Robin Wall Kimmerer

Robin Wall Kimmerer, in her own voice on the audiobook, brings forth the lessons of sweetgrass and so much more, with compassion, erudition, and occasionally a tone that manages to embrace both anger and sadness. The main theme of the book advocates for regenerative reciprocity, a concept embodied by much of the natural world and echoed in the practices of many Indigenous peoples. Rather than Hardin's "Tragedy of the Commons", Kimmerer envisions an "Economy of the Commons", wherein show more "resources fundamental to our well-being...are commonly held rather than commodified." She balances her narrative in order to keep the vision in arms reach, or at least parts of it that we might endeavor to create.

A botanist and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Kimmerer braids together the teachings of plants and those of her ancestors to create a work that is reminiscent of the "poetic sensibility" of Loren Eiseley, and gives rise to the increasingly popular work of people like Peter Wohlleben. The book is packed with information about indigenous culture and plant life, in equal measure, and the main criticism I have is that it could use a stronger editorial hand in places. There are moments when a metaphor starts to wear a bit thin, losing a bit of its "oomph" through constant repetition. However, these moments (which seem to increase toward the end of the book) are minor inconveniences in the face of what Kimmerer accomplishes.

Take language, for example. Kimmerer boldly weaves in linguistics to support her main contentions. Indigenous language offers concepts that bring us nearer to a true understanding of the natural world versus science, which she calls "a language of distance" (mind you, one in which she is fluent and leverages in powerful ways). In the chapter "Learning the Grammar of Animacy" she writes of the Potawotami language (an Anishinaabe dialect), wherein a noun such as "bay" (wiikegama)-- a body of water in English--is actually a verb--more "to be a bay"-- because it is living, part of the natural world. This respect for and lack of objectification of natural elements is a key point of contention between colonialist thought and indigenous thought, and as Kimmerer shows, really creates tremendous knots in our ability to co-exist peacefully with our natural world.

"'To be a bay' holds the wonder than 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."

She talks about the relationship between reciprocity and restoration and this idea that reciprocity is the real requirement for sustainability of our restorative efforts. It isn't the land that is damaged, she says, but the relationship we have to it. I think that is largely true, but it is a sound byte that doesn't get as thoroughly interrogated as it might.

Whether it is her own struggles with clearing pond scum so that her daughters might swim, embracing the multitudes contained in a strawberry, or illuminating the ecological ramifications of strategic and not-strategic harvesting, Kimmerer's book (first published in 2013) provides a path forward that may not save us at this juncture, but would undoubtedly make us better citizens of the planet. show less

Every bit as good as everyone says. Weaves the Western scientific knowledge of mosses with the Indigenous ways of knowing into a rich tapestry. A lovely balance of new facts to digest and an enjoyable narrative to frame them for easy consumption. I enjoyed following along on the field experiments and the trial-and-error approaches to learning more about these species. Some moments were funny (Splachnum, the moss found only in bogs, on white-tailed deer droppings, which have lain on the peat show more for four weeks, in July), some were infuriating (the Owner!), and others transcendant. show less

I got this book as a Christmas gift (because my name is “Moss” of course!), and I wasn’t sure whether it would turn out to be a funny gift or a great read, or maybe both. I’m kind of surprised it really did hit both targets. Robin Wall Kimmerer is a very good writer.

Moss doesn’t really sound that interesting, on the face of it. it can be decorative, or it can be kind of a plant pest. I’ve had it on my lawn, my driveway, my roof, . . . And I admit I’ve tried to kill it in show more unwanted places. Now I’ve got real respect for mosses!

As Kimmerer explains, moss is “the simplest of plants,” “the most primitive of land plants,” the first plant to make its way out of the water and make a prosperous living for itself on dry land. Full respect for that.

What makes mosses distinctive, again in Kimmerer’s own words, is what they lack — “They lack flowers, fruits, and seeds and have no roots. They have no vascular system, no xylem and phloem to conduct water internally.” In their simplicity, though, they also have advantages. They don’t need soil to root in, they aren’t vulnerable to winds, and they have flexible and adaptable reproductive strategies to both thrive in place and expand into new locations. The survival strategies of the most primitive plants and animals are always impressive. I gain in respect for their longevity, compared to our own, whenever I learn about them.

Beyond the subject matter, it’s engrossing just to listen to the passion of someone who loves something that not many people even pay attention to. And her passion is contagious — I’m noticing the mosses growing in my yard and neighborhood with a much more informed and appreciative eye.

A different but really intriguing aspect of Kimmerer’s writing is her respect for different ways of investigating nature. She is a scientist, but she also respects native traditions (she speaks often of her own Potawatomi ancestry), of art as a way of knowing, and of the value of subjective experience as well as the objective stance of traditional western science.

With respect to native traditions, she writes, “In traditional indigenous communities, learning takes a form very different from that in the American public education system. Children learn by watching, by listening, and by experience. . . . The scientific method I was taught in school is like asking a direct question, disrespectfully demanding knowledge rather than waiting for it to be revealed. From [the moss species] Tetraphis, I began to understand how to learn differently, to let the mosses tell their story, rather than wring it from them.”

Repeatedly, she changes perspectives and pursues new methods, as when, puzzled by the reproductive patterns of the Tetraphis pellucida mosses, she says, “. . . I needed to try and see like a moss and not like a human.” Adopting a first person perspective, via a kind of empathic imagination, is not the ideal of objective science. But Kimmerer finds ways to weave unorthodox methods into her scientific training in complementary ways.

Gathering Moss was Kimmerer’s first book. It makes me itch to read her second book — Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. That one promises to expand on the theme of a variety of ways of investigating and understanding nature that she demonstrates here. show less

Kimmerer cares a lot, and she makes you care too. She cares about storytelling, taking the time to tell them responsibly according to how she heard them. But she still expertly weaves them into analogies and allegories about the core values of the book: reciprocity, responsibility, respect, balance, and sustainability. She cares a lot about the land that we humans share with animals and plants. And her passion for shifting the logic of humans' relationship to the land and other non-human show more people comes through in every chapter. She clears away the brush of Western consumerist, capitalist, individualist logics and plants seeds of slow-growing but integral logics of community, balance, reconciliation, and respect for the gifts of the earth, animals, and plants.

She consistently reframed humans as the youngest species on earth (and thus the most humble), in a move that overturns Western assumptions that humans are the most advanced. This reframing took a few chapters to really sink in for me, but once I understood, I think I really have started to think differently. I even started to thank my cat for teaching me to take breaks and rest, and that it's ok to draw boundaries; rather than paternalistically "envy" her for "having the time" to be lazy while I must work, work, work. Theres no balance with that frame of mind, and clearly I have a lot to learn from my feline teacher.

The stories in the book not only provide examples of her values in action, but they aren't those exceptional tales of exceptional people. Granted, some are, but many are about Kimmerer and her students, Kimmerer and her children, and her local town all just trying to live responsibly in the world, trying to give back to the earth for all it gives them, even in times of precarity and ecological destruction. She doesn't tell anyone what to do, for she doesn't believe in defining people's gifts and responsibilities for them. But she makes you want to figure that out. She makes you want to do something. She makes it seem possible to change.

Again, this book may take a while to really germinate in the minds of those not raised with indigenous ways of living and thinking. But keep at it, because it's a powerful alternative to the ways of living and thinking that settlers gave us.

And if nothing else, I really want to start a garden now and also pick wild strawberries. show less