Braiding Sweetgrass

other elders. The era of the First Fire found Anishinaabe people living in the dawn lands of the Atlantic shore. The people were ...

strong and together they flourished in the bosom of their nonhuman relatives. At the time of the Fourth Fire, the history of ano ...

people separated, the old ways blowing away in the wind; even the plants and animals began to turn their faces away from us. The ...

And so it has come to pass that all over Indian Country there is a movement for revitalization of language and culture growing f ...

and green and spangled with dew. You want to go barefoot. The path to the right is ordinary pavement, deceptively smooth at firs ...

I remember a night when my five-year-old woke afraid of the thunder. It was only as I held her and came fully awake that I thoug ...

I was a climate refugee for just one night, but it was enough. The waves of heat we are feeling now as a result of climate chang ...

the future, a worldview shaped by mutual flourishing. Our spiritual leaders interpret this prophecy as the choice between the de ...

arm pushes and pulls in one smooth draw without breaking the plane of the upright shin. So much depends on the architecture, sta ...

wisdom lives, in the woods, and humbly ask for help. I lay down my gift, in return for all that is given, and start again. So mu ...

Defeating Windigo In the spring I walk across the meadow toward my medicine woods, where the plants give their gifts with unstin ...

maples are gone. And they trusted me. Next year this will all be brambles—garlic mustard and buckthorn, the invasive species tha ...

In our stories, when humans alone could not conquer them, the people called upon their champion, Nanabozho, to be light against ...

rot in the warehouse while hungry people starve because they cannot pay for it. The result is famine for some and diseases of ex ...

wealth is understood to be having enough to share and riches are counted in mutually beneficial relationships. Besides, it makes ...

I’ve never gathered buckthorn before; the blue-black berries stain my fingers. I’ve tried to stay away from it, but it follows y ...

And then another. The berries dissolve to a syrupy liquid, blue-black and inky. Remembering Nanabozho’s counsel, I say a prayer ...

woods, clots of tar sand, and the little bones of birds. He spews Solvay waste, gags on an entire oil slick. When he’s done, his ...

Epilogue: Returning the Gift Red over green, raspberries bead the thicket on a summer afternoon. The blue jay picking on the oth ...

abundance, grabs a whole armload. Her mother bends and whispers in her ear. She stands indecisive for a moment and lays it all b ...