Braiding Sweetgrass

disease or a windstorm had brought down a few old trees, letting
light through. Curiously enough, he found that where Dutch elm
disease had killed off elms, black ash was replacing them in a
balance between loss of one species and gain of another. To make
the transition from seedling to tree, the young black ash needed an
opening. If they remained in full shade they would die.
The other place where saplings were thriving was near
communities of basket makers. Where the tradition of black ash
basketry was alive and well, so were the trees. We hypothesized
that the apparent decline in ash trees might be due not to
overharvesting but to underharvesting. When communities echoed
with Doonk, doonk, doonk, there were plenty of basket makers in
the woods, creating gaps where the light would reach the seedlings
and the young trees could shoot to the canopy and become adults.
In places where the basket makers disappeared, or were few, the
forest didn’t get opened up enough for black ash to flourish.
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.
The Pigeons’ teaching of this linkage is part of a growing
movement to revive traditional basketry, tied to the revitalization of
indigenous lands, language, culture, and philosophies. All over
Turtle Island, Native peoples are leading a resurgence in traditional
knowledge and lifeways that nearly disappeared under the
pressures of newcomers. But just as the revival of ash basketry is
gaining strength, it is being threatened by yet another invading
species.
John sends us off for a break, a cool drink, and a stretch for tired
fingers. “You need a clear mind for the next part,” he says. As we
mill about, shaking out the cramps in our necks and hands, John