A note on programming: There are new readers here. Welcome! When this happens I like to make posts available for everyone. This essay will be open for all to read for a week, and thereafter it will move to the paid subscriber archives. I am considering new ways to do things in the coming year, and welcome your feedback. As always, I thank you for being here!
We haven’t had a song in a few weeks, so here is one to set the vibe. This is also an excuse to share André 3000’s new album, New Blue Sun.
Throughout the weekly readings, there have been themes that recur more than others. Certainly, environmental justice is the primary among them. It is, after all, what inspired this deep dive into the genre of nature writing. Reading work about nature through the eyes of marginalized writers is something that I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, but couldn’t exactly name. There were moments of recognition, of course, that began with my grandfather’s collection of National Geographic magazines. I’d grab as many as my 10-year-old arms could carry and pore over every page. Then I’d search for the words I recognized and contemplate their meaning in context to the photography. There were images of beautiful Black and Brown people from all over the world living alongside animal and plant kin in the same place where their ancestors were born, and buried. I longed for that same feeling of being at home, rooted in a particular place.
As banal as it is, I don’t romanticize the memory because I know the extraction that had to take place to make those images. It’s the same systemic underpinning that has made nature writing and artmaking possible. Environmental writer Barry Lopez speaks to this in his essay “Love in a Time of Terror'' where he recalls a memory spent within an Aboriginal settlement, home to the Walipiri people. Vital to a decolonial approach, he gained consent before traversing the landscape. He writes, “My point here is that walking off into what was for me anonymous territory, one winter afternoon in north-central Australia, was not so much an exercise in trying to improve myself as a naturalist as it was an effort to divest myself of the familiar categories and hierarchies that otherwise might guide my thoughts and impressions of the place.” Here, Lopez is also addressing what it means to be an ethical traveler. In their essay “Getting Real About Decolonizing Travel Culture,” travel writer Bani Amor talks about the intersectional nature of travel. On the topic, they say, “A part of decolonizing travel culture is being real about where we came from, how we got there, where we’re at, and where we’re going.” The origins of nature writing and travel writing are woven together through the thread of colonialism, and for some, their work relies on its survival. For others, listening to the natural world, and being a vessel for the land to speak through, is the work.
If one is to seek intimacy with a place, a commitment to decolonization is essential. In “Decoloniality and anti-oppressive practices for a more ethical ecology, researchers address the issue of exclusion within the discipline of ecology and call for a set of shifts to help dismantle extractive practices. Centering decolonization as ecological praxis, they propose a transformation of mind, body, and spirit. While each shift is deserving of focused time and attention, they also work interdependently. The article opens with addressing the need for a deeper awareness and the researchers highlight, “There are multiple ways of knowing. By not engaging diverse knowledge systems, ecological researchers limit their own knowledge and limit the potential impact of their work.” The same is true for environmental writers, travel writers, and food writers whose work is directly connected to the natural world. In reality, I believe this implicates all of us. While some work might not directly fall into the aforementioned categories, we each have a relationship with the land, and our endeavors are made possible through this connection, whether we recognize it, or not.
Throughout his life, Lopez spent a considerable amount of time with diverse communities and cultures and was an advocate for the application of metaphor. When I read his work, I am reminded of Vanessa Mártir’s words, “Nature is the mother of metaphor.” My inclination to revisit this idea stems from a personal desire to feel the bones of the place I am in. I’ve felt it before while tending my grandmother’s garden; living in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains; and hiking the Glen Helen Nature Preserve, where I would descend into its belly to drink from the ochre-colored spring. When Lopez and Mártir talk about the use of metaphor, I think what they are doing is reminding us to become more relational with our words. Language, for many non-English speaking cultures, is interdependent, a convivial practice that is often decolonial by nature.
Over the last six months, I have continued to return to the idea of spatial thinking. I’ve witnessed iterations emerge as a guiding inquiry for many writers and artists I admire who utilize it in their practice. Daniel R. Wildcat introduces the idea in his essay “Indigenizing the Future: Why We Must Think Spatially in the Twenty-first Century, which chronicles the work of the Indigenous author, theologian, historian, and activist Vine Deloria, Jr. On the subject, he writes, “The Western desire and energy invested in reshaping the exterior world has resulted in neglect for our "interior" selves or, more appropriately, for that which moves and moves through us.” We look to nature to understand ourselves; thus deliberately writing about and with our environment is a deeply personal and political act. It is a practice inherently connected to identity and idealogy. In a recent letter, I offer my thoughts on the potential role that habits can have in the practice of decolonization. My thinking about this notion has been significantly influenced by the selected readings, certainly in November, and also throughout this monthly series. Through reading work about nature, I can reflect upon my relationship with place and space. In practicing decolonization through writing with nature, I can name my reverence and love for where I am.
Updates
I recently learned that I had a piece accepted into a journal! I don’t have a publication date yet, but will share updates as I receive them. More soon!
The Inner Ecology Winter Solstice gathering is next week! We will meet virtually on December 9th at noon EST to deepen our connection with nature through embodied practices. This workshop is suitable for all levels of experience and is offered on a sliding scale from $59-$19. Paid subscribers in the Friends tier have access to all quarterly events (if this is you, look out for an email this week). If you want to join us for the workshop, you can upgrade your subscription or register online.
If you’re interested in working with me one-on-one, I am offering a Habit Transformation Mentorship. This is a 3-month experience that will introduce you to a seasonal approach to habit change. Whether you are looking to create a new routine or release a current one, you’ll learn somatic techniques, and gain deeper mind-body awareness. If you schedule anytime between December and February, you will receive 15% off! To learn more, book a free 20-minute call and I’d be happy to provide further details.
Reading
How is it December already? This is our last set of readings in the series. It’s been such an honor to do this with you. Here is a gentle reminder in case you’ve been reading along or would like to start: “Twelve Minutes and a Life”, by Mitchell S. Jackson; The Book of Delights: Essays, by Ross Gay; “Nature Writing is Survival Writing: On Rethinking a Genre”, by Michelle Nijhuis.
Creating
I put together this mini-guide last week celebrating the work of practitioners that I love. Many of them are offering sales on their work through the holiday season–you’ll find everything from herbal remedies to beautiful prints—and I encourage you to check them out!
I’ve committed to sharing more of my art in public. Last night my little one and I pulled out some printmaking tools and practiced for a solid 2-hours! We were both completely in a flow state. It was beautiful, magic even. I will share what I made soon, once I find a good scanning method. If you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!
Thank you for sharing!