On the Plant Folk

In indigenous teachings, plants, among others, are viewed as sovereign beings. The more-than-human world is composed of many people, and humans are only one small part of this democracy of species, in which the personhood of each is acknowledged.   ~ Robin Kimmerer

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay

One of the gifts I have received through wandering, is the realization this world is full of beings living interesting lives.  I’m not talking about the antics of us hairless monkeys or homo sapiens, but those of the billion other existences that share this Mother world.

From the furred, to the feathered to the scaled and finned, to the exoskeleton baring, the mineral encased and the leaf and bark clad folk and more, this earth is full of beings concurrently having an experience that we call life.

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, Schweiz 🇨🇭 suju-foto from Pixabay

Recently it seems, that science is finally catching up to age old indigenous traditions and wisdom regarding the other living beings who also dance upon this waltzing sphere. Slowly, the academic world is beginning to acknowledge and explore consciousness and sentience in non human lifeforms.

I feel like most anyone who has grown up with the furred, scaled or feathered as companions in the home, might offer a big, “no duh” to those in the academia who sometimes seem surprised to discover such facts.

But less deference and defense is, in general, given regarding the people who I call, the plant folk. That’s right, I do consider the leafed, barked and flowered to be a people all in their own right.

If you want to argue with me about it, we could have fisticuffs at dawn if you like, but first, I suggest you do some research and maybe wandering of your own.

Yes, I do fully believe these organisms have a self/collective identity, and can and do experience in a way that is not too different from us. Recent works such as “Finding the Mother Tree” by Forest Ecologist Suzanne Simard delve deep into findings regarding tree communication revealing that these beings are in fact, social, cooperative creatures that lead communal lives.

Furthermore, several recent studies and articles that discuss how plants can “see”, identify colors, feel pain and react towards other beings. You can read a few of these here and here.

In the past few years there has been a growing movement called “grounding/earthing” involving  placing bare feet on grass and other such activities. And of course I am a proponent of most ideas that promote a person connecting to the plant world and to  nature! But sometimes these movements, sadly,  are attached to  a monetary driven train that require you to buy special tools,  infringe on indigenous traditions in a way that is more appropriation than appreciation, or encourage you to participate in expensive workshops in order to “learn” how to connect with nature or the plant world. 

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

There is nothing wrong with furthering your knowledge through reading literature or taking quality courses on responsible foraging, wild-crafting etc.  There are. in fact,  many good books and resources out there.  Some of them are free through local libraries or even on aps such as audible.  I am currently reading an excellent book called “The Secret Teaching of Plants” by Stephen Harrod Buhmer.  Another book I would recommend is “Braiding Sweet Grass” by Robin Wall Kimmerer.

But reading about something will only take you so far. And lucky for everyone, it is not hard to find a way to interact with the flora beings.

The best part about nature, is that nature truly doesn’t require any of these extras.

That is because nature itself, is the teacher you are looking for!  Don’t believe me? Go out at give nature a go.

The only requirement is your presence and attention. Put away your phone, take out your earbuds and deeply listen. Sit with your back against a tree, lie in a summer meadow or find a boulder to perch upon to enjoy a chorus of grasses singing with the wind. You may begin with simple observation. But slowly, or maybe even quickly, I am certain you will begin to see that the flora around you is much more than scenery, or sustenance. That these beautiful beings move and create and speak with an intelligence that is as miraculous and spell binding as your own.

“That we take plant words in through our nose or our skin or our eyes or our tongue instead of our ears does not make their language less subtle, or sophisticated, or less filled with meaning. As the soul of a human being can never be understood from its chemistry or grammar, so cannot plant purpose, intelligence, or soul. Plants are much more than the sum of their parts. And they have been talking to us a long time.”
Stephen Harrod Buhner, The Lost Language of Plants: The Ecological Importance of Plant Medicine to Life on Earth

 I’d love to hear your experiences with the plant folk. Please leave a comment below to share.  Also, subscribe to this blog if you haven’t already, and you would like to be notified each time I post.

And as always, until next time, happy wandering!

Twilight Tea Party: A Utah Lake Story

Suffused in a predawn glow, Utah Lake conjures a particular enchantment. The sun has yet to tip its cup and spill golden milk over the Wasatch peaks, washing the valley clean of shadow. In the flux of periwinkle, past and future mingle with the present – guests at a pop-up tea party.     

I traverse a drought-expanded shoreline through this dream dance of time, shadow, and light. Old glass, fossils, stone artifacts, and other objects lie exposed, no longer in reach of the lapping waves. This waterline regression leaves an accounting, like inverse arboreal growth lines, in the sand.

My gaze follows these meandering moisture marks stretching the length of the beach. In the distance a fuzzy figure, the future, waves from an arid, empty lakebed. It is an everyday apocalypse – one of many the future keeps in its back pocket.

Possibly, is its sole reply. 

Turning back to the present, I attend to news from the night crew: impressions in the wet sand, disclosing the nocturnal activities of local fauna. Their footprints form an ever-evolving abstract, each creature contributing as brush, artist, and art.

Utah Lake itself is a footprint. Along with its sisters the Great Salt Lake and Sevier Lake, these dis-conjoined triplets are the progeny of a mammoth late Pleistocene inland sea: Lake Bonneville. I stand in its deep bed. The past suddenly rises before me, elevating the water’s surface to its epic peak. Nearly 300 meters above, the phantom titan expands, drowning the familiar landscape for hundreds of miles in its liquid reach. Like a child in a sandbox, it molds the earth, shaping the mountainous playpen. At last it overcomes its cradle, launching a centuries-long exodus, inscribing a geological signature extending from Southeastern Idaho to the Pacific Ocean. This dramatic breach marks the beginning of the end for Lake Bonneville. Time boomerangs forward. The climate grows hotter and drier. An epoch of aridification continues to diminish the primordial pluvial giant. Its evaporating body gives birth to the high desert lands of Western North America, until only the three remaining daughters are left in the wake. 

All treading does not leave equal impacts. I reflect, following a set of prints that look like baby devil hands: raccoon. These diminutive impressions, punctuated at the tip by sharp little claws, grow faint in the shallows. I create competing wakes as I wade along. Within this rippling mirror, the past and the present grapple in similar confluence.

Lake Bonneville’s legacy thrived for millennia in robust ecosystems that evolved around its three remnant lakes. Situated against the border of North America’s desert lands, Utah Lake provided an invaluable freshwater resource for animals of all kinds. Petroglyph sites near the water indicate this lake has held a place of honor among indigenous peoples since prehistoric times. 

Impatient, the morning slices through the twilight with a blunt yellow blade, illuminating the remains of several carp littered among paper products, plastic, and soda cans. With their bony mouths frozen into a defensive O, these morbid witnesses seem to form a dot-to-dot matrix of evidence and accusation. An invasive species, Cyprinus Carpio, was introduced to Utah Lake in 1882 after native populations had been fished to near extinction. This opening “environmental” intervention, committed on behalf of newly arrived colonizers, set the lake on an altered course. We, as antecedents and ancestors, are left to puzzle and reckon.

“It’s not your fault.” I assure the carp, answering the loud silence of their protestations.

The future, always the first to leave the twilight tea party, offers a nod. For a half second it holds my gaze. I see Utah Lake returning to health and abundance. Humans expand their efforts to reduce environmental loading. They recognize the lake’s intrinsic value, how it transcends, outweighs, and outlives shortsighted economic benefit. They become partners rather than puppet masters in its stewardship.

The future blinks. Utah Lake grows heavy, burdened by further pollution, disrupted by construction, misguided mitigations, and commodification.

Possibly, the future whispers, fleeing the sun’s chasing ribbons, disappearing back into the horizon of tomorrow.

Always retiring, the past recedes with less flamboyance.

Common Snail Shells Utah Lake
Common Pond Snail Shells Utah Lake

A family arrives on the scene, returning me to the present. A handful of children run gleefully towards this natural water park. “Look, a seashell!” shouts one little girl. She offers up the spiraled shell of an ordinary pond snail. Her hair, tossing in a thermal breeze, forms a black halo, backlit by morning light. 

I smile. The feather of hope lands softly. 

If time is an arrow shooting ever forward, it does not fly straight. I am not a physicist, but something in me says it spirals. On the shaft of time, we travel around to meet again at certain places: crossroads, tipping points. If we have learned wisdom, we can use the experience gained in the past to nudge the future towards a better tomorrow – less distortion, tipping the scale in favor of creation and sustainability. A tomorrow in which Utah Lake is the jewel of Utah Valley, reflecting the sky, the trees, the animals, and us – part and participants with her.


Utah Lake Stories

Chap BookLast fall I answered a call for submissions from Torrey House Press who put together this beautiful chap book and online edition in defense of this irreplaceable life giving resource; Utah Lake. 

I feel so honored to have had my non fiction narrative “Twilight Tea Party” selected to be included in the Digital Chapbook edition, under the subheading “Turn”.

Copies of this book and the digital edition are to be distributed to the Utah State Legislature in hopes that reading these selections will inspire the law makers of Utah to protect this lake as a natural resource and to advance policies that will continue to allow this lake to heal from years of human born and capitol driven mismanagement.

You can also purchase copies of Utah Lake Stories at Pioneer Book in downtown Provo.

You can also purchase tickets to attend a wonderful archeological tour of a cluster petroglyph panels along the west side of Utah Lake through the Smith Anderson Archeological Preserve.

And as always, happy wandering!

Juni-Jen

 

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