This book is an amazing compilation of "personal and lyric essays in conversation with archival objects of Black history and memory." as the book description put it. Three of the essays/ideas/learning that I was so grateful to receive are from the authors below. Naima Penniman's 10 lessons from nature is not on my kitchen wall so that I can be in constant dialogue with her ideas as I move through my days. I offer the following three snippets and really hope that each of you will go and find this book and be blessed with the experience of these authors!
Naima Penniman
"We will protect what we love. And she will protect us.
We are reclaiming our dignified kinship with land as Black people. We have inherited the seeds that are ready to grow. We have knowledge in our ancestral memory that is rehydrated through practice- being with the earth, breaking out of isolation, coming back together. Like our ancestors at Bwa Kayiman, we are synching our strategies, uniting our spiritual forces, and committing to interdimensional collaboration. Like the Maroons, we are asserting our sovereignty by partnering with nature.
We are practicing ways of living that rely less and less on extractive and harmful systems. We know how to nourish our communities without abusing the planet. We are saving and passing on seeds, co-building the soil, growing our food, producing our fuel, devising our medicines. We are healing and expanding our families and kinship networks. We are forming our own freedom schools, cooperatives, land trusts, sanctuaries, mutual aid networks, gift economies, and lending societies. We are organizing authentic communities connected through purpose.
And there is so much to do on purpose. The magnitude of the crises we have inherited cannot be overstated.
When I was a child, I thought that if people only understood that the way we were living was causing immense suffering and disruption to our planetary relations, they would surely want to fix it. Perhaps we want to but don't know how. After all, recycling will not offer water to the beloved neighbor approaching an arbitrary and heavily militarized border, to leave behind the lands that raised them, now void of sustenance and safety. Picking up litter will not stop a small handful of people intent on hoarding the profits of pillage and criminalizing anyone born poor.
There are no ten simple fixes for saving the Earth. But there are prerequisites for our collective preservation. We are called to shape the future now. At this crossroads of peril and promise, the natural world is our beacon and compass. Our ecosystems offer templates for resource sharing and prototypes of pollination. The forest gives us archetypes of interdependence and frameworks for evolution.
Instead of ten prescriptions for protecting the planet, I will offer up ten lessons our devoted babysitter Mama Nature taught us--handwritten and sealed with love. May we apply them on the path ahead."
Sean Hill
"There's a current and now-shifting understanding of nature and wilderness that views nature as something at a remove from the manmade-it's primitive, remote, pristine land; untouched land that those with the financial wherewithal, time, and "desire" can access. Going camping. Backpacking. Disappearing into the woods for days on end.
I want to posit that I grew up with nature and the idea that the human imposition on the landscape, our built environment, our habitation, is just that: an idea, a perspective, as witnessed by the growth of "weeds," vegetation that needs to be controlled or cultivated. I think about tall grasses trampled down for bedding or a termite mound or anthill eruption or the way a beaver dam interrupts the flow of a stream, about all the various excavations by animals endeavoring to make a place for themselves, and I wonder if they think of themselves as outside of nature. I'm not saying that our homes, hamlets, villages, towns, cities, metropolises, and conurbations are "natural, but that the thing that separates them from nature is a cultural perspective. The sprawl of us across the planet in the Anthropocene means we look for the pristine-the not "Us"_ to find what we declare nature. This seems to me to be about power and ownership--access to the "right" kind of places to hike, camp, and get away. (Not to mention hunt and fish.)"
Ama Codjoe
"Here, in our photograph, rain freezes into dashes and droplets. The right side of the photograph is occluded: damaged by light, or a ghost, or a reckoning. The top of the photograph is framed by dark leaves that release tiny rivulets of rain. The young woman, the girl, is outside because nature is large enough to hold a freedom cry. Outside the frame, others like her refuse, disobey; open their mouths in pro-test, terror, pleasure, or song. In a letter to me, a friend wrote, One definition of nature is "everything that is not one's self." In the rain, or in the ocean, or in a flood of people singing freedom songs and calling the names of our unjustly killed, I feel a part of nature, a part of nature's self, which may be anything that gives nourishment and everything that breathes.
Water is the portrait I most resemble. When I am in water, stroked by its smallest particulates or immersed in its immensity, I am aware of the weather beyond my psyche, dragged into a bodily presence I often live estranged from.
I can't wade into the stars, or float on fire, or press myself, boundless, into a tulip tree's inner rings. Water lets me get close. When, under an open sky, I let water join me, I feel permeable and animal. "