir. “Ser una bahía” contiene el milagro de que el agua viva haya decidido, en un momento determinado, refugiarse entre las orillas y conversar con las raíces de los cedros y las bandadas de serretas. Podría no hacerlo, podría convertirse en arroyo o en océano o en cascada, y para todo ello también hay verbos.”Ser una colina”, “ser una playa arenosa” o “ser sábado” son verbos posibles en un mundo en el que todo está vivo. El agua, la tierra e incluso los días. El idioma es un espejo en el que se refleja la cualidad animada del / mundo, la vida esencial que late en todas las cosas, entre los pinos y los trepadores y los hongos. Este es el idioma que yo escucho en los bosques, el que nos permite hablar de lo que brota a nuestro alrededor», 71. | “ I could smell the water of the bay, watch it rock against the shore and hear it sift onto the sand. A bay is a noun only if water is dead. When bay is a noun, it is defined by humans, trapped between its shores and contained by the word. But the verb wiikwegamaa—to be a bay —releases the water from bondage and lets it live. ‘To be a bay’ holds the wonder that, for this moment, the living water has decided to shelter itself between these shores, conversing with cedar roots / and a flock of baby mergansers. Because it could do otherwise— become a stream or an ocean or a waterfall, and there are verbs for that, too. To be a hill, to be a sandy beach, to be a Saturday, all are possible verbs in a world where everything is alive. Water, land, and even a day, the language a mirror for seeing the animacy of the world, the life that pulses through all things, through pines and nuthatches and mushrooms. This is the language I hear in the woods; this is the language that lets us speak of what wells up all around us.” 72-73. |
To compare the situation in an inverse setting, Robin settles up an example:
«Es la gramática de lo animado. Imagina que ves a tu abuela con su delantal junto a la estufa y que se te ocurre comentar: “Mira, eso está preparando sopa. Eso tiene el pelo gris”. Resultaría profundamente extraño, pues en inglés no nos referimos a ningún miembro de la familia, ni a ninguna persona, en realidad, como eso. Implicaría una grave falta de respeto. Eso despoja a la persona de su identidad individual y de su semejanza con los demás, reduciéndola a un mero objeto. Y he aquí que en potawatomi y en la mayoría de las lenguas indígenas utilizamos las mismas palabras para referirnos al mundo vivo y a nuestra familia. Porque el mundo vivo también es nuestra familia», 71. | “This is the grammar of animacy. Imagine seeing your grandmother standing at the stove in her apron and then saying of her, ‘Look, it is making soup. It has gray hair.’ We might snicker at such a mistake, but we also recoil from it. In English, we never refer to a member of our family, or indeed to any person, as it. That would be a profound act of disrespect. It robs a person of self hood and kinship, reducing a person to a mere thing. So it is that in Potawatomi and most other indigenous languages, we use the same words to address the living world as we use for our family. Because they are our family.” 73. |
That characteristic expands to rocks, mountains, water, fire, and places as they are seen as animate: “Beings that are imbued with spirit, our sacred medicines, our songs, drums, and even stories, are all animate. The list of the inanimate seems to be smaller, filled with objects that are made by people,” 73. And, as stated before, this condition defines the way a speaker must address when speaking about them: which words to choose to designate the sounds animated beings can produce, and when these animated beings are portraying actions.
«De un ser inanimado, como una mesa, decimos: “¿Qué es?”. Y respondemos: “Dopwen yewe”. “Mesa es”. Pero de una manzana, debemos decir: “¿Quién es este ser?”. Y respondemos: “Mshimin yawe”. “Manzana este ser es”», 71. | “Of an inanimate being, like a table, we say, ‘What is it?’ And we answer / Dopwen yewe. Table it is. But of apple, we must say, ‘Who is that being?’ And reply Mshimin yawe. Apple that being is” 73-74. |
Fascinating, as displayed, the language is crossed by the relationship the Potawatomi nation established with the world around. Becoming fluent means understand from the core of your heart this type of relationship:
«Los idiomas europeos suelen asignarles género a los nombres. Sin embargo, el potawatomi no divide al mundo entre masculino y femenino. En nuestro idioma, los nombres y los verbos pueden ser animados e inanimados. La palabra con la que dices “escuchar” a una persona es diferente a la palabra que utilizas cuando “escuchas” un avión. Los pronombres, los artículos, los plurales, los demostrativos, los verbos, todas esas piezas sintácticas que me volvían loca en las clases de inglés del instituto se estructuran en el idioma potawatomi en torno a la distinción etnre lo animado y lo inerte. Formas verbales distintas, distanta formación del plural, todo cambia en función de si aquello de lo que hablas está o no dotado de vida». 69. | ”European languages often assign gender to nouns, but Potawatomi does not divide the world into masculine and feminine. Nouns and verbs both are animate and inanimate. You hear a person with a word that is completely different from the one with which you hear an airplane. Pronouns, articles, plurals, demonstratives, verbs—all those syntactical bits I never could keep straight in high school English are all aligned in Potawatomi to provide different ways to speak of the living world and the lifeless one. Different verb forms, different plurals, different everything apply depending on whether what you are speaking of is alive.” 71. |
Opening to new language possibilities has the power to relate to the world around us from a different perspective, and that is the goal of the book.
«Un profesor de idiomas que conozco me contó que la gramática no es más que la forma en que trazamos el mapa de las relaciones lingüísticas. Es posible que en ella se reflejen nuestras relaciones con los demás. Tal vez una gramática de lo animado podría llevarnos a formas completamente nuevas de vivir, a que otras especies sean también pueblo soberano, a un mundo organizado según una democracia de especies frente a y no a partir de la tiranía de una sola, a la responsabilidad moral hacia el agua y hacia los lobos y un sistema legal que reconozca el lugar que ocupan todas las criaturas. Todo está en los pronombres. [...] Parece difícil que los estadounidenses, particularmente reacios a aprender otros idiomas, aunque sean de nuestra propia especie, vayamos a aprender los de otras especies. Pero imagina la cantidad de posibilidades que se nos abrirían. Las perspectivas diferentes, las cosas que veríamos con otros ojos, la sabiduría de la que nos rodearíamos. No tendríamos que comprenderlo todo nosotros, habría otras inteligencias, habría mentores a nuestro alrededor. Imagina cómo se reduciría la sensación de soledad en el mundo», 73-74. | “A language teacher I know explained that grammar is just the way we chart relationships in language. Maybe it also reflects our relationships with each other. Maybe a grammar of animacy could lead us to whole new ways of living in the world, other species a sovereign people, a world with a democracy of species, not a tyranny of one—with moral responsibility to water and wolves, and with a legal system that recognizes the standing of other species. It’s all in the pronouns. [...] We Americans are reluctant to learn a foreign language of our own species, let alone another species. But imagine the possibilities. Imagine the access we would have to different perspectives, the things we might see through other eyes, the wisdom that surrounds us. We don’t have to figure out everything by ourselves: there are intelligences other than our own, teachers all around us. Imagine how much less lonely the world would be.” 76 |
Robin is not only advocating for a rising in indigenous languages, but for learning to listen to nature through animistic languages, as these languages were generated with an active relationship with nature. Indigenous people learned how to listen to the nature around them, Robin says over and over again.
An interesting strategy we want to address is that, as an emergent multilingual, Robin supported her practice of speaking Potawatomi with her sister with the usage of a different language as a filler: Spanish.
«Si somos capaces de articular una idea medio coherente, no tenemos reparos en utilizar palabras en el español que aprendimos en el instituto para rellenar los huecos, generando un nuevo idioma que hemos dado en llamar spanawatomi», 67. | “On the rare occasion when we actually can string together a halfway coherent thought, we freely insert high school Spanish words to fill in the gaps, making a language we call Spanawatomi.” 69. |
Resources to achieve multilingualism in Potowatomi are not addressed in the book. However, it was possible to take some words in Potawatomi that were presented in the book. In some cases, a translation into English/Spanish was necessary to search, as the book didn’t mention the equivalent. The Latin words were taken from the book, and they displayed the scientific identity of Robin.
Word | Meaning |
Wiingaashk | Sweetgrass Hierba sagrada Hierochloe odorata |
Ode’mini-giizis | Luna de las Fresas Strawberry Moon Fragaria virginiana
Related with the Skywoman foundational myth, the first type of fruits (37).
Ode min = fresa Giizis = moon |
Waabigwanigiizis | Luna de las Flores Flowers Moon
|
Zizibaskwet Giizis | Luna del Azúcar de Arce Maple Sugar Moon |
Piganek | The word came from pigan, meaning “nuts”. Pecans Pacanas: fruto del árbol pacano. Carya illinoinensis |
Watap | roots of white spruce Raíces de abeto blanco |
Puhpowee | «La fuerza que hace que los hongos salgan por la noche de la tierra» “the force which causes mushrooms to push up from the earth overnight” |
Ni pi je ezhyayen? | Where are you going? ¿A dónde vas? |
Odanek nde zhya | I’m going to town Ir al pueblo |
Gisken I gbiskewagen! | Take off your coat! ¡Quítate el abrigo! |
Emkwanen | Spoons Cucharas |
Nagen | Dish Plato |
Bozho | Hello Hola |
Wiikwegamaa | To be a bay Ser una bahía |
Wabunong | East Este La dirección del conocimiento/sabiduria |
sema | Tabaco sagrado Sacred Tobacco |
Frexinus nigra | Fresno negro Ash tree |
Agrilus planipennis | Barrenador esmeralda del fresno (173): |
Wisgaak gokpenagen | Black Ash basket Cesta de fresno negro |
Mishkos kenomagwen | What the plants have shown Lo que las propias plantas nos enseñan |
Anenemik | Hombre árbol, Arce, en anishinaabe |
| in Apache, the root word for mind is the same as the root word for land |
Describing the languages, Robin addressed that the language of science, a disciplinary language, allows us to name each little part of a whole, the language of objects, looking to define the boundaries of our knowing. In a different direction, Robin suggested that the origin of the sounds present in the Potawatomi language came from the sounds of the forest —as they are our masters—.
The first word she got to know was from the Anishinaabe ethnobotanist Keewaydinoquay Peschel, in a book describing the traditional uses of fungi by their people. Potawatomi language is one of the Anishinaabe languages, but it’s not the same. The word, Puhpowee, can be translated as Puhpowee “the force which causes mushrooms to push up from the earth overnight.”, with no equivalent in the named English language.
«En las tres sílabas de esta nueva palabra se me hacía patente todo un proceso de atenta observación a las húmedas mañanas de los bosques, la formulación de una teoría que carecía de equivalente en inglés. Quienes crearon esta palabra conocían el mundo del ser, las energías invisibles que dan la vida», 64. | “In the three syllables of this new word I could see an entire process of close observation in the damp morning woods, the formulation of a theory for which English has no equivalent. The / makers of this word understood a world of being, full of unseen energies that animate everything.” 65-66 |
Robin goes beyond morphemes and, sometimes, supports her narrative with onomatopoeia: «Pum, pum, pum. Silencio. Pum, pum, pum» (163), as the hammer was chopping the wood. She invited us to include the representation of sounds in the reading experience, as the book is advocating for a holistic approach to the Earth. This connection with sounds without a specific meaning is enriched with naturalistic metaphors full of adjectives:
«El sonido es diferente en función de quien golpea: una nota aguda, sostenida, como el canto del ganso silvestre; el breve aullido de un coyote asustado; el sordo aleteo del grévol» (164) | “The sound changes with the pounder: a high ringing note like the call of wild geese, a bark like a startled coyote’s, the muffled thumping of a drumming grouse” (170) |
It’s not only about the animals invited to join the imagination of the reader, but the state of their sounds: the thumping is muffled, the coyote is startled and that information can only be gained with a close experience with that part of nature.
Metalinguistic features are also approached in a direct way. Jim Thunder, a Potawatomi elder, is fluent in the Potawatomi language but doesn’t have the dominion English named-language. In telling a story to a public unfamiliar with the Potawatomi language —and, therefore, unable to understand his words— he uses his tone of voice —raising it— and hands to create emphasis:
«Comienza de manera solemne y tranquila, pero cuando llega al asunto que quiere tratar, su voz se eleva como una brisa entre los abedules y sus manos contribuyen a transmitir la historia», 66. | “He began solemnly, but as he warmed to his subject his voice lifted like a breeze in the birch trees and his hands began to tell the story”, 67. |
Adjectives also became an important part in her speech.The richness of what was lost is emphasized through linguistic resources such as the use of adjectives for poetic writing:
«Me pregunto si se dieron la vuelta para observar por última vez los lagos, el brillo del agua, como el de un espejismo. Eran conducidos por extensiones de hierba en las que cada vez había menos árboles. ¿Los acariciaban, quizá, al pasar por allí, acordándose de otros árboles?», 23. | “I wonder if they looked back for a last glimpse of the lakes, glimmering like a mirage. Did they touch the trees in remembrance as they became fewer and fewer, until there was only grass?” 21. |
Getting inside semiotics, it’s possible to track the emphasis in the story for the nouns. Nouns play an important role in the tools displayed by Robin Wall Kimmerer and we can track two strategies:
The way they tell indigenous stories. Every time Robin Wall tells Indigenous stories, the name of the animal species receives treatment in first person and the article that precedes the noun is missing:
«dijo Tortuga» (14) | “Turtle said” (11) |
«Colimbo fue el primero» (14) | “Loon dove first” (11) |
«el pequeño cuerpo inerte de Rata Almizclera» (14) | “Soon only little Muskrat was left” (11) |
«Garza era» (209) | “Heron is a good fisherman” (216) |
Nouns also play an important role in the storytelling of sacred myths. Places, for example, receive the treatment not only of subjects of the sentence but also individual entities, and that’s displayed with the active use of capitalization in these words.
«Antes de caer / por el agujero del Mundo del Cielo, se había agarrado al Árbol de la Vida, que crecía allí, y había traído consigo algunas de sus ramas: frutos y semillas de toda clase de plantas. […] La luz del sol manaba a través del agujero en el Mundo del Cielo y permitió que las semillas germinaran y crecieran. […] Y muchos animales, ahora que tenían abundante comida, vinieron a vivir a Isla Tortuga» (14-15) | “When she toppled from the hole in the Skyworld she had reached out to grab onto the Tree of Life that grew there. In her grasp were branches—fruits and seeds of all kinds of plants. [...] Sunlight streamed through the hole from the Skyworld, allowing the seeds to flourish. [...] And now that the animals, too, had plenty to eat, many came to live with her on Turtle Island” (12). |
Skyworld and Turtle Island became entities in the narration, and that made complete sense if we recall the relationship between humans and their living surroundings: everything has a soul, and everything is part of the same living breath. Ideologies and language are deeply connected.
At the beginning of the book, Robin relies on the myth of Skywoman to present the ideological framework of the work. Skywoman is defined as an immigrant, who arrived from the heights of the Skyworld, pregnant, and with the intention of giving and receiving from the earth, to ensure it for her grandchildren, which, in the author's eyes, makes her native. The myth is part of the culture of the original peoples throughout the Great Lakes. Although it is an important myth—fundamental, in its broadest meaning—it is part of an entire “constellation of teachings” (15).
The sense the book makes by relying on certain nouns, as language serves to create and reproduce a system of practices, values, and identities. We’ll try to check some of them.
Spatial nouns (MAP): Robin is naming places by their geopolitical denomination.
Wisconsin, state | Powotatomi’s nation was stablish in lands placed in what now is know as the Wisconsin’s state. Started the the Potawatomi Trail of Death: starting at the south of the Michigan’s lake until Osawatomi, Kansas. |
Kansas, state. | In here they found groves of nut trees/bosques de nogales. A new species and a new chance to territorialize: the new relationship with the pecans. From Wisconsin they carried with them the butternuts, black walnuts, hickories, and pecans, all from the same scientific family, the Juglandaceae. Notice how Robin includes in her style the scientific denominations. |
Indian Territory | After Kansas, the federal government negotiated with her people a new emplacement with new rules: they’d be United States citizens and the government would protect their right to private land. |
Oklahoma, state. | Used to be part of the Indian Territory. The author’s granddad grew up here. When her people came back, after two generations, the Pacans were still there. |
Kentucky, state | Robin, and her daughters lived in there during the girl's childhood. In Kentucky, she met Hazel. |
Adirondacks, New York | As a child, Robin and her family “spent summers canoe camping in the Adirondacks”, 46. Tahawus, name for what in western is Mount Marcy. Ritual. |
New York, state. | New York is the place where the family she created settled and where she saw her daughters grow up. Her farm is placed “within the ancestral homelands of the Onondaga Nation”, 130. The Nation of Maples.
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Oregon | Oregon is the place where Robin learns about old growth forests and the gifts of the cedar. It is where she meets Franz and sees how he spends his life in a reciprocal relationship with the trees. (292) |
Pennsylvania | Pennsylvania, specifically the Carlisle school, is the place where her grandfather was forced to go to Boarding School. It is the place the author attributes her loss of culture to. |
As visible in the last table, Robin refers to the space by their geopolitical names as well as its relationship with indigenous nations.
Vegetal nouns (HOW MANY OF THEM COULD WE SEE?):
Fresas Strawberries | The relationship with strawberries was important in Robin’s childhood as she learned from them the gifts from the earth. |
Arces Maples | With a tradition of more than 200 years, maples and the sugar they provide are also part of the author's resources to talk about the gifts from the earth. Maples Robin shares that in the Anishinaabe culture, trees are considered people, “the standing people.” (202). This denomination is important, as Robin proposes to see the world around us as a living being, connected with us.
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Tsugas (o Cicuta occidental) hemlocks | Present in upstate New York [maybe, use Google pictures?] |
Pinos blancos White pine | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Varas de oro Goldenrod | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Asteres asters | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Violetas violets | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Musgos mosses | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Campos de heno Hay fields | Present in upstate New York, as a child |
Manzanos Apple three | Present in the farm, New York. |
Fresno negro Black ash Fraxinus nigra | Used to create baskets following the indigenous principles: the tree is recognized as a nonhuman forest; as a subject, the basket maker requests the tree permission to harvest; and a gift must be offered to them. Traditional basket makers just take the necessary to keep a healthy population of trees, understanding that it’s not honorable to take more than they can use and that they can’t create waste, as a life gave itself as a gift to them. |
Melocotones Peaches |
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Uvas Grapes |
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Maíz tierno Sweet corn |
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Calabazas Squash |
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Maíz Corn | The Three Sisters |
Judías Beans | The Three Sisters |
Calabaza Squash | The Three Sisters |
Puerro leeks | The wild leeks and the message of consumption in a fair proportion. |
Raíz de serpiente Snakeroot | In the story, a herbalist told to Robin |
Animal nouns
Verderones | Remembered by their singing |
tordos |
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Alongside the nouns, there are concepts that will carry the narrative through the book. Robin will introduce them and go back to them from time to time, in spirals, creating a uniform system of meaning:
Cosecha Honorable
Honorable Harvest | «tomar lo que se nos ofrece, utilizarlo bien, agradecer el regalo y dar algo a cambio», 32. Es un código colectivo de principios y prácticas que rigen los intercambios entre las distintas formas de vida (210). Son una serie de prácticas definidas en el día a día (213), donde se pide que se coseche con respeto, en consideración de la voluntad de las plantas. Robin incluso sugiere una guía (). El término antagoniza con la noción de «sostenibilidad»/«desarrollo sostenible»: «En mi opinión [la de uno de los ancianos en un consejo tribal], lo que quieren con el desarrollo sostenible es seguir apropiándose de las cosas del mismo modo en que se han apropiado hasta ahora. Es lo único que quieren. Ve allí y diles que, en nuestra forma de vida, lo primero que pensamos no es “¿Qué podemos tomar?”, sino “¿Qué podemos darle a la Madre Tierra?”. Así es como debería de ser», 221.
A través del lenguaje se define una práctica de vida: «Pensemos en la Cosecha Honorable como en un espejo en el que juzgar nuestras adquisiciones. ¿Qué vemos en él? ¿Hace honor lo que compramos a las vidas consumidas?», 227. En este escenario, la palabra reivindica la vida.
Sígase el ejemplo de los cesteros tradicionales para entender la Cosecha Honorable: «Los cesteros tradicionales reconocen la individualidad de cada árbol en cuanto que persona no humana, persona del bosque. Uno / no se adueña de un árbol, sino que lo solicita. Respetuosamente, se le explica cuáles son la intenciones y se le pide permiso para cortarlo. A veces la respuesta es no. La negativa la puede comunicar el enterno —un nido de víreo en una rama, la resistencia adamantina de la corteza a los avances de la navaja— o una intuición inefable que aleja al cestero del árbol. Si se obtiene el consentimiento, se pronuncia una oración y se deja un poco de tabaco para corresponder al obsequio. Solo después se hace caer el árbol, con mucho cuidado para que no dañe a ños demás al irse a tierra», 166-167. «John es un fiel seguidor de los principios de la Cosecha Honorable: “Toma solo aquello que necesitas y utililza todo lo que has tomado”», 170. | “to take only what is given, to use it well, to be grateful for the gift, and to reciprocate the gift”, 31. It is a collective code of principles and practices that govern exchanges between different forms of life (217). They are a series of practices reinforced in small acts of daily life (220), where it is asked to harvest with respect, in consideration of the will of the plants. Robin even suggests a guideline (221). The term antagonizes the notion of "sustainability"/"sustainable development": “This sustainable development sounds to me [one of the elders from her tribal council] like they just want to be able to keep on taking like they always have. It’s always about taking. You go there and tell them that in our way, our first thoughts are not ‘What can we take?’ but ‘What can we give to Mother Earth?’ That’s how it’s supposed to be”, 229.
Through language, it is defined as a life practice: “Perhaps we can think of the Honorable Harvest as a mirror by which we judge our purchases. What do we see in the mirror? A purchase worthy of the lives consumed?”, 236. In this scenery, word vindicates life.
Follow the example of traditional basket makers to understand the Honorable Harvest: “Traditional harvesters recognize the individuality of each tree as a person, a nonhuman forest person. Trees are not taken, but requested. Respectfully, the cutter explains his purpose and the tree is asked permission for harvest. Sometimes the answer is no. It might be a cue in the surroundings—a vireo nest in the branches, or the bark’s adamant resistance to the questioning knife—that suggests a tree is not willing, or it might be the ineffable knowing that turns him away. If consent is granted, a prayer is made and tobacco is left as a reciprocating gift. The tree is felled with great care so as not to damage it or others in the fall.” 173. “John keeps to the tradition of the Honorable Harvest: take only what you need and use everything you take.” 177. |
Economía de los dones
Gift economy | Describe lo que nace para ser obsequio, no mercancía. «Hyde nos recuerda que, en la economía de los dones, aquello que se da libremente no puede convertirse en capital de otra persona», 40. La hierba sagrada, por ejemplo, no se vende, se da, se ofrece como don y su trenza elaborada es una señal de respeto que se da, que pasa de mano en mano, aumentando su valía. Se espera cierta circularidad: que lo dado pueda regresar a las manos que lo dieron (41). El regalo crea una serie de relaciones basada en la reciprocidad, que pasa a ser su moneda de cambio: la propiedad comunal se sustenta en una lista de responsabilidades. El arraigo se muestra a través de relaciones concretas con el espacio. | It describes what is born to be a gift, not a merchandise. "Hyde reminds us that in a gift economy, one’s freely given gifts cannot be made into someone else’s capital." 38. The sacred herb, for example, is not sold, it is given, it is offered as a gift and its elaborate braid is a sign of respect that is given, that passes from hand to hand, increasing its value. A certain circularity is expected: that what is given can return to the hands that gave it (40). The gift creates a series of relationships based on reciprocity, which becomes its currency: communal property is based on a list of responsibilities. Rooting is shown through concrete relationships with space. |
Cultura de la gratitud: El Mensaje de Gratitud
Gratitude culture: The Thanksgiving Address | La cultura de la gratitud queda plasmada en algunos rituales compartidos por Robin. Ofreciendo la primera taza de café a Tahawus, «El Que Raja Las Nubes», un ritual que veía realizar a su padre todas las mañanas y que ahora se incorporó a sus prácticas diarias, permitiendo que sus hijas vieran en ella el mismo ritual. Su padre, y ahora ella, pronunciaban todas las mañanas las palabras «Esto es para los dioses de Tahawus», 51, un ejemplo perfecto de cómo el lenguaje permite prácticas de territorialización. Es importante señalar que los rituales del padre hacían referencia a un dios específico, según el lugar de acampada.
Robin compara un ritual con contenido abstracto como el Juramento a la Lealtad con el Mensaje de Gratitud que tenía lugar en la reserva cercana de la nación onongada, y reivindica este mensaje por la relación que teje con el mundo, en donde los dones que recibimos son también responsabilidades, parte de una misma moneda: «
», 135 (quizá está en la 137..).
Ella es consciente del gran poder transformador que existe en las palabras, en el Mensaje de Gratitud: «Las palabras son sencillas, pero en el arte de ensamblarlas se transforman en afirmación de soberanía, estructura política, declaración de responsabilidades, modelo educativo, árbol genealógico, inventario científico de servicios ecosistémicos. Resulta, asi, un poderoso documento político, contrato social y código ético, todo en uno. Aunque antes que cualquier otr cosa, es el credo de una cultura basada en la gratitud», 136.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtcnNwD9tGw https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swJs2cGNwIU WE CAN INCLUDE A PART OF THESE VIDEOS.
| The gratitude culture is depicted in some rituals shared by Robin. Offering the first cup of coffe to Tahawus, “the Cloud Splitter”, a ritual she saw her father perform every morning and now was incorporated into her daily practices, enabling her daughters to see in her the same ritual. Her father, and now she, every morning pronounced the words “Here’s to the gods of Tahawus,” 47, a perfect example of how language allows territorialization practices. It’s important to notice that the father’s rituals referred to a specific god, according to the place of camping.
Robin compares a ritual with abstract content such as the Pledge of Allegiance with the Thanksgiving Address that took place in the nearby reservation of the Onondaga nation, and vindicates this message for the relationship it weaves with the world, where the gifts we receive are also responsibilities, part of the same coin: “The Thanksgiving Address reminds us that duties and gifts are two sides of the same coin. Eagles were given the gift of far sight, so it is their duty to watch over us. Rain fulfills its duty as it falls because it was given the gift of sustaining life. What is the duty of humans? If gifts and responsibilities are one, then asking “What is our responsibility?” is the same as asking “What is our gift?” It is said that only humans have the capacity for gratitude. This is among our gifts.” 141.
She is aware of the great transformative power that exists in the words, in the Message of Gratitude: “The words are simple, but in the art of their joining, they become a statement of sovereignty, a political structure, a Bill of Responsibilities, an educational model, a family tree, and a scientific inventory of ecosystem services. It is a powerful political / document, a social contract, a way of being—all in one piece. But first and foremost, it is the credo for a culture of gratitude.” 140-141 |
Belleza
Beauty | Después de alejarse de los saberes indígenas para poder recorrer los senderos de la ciencia, la autora escucha en una asamblea de líderes nativos a una mujer navaja: «Pese a que no había recibido una sola clase de botánica académica, sus palabras me cautivaron. Una por una, nombre a nombre, mencionó todas las especies que habitaban su valle. Dónde vivía cada una de ellas, cuándo florecía, en compañía de qué otras especies tendía a aparecer y qué relaciones / establecía con ellas, quién se la comía, quién fabricaba nidos con sus fibras, qué medicinas podía ofrecer. Contó también las historias que guardaban, los mitos de sus orígenes, cómo obtuvieron sus nombres y qué información nos podían transmitir. Habló sobre la belleza», 58-59.
La belleza y su reconocimiento será un elemento esencial en la relación que Robin teje como observadora del mundo y como científica, visible en su fascinación con los asteres y las varas de oro, que abrirá la puerta al interés de conocer la arquitectura de relaciones y conexiones que mantienen unido el mundo (61).
| Beauty: after moving away from indigenous knowledge to be able to travel the paths of science, the author listens to a Navajo woman in an assembly of native leaders: “One I will never forget—a Navajo woman without a day of university botany training in her life—spoke for hours and I hung on every word. One by one, name by name, she told of the plants in her valley. Where each one lived, when it bloomed, who it liked to live near and all its relationships, who ate it, who lined their nests with its fibers, what kind of medicine it offered. She also shared the stories held by those plants, their origin myths, how they got their names, and what they have to tell us. She spoke of beauty,” 59.
Beauty and its recognition will be an essential element in the relationship that Robin weaves as an observer of the world and as a scientist, visible in her fascination with asters and goldenrods, which will open the door to the interest in knowing the architecture of relationships and connections that hold the world together (62). |
El Don: la Reciprocidad
The Gift: Reciprocity | La pregunta sobre cómo dar de vuelta: a la tierra, a otros.
Este concepto se apoya por nociones múltiples como la Cosecha Honorable y la Economía de los dones.
La reciprocidad es la que garantiza que el don se mantenga en circulación. «A través de la reciprocidad, el don queda restaurado. Toda prosperidad es mutua», 193.
Está en John Pigeon y en su familia, quienes devuelven aquello que se les otorgó a través de la enseñanza del arte de tejer cestas. La reciprocidad aquí importa en cuanto a que los fresnos se favorecían de la actividad de los cesteros, quienes generaban claros que les permitían sobrevivir a la etapa de juventud del árbol, dado que se comprobó que, en otras zonas, los árboles no alcanzaban a competir contra los olmos la luz natural: «el fresno depende de la gente tanto como la gente depende del fresno. Sus destinos están unidos», 172. Se es recíproco cuando se reconoce y agradece la vida que existe en todo objeto: «Puedo escuchar en ellas [las cestas] la voz de John, oír el pum, pum, pum y aspirar el aroma del pantano. Me hacen pensar en el árbol y en los años de vida que sostengo entre las manos. ¿Cómo sería, me pregunto, vivir constantemente con esa sensibilidad agurizada hacia las vidas que hemos recibido? Ver el árbol en el pañuelo, las algas en la pasta dentífrica, los robles en la tarima, las uvas en el vino; recorrer siempre y con todas las cosas el hielo que nos devuelve a las vidas individuales, y mostrarles nuestro respeto. Una vez que empiezas, es difícil parar. Empiezas a sentir que estás inundado de dones», 178.
| The question of how to give back: to the earth, to others.
The concept of reciprocity is supported by multiple notions as the Honorable Harvest and the Gift economy.
Reciprocity is what guarantees that the gift remains in circulation. “Through reciprocity the gift is replenished. All of our flourishing is mutual.” 199.
It is in John Pigeon and his family, who give back what was given to them through teaching the art of basket weaving. Reciprocity here matters in that the ash trees benefited from the activity of the basket makers, who generated clearings that allowed them to survive the youth stage of the tree, since it was found that, in other areas, the trees were not able to compete against the elms the natural light: “Black ash and basket makers are partners in a symbiosis between harvesters and harvested: ash relies on people as the people rely on ash. Their fates are linked”, 179.
We are reciprocal when we recognize and appreciate the life that exists in every object: “In them [the baskets] I can hear John’s voice, can hear the doonk, doonk, doonk, and smell the swamp. They remind me of the years of a tree’s life that I hold in my hands. What would it be like, I wondered, to live with that heightened sensitivity to the lives given for ours? To consider the tree in the Kleenex, the algae in the toothpaste, the oaks in the floor, the grapes in the wine; to follow back the thread of life in everything and pay it respect? Once you start, it’s hard to stop, and you begin to feel yourself awash in gifts.” 185. |
These concepts provide the frame that Robin will use to present her hypothesis: the first duality presented in the notion of beauty and reciprocity as tools to create a relationship with the earth —“It is this dance of cross-pollination that can produce a new species of knowledge, a new way of being in the world. After all, there aren’t two worlds, there is just this one good green earth,” 63—, we must add the metaphor of the Three Sisters: three plant species that provide the right ecosystem that will allow them to grow and secure their seeds, corn, beans, and squash. Corn as indigenous knowledge, beans as science, and squash as ethics. A remembrance of the three-composition storytelling that is usual in Western stories. And curious enough, Robin will add a new element, marking now a four-composition storytelling that is usual in the Indigenous stories. Language features are all over the book:
«Las Tres Hermanas ofrecen también una posible metáfora para la creciente relación entre el saber indígena y la ciencia occidental, ambas enraizadas en la tierra. Pienso en el maíz como una especie de saber ecológico tradicional, el marco espiritual y físico en el que puede desarrollarse la judía curiosa de la ciencia, enredándose y enramándose como la doble hélice del genoma. Mientras tanto, la calabaza crea el hábitat ético en el que es posible la coexistencia y el florecimiento mutuo. Algún día, pienso, el monocultivo intelecual de la ciencia será reemplazado por un policultivo de conocimientos complementarios. Y entonces habrá suficiente para todos», 161. «Las tres han traído sus dones a la mesa, pero no lo han hecho solas. Nos recuerdan que hay otra participante en la simbiosis. Está aquí, sentada, y también en la granja al otro lado del valle. Se trata de aquella que observó la manera en que funcionaba cada / especie e imaginó que llegarían a convivir armoniosamente. Tal vez deberíamos llamar a esto el huerto de las Cuatro Hermanas, pues la mano que las siembra resulta esencial en la asociación. Ella levanta el suelo, ahuyenta a los cuervos, introduce las semillas en la tierra. Somos nosotras, las sembradoras, las que limpiamos la tierra, quitamos hierbas y cogemos bichos, las que guardamos las semillas en invierno y las volvemos a sembrar en primavera. El maíz, las judías y la calabaza han sido completamente domesticadas. Dependen de que seamos capaces de crear unas condiciones apropiadas para su crecimiento. Somos parte de la reciprocidad. No pueden llevar a cabo sus responsabilidades a menos que nosotras llevemos a cabo las nuestras», 161-162. | “The Three Sisters offer us a new metaphor for an emerging relationship between indigenous knowledge and Western science, both of which are rooted in the earth. I think of the corn as traditional ecological knowledge, the physical and spiritual framework that can guide the curious bean of science, which twines / like a double helix. The squash creates the ethical habitat for coexistence and mutual flourishing. I envision a time when the intellectual monoculture of science will be replaced with a polyculture of complementary knowledges. And so all may be fed,” 166-167. “They’ve all brought their gifts to this table, but they’ve not done it alone. They remind us that there is another partner in the symbiosis. She is sitting here at the table and across the valley in the farmhouse, too. She’s the one who noticed the ways of each species and imagined how they might live together. Perhaps we should consider this a Four Sisters garden, for the planter is also an essential partner. It is she who turns up the soil, she who scares away the crows, and she who pushes seeds into the soil. We are the planters, the ones who clear the land, pull the weeds, and pick the bugs; we save the seeds over winter and plant them again next spring. We are midwives to their gifts. We cannot live without them, but it’s also true that they cannot live without us. Corn, beans, and squash are fully domesticated; they rely on us to create the conditions under which they can grow. We too are part of the reciprocity. They can’t meet their responsibilities unless we meet ours.” 167. |
Final Thoughts
El libro se construye sobre el mito de una hierba que, al olerla, nos acordamos de algo que ignorábamos o hemos olvidado, como lo expresa Robin. Su invitación es a recordar más allá de las memorias, entendiendo el valor cultural de los rituales y ceremonias, dado que estas existen para que nos «acordemos de recordar», 15.
El papel del olvido es importante en su relato, pues su propuesta conciliatoria toma como base el papel activo de la naturaleza y su solicitud de reciprocidad: «Desde el origen del mundo, el resto de las especies han sido el salvavidas de la humanidad; ahora nos toca a nosotros salvarlas a ellas. Sin embargo, las historias por las que deberíamos guiarnos se desvanecen en vagos recuerdos, si es que hemos tenido la oportunidad de escucharlas. [...] No dejo de pensar en Mujer Celeste, que parece mirarme a los ojos y preguntarme qué voy a entregar a cambio del don que he recibido, del mundo sobre las espaldas de Tortuga», 18.
Este olvido se debe contrastar con el espacio de escucha, necesario para reparar la relación entre los distintos pueblos, leídos en términos de sistemas ecológicos: «En palabras de Gary Nabhan, no habrá reparación, no habrá restauración, sin “re-historia-ción”. Es decir, la herida de nuestra relación con la tierra no sanará hasta que no escuchemos sus relatos. Ahora bien, ¿quién puede contarlos?», 20.
El olvido también está relacionado con la falta de reciprocidad y las enseñanzas de los cesteros con la recolección de la hierba sagrada: «también nos mostraron que existe la posibilidad de tomar demasiado poco. Si permitimos que las tradiciones mueran y que las relaciones desaparezcan, la tierra sufrirá», 192. Y es que el título del libro «Trenzando hierba sagrada» lo podríamos vincular a una situación dentro del texto, en donde Robin narra que «La hierba sagrada está desapareciendo de muchas de las zonas en que tradicionalmente se ha encontrado», 183. Aquí, un elemento fundamental —como ya se dijo— en la mitología del pueblo Potawatomi está en riesgo y, con él, las prácticas cotidianas y lingüísticas en las que está arraigado. Esta situación es importante porque Robin se acerca al problema de la desaparición desde la hipótesis de si la misma está vinculada a las formas de recolección.
Laurie, una alumna de posgrado, a sugerencia de Robin, investiga el tema y, dentro de la misma lógica y narrativa que ha llevado el libro, la hierba sagrada le habla a Laurie: «Era como si la Hierba Sagrada quisiera que ella la encontrara», 183. La hierba sagrada, como agente y sujeto —no objeto—, en sus formas metalingüísticas de expresarse, siguiendo el universo de posibilidades propuesto por la autora, conversa con Laurie.
Laurie completa su investigación, cuyo resultado indica que aquellas zonas que no fueron intervenidas por humanos fueron justamente las que tuvieron mayores índices de degradación. Los resultados de la tesis fueron claros ante el comité: «Todos somos productos de nuestra propia concepción del mundo, también los científicos, por mucho que estos se arroguen el monopolio de la objetividad. Sus predicciones para el experimento con la hierba sagrada se ajustaban a la cosmovisión de la ciencia occidental, que sitúa a los seres humanos fuera del a “naturaleza”, y considera que todas sus interacciones con el resto de las especies son, por regla general, perjudiciales. [...] Sin embargo, aquellas praderas nos estaban diciendo que para la hierba sagrada los seres humanos somos parte del sistema, y una parte esencia. Puede que los experimentos de Laurie sorprendieran a lo ecólogos académicos, pero no hacían más que confirmar la teoría que transmitieron nuestros antepasados. “Si utilizo una planta respetuosamente, se quedará con nosotros y prosperará. Si la ignoramos, se marchará», 189.
Como se observa, en esta situación hay dos temas claves, i) la necesidad de validación la forma de relacionamiento indígena con el medio, ya que esta se basa en formas de escucha y lectura de símbolos semánticos construidos comunitariamente. Así como sucede con el Inglés Vernacular Africoamericano, no son signos aleatorios y productos de la ignorancia, sino que operan bajo reglas compartidas y poseen una funcionalidad en su medio. ii) La importancia no solo del reconocimiento social de este tipo de conocimiento, sino la apertura desde otras disciplinas para nutrir los distintos repertorios a través de puentes comunicativos: en cuanto la ciencia escucha, puede aprender de la interrelación existente entre humanos y medio analizando el medio no como objeto, sino como verbo, desde su relación con lo humano —y no su relación para lo humano—.
La hierba sagrada demuestra la interrelación o reciprocidad, vinculada con ese regalo que se da y esa responsabilidad que conlleva recibirlo, asegurando la circularidad de la economía del don. Trenzar la hierba sagrada es tomar el don, la interrelación, utilizando hebras del conocimiento indígena, del método científico, de la ética y del papel del humano interventor. Podríamos añadir más detalles: trenzar la hierba sagrada también es involucrar la identidad de madre y de mujer, abriendo la posibilidad de leer a Robin desde sus repertorios lingüísticos, que son múltiples. Y no solo a ella, sino también a cualquier ser humano: reconocer a los estudiantes dentro de sus identidades múltiples, los cruces entre sus áreas de conocimiento y relacionamiento.
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