Finding Joy in Transformation

From the lifecycle of a human, to the fermentation of organisms, to the passing of seasons, beginnings and endings are a natural part of the world around us. These transitions can be both exciting and challenging as we adapt to new circumstances and let go of what has come before.

As we consider the beginnings and endings that shape our lives and our planet, we can also reflect on how to make the most of each moment, and how we can work toward a future that is sustainable and equitable for all. 

This week, as we all prepare for the end of 2022 and the advent of 2023, we’re sharing stories that highlight transitions and transformations.

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How Human Composting May Help Us Reimagine Death

Architect Katrina Spade invented human composting after learning about the “mortality composting” practices used on some farms. She has worked tirelessly to bring the process to the world, first getting a human composting bill passed in Washington state, then founding Recompose, a Public Benefit Corporation based in Seattle and the world’s first human composting company. Recompose started accepting bodies for human composting in December 2020.

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How to Transform the Way You Experience Winter

“Staying engaged with the flow of nature during winter may require extra discipline and determination.”

Yes! Magazine’s Natasha Deganello Giraudie has helped people go from viewing winter as a difficult season to one that brings delight, appreciation, and a sense of rooted thriving. In this article, she explains how restoring our relationship with nature physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually is key to transforming our experience with winter.

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Finding Joy in the Unknown

“I don’t know what the future will be, but I absolutely know that joy and the things that give us joy in this world, especially the natural world, are essential for everything.”

In this interview with Emergence Magazine, Dara McAnulty — a teenage author, naturalist, and conservationist — speaks about his identity as an autistic person, his award-winning book, and the great necessity of staying rooted in joy. Purchase his book, Diary of a Young Naturalist, here.

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Entangled Life

Merlin Sheldrake is a biologist and a writer with a background in plant sciences, microbiology, ecology, and the history and philosophy of science. A keen brewer and fermenter, he is fascinated by the relationships that arise between humans and more-than-human organisms. Bioneers Senior Producer J.P. Harpignies interviewed Merlin about his highly acclaimed book, Entangled Life.

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How to Transform the Way You Experience Winter

This article was originally published in Yes! Magazine and is licensed under Creative Commons.

BY NATASHA DEGANELLO GIRAUDIE

When I was a teenager, growing up in Caracas, Venezuela, my family once took a summer vacation to the Alps. We were walking in the mountains in our cotton sweaters when we came across a white patch on the rocky dirt. I remember my brother, sister, and me squeezing into it, delighted to be able to take a picture in the snow!

That pretty much sums up my experience of winter. My mother had been scarred by living through bitter blizzards in the Midwest United States. She would tell what seemed to me as a child like unfathomable stories about how her damp hair would freeze if she went outside or how she trekked across her college campus to swim practice in below-freezing temperatures. My father, having grown up in Ethiopia and Somalia, was happy to stay in South America’s tropical setting as well.

I was in my 20s the first time I saw fairy-tale flakes falling from the sky. It was in the Sierras on a weekend trip from San Francisco, where I have lived most of my adult life. This could explain why I was so surprised when, in recent years, participants of my nature practice courses started to report that I was helping them experience winter in a whole new way. They were going from seeing winter as a cold-damp-icy-darkness-of-gloom-to-be-endured to experiencing it as a time in which they could find more delight and appreciation and even restore a sense of rooted thriving.

I first heard of this happy side effect of my work when I was leading a mini nature retreat for a group of humanitarian workers from the United Nations. We were at the University of Virginia in December of 2018 and got an unexpected snowfall. We brought out rocking chairs so we wouldn’t have to sit on the now-wet lawn as I had initially planned. I readjusted the schedule so we could pop indoors every 45 minutes or so to refill our teacups, which also acted as hand warmers. But otherwise, I guided the session as I normally would, attuning to what nature had in store for us that day. There was a bit of teaching, some meditation, journaling, poetry, and conversation. At the end of our time together, many of the participants, who lived in New York, told me they loved nature but had hated winter their entire lives. They said this was the first time they were able to see how they might experience it differently.

Their words struck me deeply. What did it even mean to hate winter your entire life? To live in an unhappy state for a quarter of every year? For a full quarter of your life? What does that do to your heart? To your mind? To your health? To your loved ones? To your colleagues? Does hating winter mean enduring a divorce from nature every single year? I had a hard time imagining it.

That’s why, since the rocking chairs in the snow, I’ve been helping people from around the world—even from places like Canada, Alaska, the United Kingdom, and the Netherlands—look forward to winter. Through a process of “opening to the medicine of winter,” people in my community have now come to experience nature practice as their winter sustenance. What I realized is that rather than disassociating from the Earth when she withdraws things we like—things like light, warmth, fruits, flowers, color, etc.—the key is found in staying in vibrant, expanding, deepening relationship with the Earth. This means through good times and rough ones, just like in your other healthy relationships. 

This is not to say that a casual connection with nature on weekends, or on vacations, or when our “real work” is done is sufficient. Our relationship with nature is a vital one. It has a direct impact on our well-being during any season, but if we have particular difficulty with winter, then this relationship is most especially vital during this season. If anything, rather than letting our relationship with nature extinguish itself during the cold, wet, dark days, we need to take special care to keep it kindled. When we tend to nature and build rapport with her in this way, we ensure that the lifeline of wonder, awe, and nourishment stays vibrant.

At first, staying engaged with the flow of nature during winter may require extra discipline and determination to get through the discomfort. We may resist going out for a walk in the rain or taking our morning tea on the porch in the cold. But taking the extra step of putting on rain pants or keeping a blanket by the door may be just what we need to get a taste for the abundance available when we offer our presence to nature. Once that presence goes beyond being physical to include an open heart, then we start to crave that satisfying connection with nature, just like we crave quality time with our friends. 

Soon enough, as that goodness fills us up, it starts to seep into our thoughts and spill out through our words and actions. It starts to affect how we relate to others and to the Earth. It starts to impact the decisions we make and what they will mean for future generations.

Sometimes, this sort of healthy inter-seasonal relationship with nature is represented by a circle. We are in the circle along with the other beings of this Earth—with other human beings, animal beings, plant beings, fungi beings, bacteria beings, mineral beings, river beings, mountain beings. All of us are in the circle. This is how we have lived for hundreds of thousands of years. Even as modern society has largely abandoned the circle, Indigenous wisdom keepers from around the world have stayed committed to the model and have been strongly urging every one of us back in.

A foundational characteristic of the relationship established in the circle is that everyone is a being. This January, Spain came to the conclusion that dogs are sentient beings, allowing for special consideration to be offered to them. But when we live in the circle—as we have done for most of our existence as human beings—all beings around us are considered to be sentient, worthy of our respect. Not just people and our favorite domesticated pets. The Earth as a whole is acknowledged for her sentience, for her extraordinary wisdom, and for her poetic capacity to offer us a steady stream of breathtaking beauty. With this perspective, we are more likely to transform our resistance to the harshness of winter into curiosity for experiencing how it will play out and enthusiasm for getting to be a part of it.

As deeper appreciation and love develops for the preciousness of it all, we come to describe it, with reverence, as sacred. This is the quality of the circle and the reality of what is available to us during wintertime—and at all times—as long as we’re willing to continually deepen our relationship with nature.

The problem is that we’re distracted. These days, for the most part, the sort of relationship we often find ourselves in can be represented as a triangle. This is a shape that has been reinforced and solidified only in the past few hundred years of our existence as humans. In this way of relating to nature, there is scarce space for humans at the very top, generating artificial competition as well as a hierarchy of increasing objectification from there on down. If the circle facilitates flow and abundance of life, the triangle, by its very structure, pinches off that flow, creating scarcity through our disassociation from—and our exploitation and domination of—nature. We increasingly isolate and push ourselves into a corner.

The term I find useful to describe this experience is “biological homelessness,” where we lose the depth of relationship we long to have with the Earth. This condition has been normalized in a modern world that is predominantly disassociated from the natural world—constantly pulling us indoors (to the tune of 95% of our lives), onto our screens, and away from the truth of who we are. In a world that increasingly makes unrealistic demands of us, biological homelessness is a state of destitution that sneaks up on us. It feels like thirst, hunger, or saudade, meaning an inconsolable longing, as my Brazilian friends would put it. 

When we’re in this state of estrangement, then the harshness of winter makes everything worse, just like the darkness of nighttime prevents us from seeing things as they really are, making our problems bigger. As we starve ourselves of the soul-satisfying nourishment that a relationship with nature offers, then the deprivation that comes with winter hits us stronger. Without our curiosity and enthusiasm for the magical nature of the unfolding, the unpleasant aspects overtake our experience. In this state, everything becomes darker, colder, wetter, gloomier.

That’s why restoring our relationship with nature—physically, yes, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—is key to transforming our experience with winter. Once we’re able to do this, we can thrive in any season. We stay open to the possibilities of responding consciously and creatively to changing conditions. We look for new ways to stay dry and warm. We may set up a firepit in the backyard to extend our time outdoors like several of my students have done. We may go out in a survival suit like my student on the island of Shetland in the North Sea does. We may put a clear tent on our Christmas wish list like my student in London did so she could sit outside and be in nature even during the wet season. As we stay committed to remaining engaged with nature in these ways, we give ourselves a chance to come into deeper understanding and a more embodied experience of her wisdom and her beauty. As a result, we are able to feel more energized, revitalized, calm, flexible, resilient, receptive, and inspired.

The hardship of winter heightens our awareness of what we take for granted. The lack of color increases our ability to take in even the slightest hues more intensely, giving us a fresh opportunity to appreciate the miraculous flow of life in new ways. In this state of renewed gratitude and wonder, we are also better positioned to offer more skillful healing to the challenges of our time.

And if we get distracted, we can always count on poets to support us on this journey back to the circle, to remind us of the possibility of awe, to point it out when we have become numb to it, and to help us keep this vital relationship alive and invigorated. One of my favorite stanzas for the occasion is from Joyce Rupp, who grew up on a farm in Iowa and knows a thing or two about winter. Her poem is called “Winter’s Cloak,” and it starts like this:

This year I do not want 
the dark to leave me. 
I need its wrap 
of silent stillness, 
its cloak 
of long lasting embrace.

If you’d like to learn more about creating a better relationship with winter, the author of this piece, Natasha Deganello Giraudie, is offering YES! readers a free workshop called Opening to the Medicine of Winter. Click here to take advantage of this free online course!

NATASHA DEGANELLO GIRAUDIE is a filmmaker and nature practice teacher specializing in covering stories that deepen our relationship with the Earth. Her most recent film, One Word Sawalmem, which she directed with Michael “Pom” Preston of the Winnemem Wintu tribe of Mt. Shasta, won a number of awards and was selected for 40+ festivals around the world. Natasha’s work draws on her studies with the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh; learning from some of the great naturalists of our time and spending time indigenous wisdom keepers from Venezuela, where she’s from, and California, where she currently lives. Her story has been featured on mindbodygreen, News from Native California, Threads of the Sun, and the Unstuck podcast. Natasha is based in Coast Miwok land, now know as SF Bay Area, and speaks Spanish, English, French and gets by with Italian and Portunhol. She can be reached at www.rosaguayaba.earth

This article was originally published in Yes! Magazine and is licensed under Creative Commons.

Finding Joy in the Unknown: An Interview with Dara McAnulty

This article was originally published in Emergence Magazine and is licensed under Creative Commons.

He was interviewed by Emmanuel Vaughan-Lee.

In this interview, Dara McAnulty—a teenage author, naturalist, and conservationist—speaks about his identity as an autistic person, his award-winning book, and the great necessity of staying rooted in joy.

Emergence Magazine (EM): Dara, you wrote your first book, Diary of a Young Naturalist, at the age of fourteen and you’re seventeen now. Is that right

Dara McAnulty (DM): Yeah, I’m seventeen now.

EM: As I understand it, the book grew from a blog that you started writing when you were twelve years old. What initially prompted you to want to start writing publicly like this at such a young age?

DM: Well, I had been writing for a long time before that point. Writing was a way for me to communicate. I didn’t like to speak to people. In fact, I spoke to basically nobody outside of close family, and any conversation I had outside of that was incredibly awkward and I hated every second of it. Writing, on the other hand, I found incredibly easy to do. It was something where I could take what was going on in my mind and put it into something a bit more physical, something that I could touch.

The process of that became really, really important to me, and I don’t really know why I ended up deciding to go online with it. I guess I almost wanted to get it away from me instead of inside this sort of bubble. My writing was still sort of with me, if that makes sense. A lot of the stuff that I was writing about, my love and my troubles as well, I wanted to send it out into the world, even if nobody would really see it. It was also just going to be something fun I could do in my spare time. Now it is my spare time.

EM: Well, you were writing at least in part about your love of the living world and your concerns about what’s happening, and it seemed like that hit a nerve because people did start reading, and it resonated with a lot of people. What was that like? Was it a surprise to you?

DM: Yeah, it was a complete surprise. Honestly, I just sort of began blocking it out. I was like, “Nope, still nobody’s reading it.” Even as I saw people were reading it, I still told myself that there was nobody reading it because I felt like once I came to that realization that people were actually reading it, I would get too scared and I would stop. So I just kind of kept on going.

If you’ve ever been on WordPress, which is where I wrote the blog, they’ve got this little thing so you get all the statistics, and I do love a bit of maths and stats. The thing that sort of got me to realize that my blog was starting to reach people was this little map, and it sort of showed you how many people from different countries were reading your blog, and it was the funniest thing.

Honestly, my knowledge of geography improved with that, so I began to realize that people were actually reading it. I sort of admitted to myself that people were reading it, and then I wasn’t really scared anymore, because I was now so used to writing [the blog posts], and I loved writing them, and I loved writing for people now, in general, that the fear sort of disappeared. And now, obviously, I like writing for people. It’s something that still gives me a lot of happiness.

EM: You chose to document the cycle of the seasons in your book and use a very personal diary format that I guess grew out of the blog in many ways. Why did you choose to use this format and work with the seasons?

DM: I think I chose the format because I didn’t know I was writing a book. It was a series of blogs. I did not know it was ever going to get published. Then the publisher came up to me and my family, and they were like, “Do you want to publish a book?” Like a collection of blogs, it was meant to be, small collection of blogs. Give it out to Twitter followers, happy days. It didn’t end up like that.

So it’s about the end of spring when I actually know that I’m writing a book. Before that point, it is written with absolutely no knowledge that this is ever going to see anybody’s eyes but mine. I just sort of ran with it. There was no real active choice in the matter, although it did end up being better for the book as a whole, having it in a diary format. It allowed me to almost confide within the diary all of the things that were going on, some of the things I was angry about, some of the things that I loved, and all of the different things that you get in a diary, all that human emotion that you can only really get in a diary.

It also made an interesting dilemma for an author: that you have no idea what the ending of the book is, which is kind of terrifying when you think about it. There’s no such thing as foreshadowing if you don’t know what you’re foreshadowing. Usually, you can have all of these different lines linking up the entire book to make it a bit more cohesive. I couldn’t really do that. So I just put myself into every single diary entry, and I had to put everything in.

This is what I realized—that in a diary, I am technically the main character. As much as I hate to admit it, I am the main character in the book, and I’m a complex human being. We are all complex human beings. And because it’s a diary, it’s got to sort of reflect that. That led me down to, “Okay, now I need to tell everything. I need to put everything into the diary—the good, the bad, the ugly, the amazing, the brilliant, and the sad—all into writing, because if one little detail was missing from that, the entire character of Dara McAnulty sort of falls apart.” Because then you’re going, “Why did Dara do that? Why is he thinking this?” if I don’t actually put everything out there. So that was something that let me be a bit more honest with the book as well. But yeah, I’ve ended up loving and hating the diary format after this.

EM: I loved how personal it was and how open and vulnerable you were about everything, from autism to your school bullying to questioning your own place in the world. It felt like it was as much about your own process of self-reflection and personal growth as it was about your relationship with the natural world. And in fact, it feels like they became more and more inseparable as the book went on. Was that something that came about intentionally as you were writing and you started to see those threads come together, or was it more organic?

DM: I do think it was organic, because nearly everything about the book was organic, because I wrote blogs before this. I was never trained in literature. I didn’t really know how to craft a piece of writing. All I really knew how to do was the thing that I’d been doing for the longest time: to put emotion down on the page. I feel like a lot of my emotion is tied up in the natural world, and so the natural world became a forefront to the book, but also, all the other things that were going on in my life. So they did become quite intertwined because the natural world and all the things that make me up as a human being all had to come out in the diary. It’s all pretty emotion-based. You can’t really separate out everything that makes me, me. It just sort of starts to blend in with each other into this beautiful mixture that makes humans really annoying to understand, honestly. It’s been troubling me for a long time.

EM: Your book offers not just an interesting and intimate portrait of your own experiences but also very much [those] of your family, who you describe as being “close as otters,” which is a wonderful, wonderful description. I wonder if you could talk a bit about your family and your relationship with them, because they’re so central to the book and your life.

DM: I need to have a counter for how many times that line has been quoted now. I think it is the most quoted line in the book, which is kind of funny. I do love that line, though. My family mean a lot to me, and everything we do, we try to do together. Every single challenge that my family has faced, we face it together. Whenever I decided to go absolutely insane and start writing a book, they supported me. Whenever anybody in our family tries to do something, we all band together to get it done, and I feel like that does come out in the book, in the writing, that sort of cohesive unit.

Although it was kind of funny, after the book was published, it was like, “Does this family never argue?” Yeah, we do. That’s the answer. The arguments do happen, but they’re always resolved, and it’s nice to have a few people in your life that you can always sort of trust and have that confidence in.

EM: You said that your dad played a huge role in nurturing your love of nature, but also that your love and connection to nature was forged in your mum’s womb, the umbilical cord still nourishing you. I love that description, and I wonder if you could speak to that a bit, how that connection was forged.

DM: So when it comes to the parental connections, I think, with my dad, he taught me science, basically, because he works as a scientist. So he was that sort of grounding root in logic that I needed. And then my mum, she’s the more art-focused one, the one who got me into realizing that I could express myself through writing, and both of them supported me.

A lot of parents, if they would’ve seen the stuff that I’d gotten up to when I was a really, really young child, would’ve started screaming at their child, “Get away from that, get away from that! It’s dirty, dirty! It’s dirty.” I was picking up scat. I was picking up bone. I was picking up all manner of feathers. Nothing bad has happened to me, so it probably was fine. I don’t know why parents get so miffed about it. But the fact that they didn’t shout at me or get annoyed and close off that connection to nature—as children, we want to discover this incredibly beautiful new world. And so that connection, that growth, still lives on and continues even as I grow older.

EM: In the book, you describe yourself as having “the heart of a naturalist, the head of a would-be scientist, and the bones of someone who is already wearied by the apathy and destruction wielded against the natural world.” When did you start feeling this way in your bones, and how does that feeling affect your head and heart, so to speak, your approach to being a naturalist and a scientist?

DM: That weariness came from seeing a lot of the destruction. Seeing the apathy in people sort of brought that into my mind and into that focus. I feel like I’m a lot less weary than I was in the book. I’m a lot closer to being on my way to being a scientist; and my heart of a naturalist is still burning strong; and I think the weariness has sort of faded a little bit because I’ve realized that weariness gets nothing done anymore. Weariness is the idea that nothing can be done. And I didn’t think anything could be done, because all my life I’ve been told that nothing could be done, that the world is as it is, and we can do nothing about it; and that’s not really true anymore.

The entire battle of the book for me—people take different things away from the diary, but the one that I resound with the most is this inner struggle in me about whether or not art or writing or music is worth it. Can it make a difference? Can it change people’s minds? Can it change the world? I think at the end of the book, I realized that yeah, it can. It’s done it before. It changes people’s minds. It shows people the way that the world could be, in spite of the way that it is now. And only by seeing that future can we work towards it. That’s the artist’s job: to show the way that the world can be.

And I think, upon realizing that I became a lot more excited, I guess, a lot more enthralled, I had a lot more passion to go forth into the world, like at the end of the book, with the realization that what we do makes a difference—to maybe a small amount of people, but it still makes a difference. Without hope, nothing ever gets done.

That’s sort of where I’m at, at the moment—a lot more optimistic and a lot less angry, as I was in the book. I was quite angry in the book. I’m a bit more chill now. I’ve definitely still got that weariness in me, because sometimes you just see something and it just makes you want to curl up in a wee ball and disappear for a while. But I definitely—I’m a lot more hopeful.

EM: Well, joy feels like it’s a very central theme in your book, and I can feel the anger that you have in the book, your questions about what your role is and how to respond to this, and your art versus traditional activism, but it also seems you’re talking about joy being a needed response to the climate crisis and the ecocide, and that there has to be a way of being rooted in joy and not just outrage and anger. And there’s a line in the book that I was struck by that maybe speaks to this. You said, “Find joy in the unknown, because maybe all of life is unknown and we are grappling in the dark.”

DM: That was a good day when I came up with that line. And that line, I think, was sort of trying to be like, we can’t know the future. I feel like that joy we so desperately need is something that we need in order to actually solve all the crises that are coming in. Because one thing that I’ve always found among traditional activism is that quite a lot of the time, it works on fear. It works on the fear that, “Oh, my goodness me, the world is going to end.” That’s a pretty big fear, possibly the biggest fear you could have. If that’s the reason why we eventually sort everything out, if we sort everything out because we were so scared of the world, what happens after the crisis is over?

I’m still pretty certain we can fix this crisis, but if we solve it because of fear and we go back to our original ways, the problems that we thought we dealt with reappear, and we’re back in the same boat in about a hundred years, basically. But if we solve the problems because of wonder, because of joy, because we care, that’s a lot more permanent. That’s something we can pass on from generation to generation. And so I don’t know what the future will be, but I absolutely know that things that give us joy in this world, especially the natural world, are essential for everything.

EM: You write about this in the book, and you also share that autism makes you feel everything more intensely and that you don’t have a joy filter; because sadly it seems that in our current culture people can often dismiss joy as childlike, especially when it’s expressed in relationship with the living world. That it’s fine for kids to have feelings of wonder, but not adults. And in the book, you write that we’re told that childishness is wrong—bad, almost—and that you mourn a world without such feelings, a joyless world, a disconnected world. And it seems that part of what maybe emerged in the book, or maybe it was an intentional emphasis, was to challenge this notion of dismissing joy.

DM: Yes, it absolutely was. It’s something that I felt strongly about for a long, long time—this idea that joy and wonder are for children, and that once we grow older, we have to get really serious, and we have to go get jobs. We’ve got to live old and die. Life is a bit more interesting than that, honestly. We should be allowed to have wonder in the world, because the world is a wondrous place. I think the first step to that is being able to ask a single question, and that question is, “Why?”

I feel like as we grow older, we almost get scared of that question. We get tentative about it because we feel like we should already know it. Asking those questions generates curiosity, and through that curiosity, that will actually force you to look outside your house for a while. Look out into the world and think about it for a while, and that will actually give you joy, surprisingly enough. Thinking about stuff is quite a joyful activity. Taking a few moments to daydream a little bit, it’s what I do when I’m feeling a little bit sad.

EM: Throughout the book, you write about being different very directly and how you’re different from everyone in your class and your school, and that wildlife and nature is very much a refuge from spaces and people that feel foreign to you, and that wildlife never disappoints like people can—that nature has a purity to you.

DM: Yeah. I know that it’s autumn when the leaves are falling. Stuff like that is comforting. I also know that if I am sitting in a wood, a squirrel is not going to come up to me and start berating me or insulting me or hurt me, and that having a place where you can feel safe like that was quite important to me—a place where I could escape to, where I didn’t feel like people could get to me. And that purity of nature became a massive part of my life. It still is, because when everything else falls apart, nature is still standing there.

I can still, at the end of a horrible day, go out to a wood, and it was exactly the same as it was yesterday. And I feel like that’s probably why my life sort of falls apart whenever I see destruction. Because it’s that solid base, that solid structure that I’ve built my entire life off, almost. That entire support structure can be destroyed in a day, which is kind of terrifying.

I definitely need it. It’s something that I require to keep on existing, having that escape. I feel like I was escaping a world where there were bullies, where I didn’t feel like my voice could be heard, where there were constant stresses, where there were loud noises and ridiculous colors that made my brain go wild. And in nature, I know what I’m going to see. I don’t know what animals I’m going to see, but I know what colors I’m going to see. I know sort of what sounds are going to be in that environment. I know generally what temperature it’s going to be, and all of that sort of stuff feels stable. It regulates itself.

Honestly, the human world sort of stresses me out, and nature doesn’t. And I think that’s the baseline of it, isn’t it? Nature good, human bad.

EM: You offer a lot of very candid reflections about autism in the book and also about what it’s like to be classified as an “autistic person”; as you say, “Many people accuse me of not looking autistic. I have no idea what that means. I know a lot of autistics and we all look different. We’re not some recognizable breed. We are human beings.” And you’ve said that one of your hopes with the book is you want people to understand autism more. Can you speak to this a bit?

DM: I do speak quite candidly about autism and being autistic, because it’s a part of who I am, and it was a diary. And so it’s kind of a big detail, if I’m going to be honest with you. It’s kind of a big part of my life. It’s not a “condition,” quote, unquote. It’s just a reframing of perception. You just see the world in a different way. Different colors come into your brain, and some make you go crazy, some are fine.

Even among autistic people, what actually will sort of trigger negative emotions in you is different for everybody. I know autistic people who love loud noises; I, on the other hand, absolutely hate them. And more, that we should all look the same—it’s kind of ridiculous when you realize that it’s something to do with the brain, and you can’t really see the brain. So there’s no real reason why I should look different to someone else.

With the book, I tried to increase perception and awareness about autism. I can’t tell you what every autistic person is going to be like. I can’t tell you how you’re supposed to act around an autistic person. I can’t give you a rule book of the autistic person. What I can do is tell you that it’s not a disease; it’s not this horrible thing. And I can tell you that it’s this rewiring of the mind. It just changes your perception and how you process things, and how you express yourself can be changed as well, and how you think about stuff is different. And I guess that’s all I’ve really got to say. It’s a part of me, and so I’m completely free about talking about it.

EM: In the book, you talk about how dandelions remind you of the way that you close yourself off from so much of the world, either because it’s too painful to see or feel or because you’ve been open to people that ridicule you and the intense joy you feel about the living world; and that for years you’ve kept it to yourself, but now these words are leaking into the world. And I love the image of the dandelion here, both as a metaphor for closing yourself off, but also because when a dandelion is mature, it closes until all the seeds are ripe, and then they’re all released into the world, and they spread. I really felt this in the book, that process of what you were going through, of closing in and then opening yourself up through the sharing of your words. Did writing the book give you the permission you needed to feel comfortable being the voice of the next generation, which you’ve been called by a lot of people in the environmental space?

DM: I don’t think I’m the voice of the next generation. Nobody is, honestly. We’re a generation who mixes our voices together into one that is pretty strong, but I hate the idea of individual voices. The things that we’re talking about just need to be done. We don’t want to be considered voices or leaders or anything like that. We just want to bloody fix it. That’s the ground level of it.

I think the book was just my way of doing that. It was my way of showing my view on the world, showing what was going on in my mind, showing how much I love the world. And I guess doing everything after the book definitely gave me a lot more confidence, I have to say. When I was writing the book, I could not speak to anybody. I remember I was doing an event—I think it was with a charity named Ulster Wildlife—and I was doing a talk there and I nearly fainted onstage. I could not stand for a solid hour after doing the talk, and it was literally just like seventy people, and I was out. And then three-quarters of a year later, I got to speak in front of about eighteen thousand people. Honestly, I still couldn’t walk an hour after it, but it’s a bit of a step up in confidence levels.

Funnily enough, I was doing a talk to schoolchildren. I think it was like—it was yesterday; God, my time is not good—and that was about twelve thousand people. And this time, I didn’t have shaky legs after it. So I’ve definitely become more confident. It’s quite exhilarating, honestly, from a person who hated even talking to a stranger to now—honestly, I love it. I’ve become a lot more confident in my voice. I’ve become a lot more confident in general. I love speaking about the things that I care about, and I’ve sort of broken down that barrier.

Although, after an event, I still can’t speak to anybody; I’m talked out. But I love it. I actually do love it. It’s so much fun now. Give people a bit of joy, show them some wonder, perhaps make them laugh a little bit—because I do love to crack a few jokes onstage. Honestly, it can get really dreary very quickly, so I feel like people do sometimes need a little bit of a laugh.

EM: Do you have a joke you could share with us here?

DM: No. You can’t just ask for a joke. That’s not how it works.

EM: “In a fast-paced and competitive world, we need to feel grounded,” you say. “We need to feel the earth and hear birdsong. We need to use our senses to be in the world. Maybe if we bang our heads against a brick wall for long enough, it will crumble and fall, and maybe the rubble can be used to rebuild something better and more beautiful, enabling our own wildness. Imagine that.” I love and really resonate with this notion of enabling our own wildness. It feels like a different way of looking at the idea of activism or change and is really connected with what you were speaking about earlier, about being joyful.

DM: Yes, because—and I’ve realized it now, that banging your head on the wall, you’re not going to be doing that for a long time unless you’re enjoying something about it. And I feel like we need to keep on going, because if you try something for long enough, eventually something will crack. Either it will be you or it will be the wall; and by God, am I not going to crack while I still have strength in me.

Then, whenever we break through that wall, that rubble, metaphorical rubble, can then be used to rebuild. If that joy persists, then that will enable that connection to the natural world, and it’s something that I hope for, and it’s something that I definitely still resonate with. It feels like we’re getting close. There’s a lot more movement, I have to say, about these sorts of things than there was when I first started writing the book.

It’s like three years ago now. People do seem to be taking notice. Whether or not anything is done about it, we’ll find out. I will continue to feel joy for the rest of my life. It will be that thing that drives me forward; because what are you going to do in life if there is no joy, no happiness in it? And for me, the natural world is my entire joy.

EM: Winter is the last season in the book that you write about, and in the introduction to that section, you wrote, “More darkness means more quietness in the evenings, when all that can be heard is the robin’s song. The rook, the jackdaw, raven, or hooded crow, the distant squealing of gulls. I can hear so much more in between.” When I read that, I wondered how your relationship to the seasons had changed as you went through the seasonal cycle, and if you could now hear or see much more.

DM: I don’t think my connections to the seasons actually changed too much over the book. I just love winter. It’s always been my favorite season, always will be my favorite season. I think better in winter. My brain works better in winter. It’s a lot more quiet. I like the coolness of winter. Autumn isn’t so bad, either. Autumn is very nice, as you sort of get into that darkness. Summer sort of feels scalding at times. It’s burning down on you. There’s no mystery to summer. Everything’s illuminated. There’s no little secret that can be hiding in summer, if you sort of get what I mean.

Winter, on the other hand, the days are darker. You get snow. Everything is misty and foggy. It’s a lot more mysterious. That unknown exists in winter, something that you can really feel, and it’s like no other season. And so I don’t really think that my connection to the seasons actually changed too much over the book. But I think my connection to the landscape changes with the seasons.

I feel like I have a stronger connection during winter. My love of myths was allowed to sort of come out in winter. It was the first bit of reading outside of fact books that I did, really, were myths: Celtic myths, Norse myths, Egyptian myths, Rom—not Roman, I don’t like Roman myths—Greek myths. The Romans just copied everything.

Early on in “Winter,” I write about Ballynoe Stone Circle, and that, for me—that passage is possibly the proudest piece of writing I’ve ever done in my life. It was the only diary entry that I feel like I put a lot of work into, because most of the diary entries were scribbled on a notebook in bed at night, like you would a diary, honestly. Ballynoe, on the other hand, I put work into. I crafted it over about two weeks of thinking about it, thinking about the notion of that day, developing it, because it was something that I resonated with a lot, that misty feeling, that feeling of uaigneas—the Irish word for it—that sort of loneliness, that silence, that is louder than you could possibly imagine. It’s lonely with feeling everything, and it’s a feeling that I always get in winter, especially around Ballynoe Stone Circle. And I stuck to that feeling so much—I’m so fascinated by it—that was why I loved writing “Winter” so much.

I definitely improved as a writer over the book. I’m looking back on it now—some of the bits that I wrote, I’m like, “Oh, Jesus Christ, Dara, why did you write that?” Although it is character development, because the author is the main character, and if the author is improving, so is the main character. That was actually one of the reasons why, in the book, we didn’t want to edit it too much, mostly keep it the way it was—like, obviously fix grammar mistakes, because that would be kind of embarrassing, but keep some of the more technical details, keep them in there, because it lets it be a little bit more raw.

EM: Would you read that passage from “Winter,” the one that you love so much?

DM: Oh, it’s really long. Wait a second. It’s quite long.

EM: Well, read a piece of it, then.

DM: I’ll read a piece of it. Yeah, I think it’s the longest section in the book. But I’ll read the first bit. I’ll tease you all.

Saturday, first of December

We enter the holloway and I feel the string pull me along, the one that connects us with things that no longer exist but are real in our minds. Recently, my inner wanderings have been spiraling and the conversations I have with myself are becoming strange and unshapely, but feel profound and electric. I keep visualizing time as a length of string, with a flame burning at one end that represents the present, where we can act and be most alive. The ashes are the past, the intact string is the future. The string splits every time something happens. The dead are ashes: they still exist and never leave us. I can feel the string, descending, still blazing in parts, but mostly it is crisp and brown and stretched out ahead.

In the holloway, hazel overarches and I can see the exposed roots and the earth curl around me, narrowing to a vanishing point of light in the distance: a glistening full moon. My footsteps are loud in my ears, deeply trodden into winter earth. Everyone else is way ahead but I feel like the Iron Man, clanking along into another dimension, infused with sizzling energy. A sound pierces the footprint, the foot-beat: a robin in Morse code trills, an SOS messenger. I shake my head to spill out the strangeness but the eeriness remains.

A breath passes through the branches, a solemn creaking that almost sings. I start to feel really uneasy, and suddenly my senses invert as I emerge from the twilight passage. Strange shapes and colors emerge. I turn to the right and stride into the daylight. The gorse is almost in full flower here. Brambles too, with yellowing leaves. Hanging from the hazel are cuddly toys, trinkets, swaying baubles, boxes which I don’t open. I quicken my step and come to a green gate with a sign that reads “Ballynoe Stone Circle.” I walk over the grass tipped with sparkling frost; it crackles underfoot, deafening, and still, the string seems to tug me and pull me along, fire and ashes, towards the standing stones of the Neolithic burial ground.

I’m going to leave it there because the next paragraph will take me about ten minutes to read. Also, just so you know, the Iron Man is not Marvel Iron Man in this context. It is the Iron Man [from the novel] by Ted Hughes. If you haven’t read the book, everybody, you’ve got to read it so you know what I’m talking about now.

EM: Dara, thank you so much for speaking with us today. It’s been a real pleasure to talk with you about your work and have you read for us. Thank you so much.

DM: Thank you so much. It’s been amazing.

How Human Composting May Help Us Reimagine Death

Architect Katrina Spade invented human composting after learning about the “mortality composting” practices used on some farms. She has worked tirelessly to bring the process to the world, first getting a human composting bill passed in Washington state, then founding Recompose, a Public Benefit Corporation based in Seattle and the world’s first human composting company. Recompose started accepting bodies for human composting in December 2020.

Below, Katrina shares how this journey began and what she’s learned along the way.

On getting started thinking about “greening” the end of life:

I’m Katrina Spade. I was in grad school for architecture about eight years ago, and I actually hadn’t lost anyone I was close to at that point. But I had turned 30, so I was feeling quite mortal. It’s the truth. It happens. 

Architecture school isn’t just about buildings not falling down, it’s also about systems that humans create and use. I started to look at the American funeral industry as a system that we’ve created and that we have to use – we have no choice – and it quickly became just very apparent that I didn’t like the options we had. 

Before I even realized the environmental impact of those options, which are conventional burial and cremation, I was just struck by the fact that neither of them felt very meaningful to me. They didn’t excite me. It occurred to me that both of those options meant that the very last thing I would do on this planet would be to poison it with my body. My body that has been supported by the planet my whole life. It just seemed totally unfair and frankly, totally weird.

I also felt like the whole way that bodies are cared for after death was needlessly impersonal, frightening, inauthentic, and wrapped in plastic. 

So I spent some time thinking about what another option could be. How else can we care for bodies after death?

I started thinking about how we could bring nature back into this in a way that perhaps worked in an urban setting. Natural burial is a beautiful concept in which the body is buried directly in the ground, but that, of course, does take land, so maybe it isn’t an appropriate solution for all our urban dead. 

Luckily, right around that time, a friend of mine called me on the phone. She knew I was thinking about death. She knew I was kind of a compost geek also,  and she asked me if I’d heard about the practice that farmers have used for decades now to recycle farm animals – cows and horses – back to the land. It’s a form of composting called mortality composting.

That was my epiphany moment. 

On transitioning what she learned about mortality composting into something that could apply to humans:

I know I’m not the first person to think of this idea, but I think so far I’m the first person to run with it. I graduated with a thesis idea that was composting humans. My professors didn’t even laugh me out the door. 

The next year, I got a fellowship from an early-stage funder, and they didn’t laugh me out the door either. So I kept working on it and kept finding that more and more people love this concept of turning ourselves into soil after we die.

My favorite way to think of composting is that it’s what’s happening on the forest floor. We have dead organic material like sticks and leaves and the errant chipmunk, and with the help of microbes and lots of oxygen and moisture, those organic materials break down to create this beautiful topsoil. I think of composting as an accelerated version of that process.

My company Recompose is working on providing this option to human beings as an alternative to cremation and burial.

 

On the process of human composting:

The first thing to know is that we are using an in-vessel system. There’s a container that we put all of these wonderful natural materials in, and that helps us both control the process and accelerate it. So it’s faster than what’s happening on the forest floor. 

In 2015, I partnered with some beautiful people at Washington State University, because we knew if we really wanted to make this an option that was available to the public, we had to prove that it was safe and effective for humans as well as for livestock. These beautiful people helped me create a pilot research project at Washington State as part of the soil science department. We were deeply honored to invite six donors to this work. I’ve now met either the donors or the families of these donors, these six wonderful people who donated their bodies to the work and then died. They were part of a pilot to prove that recomposition is, in fact, safe and effective for human beings. 

We took the successful results of that study to the Washington state legislature in 2018. We approached it pretty straightforwardly as providing more options for a family at the end of life, and about having more sustainable choices for our bodies after we die. We actually saw really broad, bipartisan support. We had an 80/16 vote in the house for this bill that would legalize what is essentially human composting in Washington state.

Our vision is not just to turn bodies into soil, although that is, I think, the heart and the hook of it. Our vision is also to create places in our cities where families can come, where the dead are transformed, and also where we can have what is a more participatory, transparent, and authentic experience around this incredible, magical, mysterious event.

On death phobia and how to manage it:

I have deep gratitude for nature showing us how to do death really, really well. I love to be able to take what nature gives us and offer a new way for humans to be cared for. But I think it’s about more than just using nature. It’s about tapping into our own human ability that we all have to care for each other when we die. You don’t have to be an expert to do that. 

I think dying is like giving birth. The only time I went through labor to have a baby, I was thinking about it and reading about it and trying to plan out how it would go. Everyone was like, “No, you can’t do that. It just happens. Your body knows what to do.” I hope that’s what dying is like for me as well.

I think we’re all experts in this already, and we just have to tap into it. 

On the rewards of her work:

I got a letter yesterday from someone who said she was 84 and very grateful that this was going to be an option, hopefully before she died. And I thought, this is incredible timing. I needed that letter right then. That was very special.

The other thing I’ll say is I take tremendous satisfaction from trying to take something from just a concept to fruition. The reason that’s been so satisfying has everything to do with the people I’ve worked with. It’s taken lawyers, legal experts, soil scientists, project managers, engineers, and people who are experts in ritual and ceremony and funeral direction. It makes me very satisfied and feel very lucky to have this movement happening.

Our Top Stories and Projects From 2022

What a year it’s been. We bounced between news that was either terrifying, deeply heartening, or both, but the one thing we collectively understand moving forward is that the connections between us are what will keep us all going. As Sarah Crowell, founder of legendary arts and dance troupe Destiny Arts, once said, “The way we’ll hold it together is to hold it—together.” From the bottom of our hearts here at Bioneers, we’re so deeply grateful to you, a community of leaders that we strive to represent and showcase in our programs, storytelling, and convenings. It is entirely due to your support that we’re able to continue the incredible work that makes such a difference each year. 

In this newsletter, we’re celebrating the stories that you loved most in 2022 and the exciting Bioneers projects that are in the world thanks to your inspiration and support. Below, you’ll find fascinating scientific research, engaging interviews, practical information for creating a brighter future, historical analyses, and so much more.

As we look toward the beginning of a new year with nearly endless possibilities, we hope you’ll consider continuing your support or becoming a new supporter of Bioneers at whatever level is comfortable for you. We’ve got even more on the horizon for 2023! Bioneers exists to showcase and lift up the brilliance that is our community. Let’s continue to make waves together.

Want more news like this? Sign up for the Bioneers Pulse to receive the latest news from the Bioneers community straight to your inbox.

Top Bioneers Articles of 2022

In what ways do men and women differ? Do we find the same differences in our fellow primates? Do apes learn sex roles, or is gender uniquely human? World-renowned primatologist Frans de Waal offers key insights into gender, drawing on his extensive experience observing chimpanzees and bonobos.

Read it.

As awareness grows about the lasting impact of stolen land and slavery in the United States, some Americans are becoming increasingly conflicted about Thanksgiving. While many cherish the turkey and family gatherings associated with the holiday, they also recognize its dark history for Native Americans. Some Native Americans view Thanksgiving as a Day of Mourning, while others have more complex feelings about the holiday. Learn three ways to teach children about Thanksgiving.

Read it.

Americans love to manicure their lawns. It is a sign of pride in homeownership deeply steeped in the “American Dream” to buy a house in the suburbs and raise a family. However, this “dream”  belies deeper, nefarious roots in settler colonization and white supremacy. Read how and why it’s important to decolonize your yard.

Read it.

With the surge of social dislocation, political unrest and illnesses resulting from climate change, it is apparent that our planet is inflamed, and that individual health is inseparable from planetary health. Physician and activist Rupa Marya explores how structural injustices affect both human and environmental health and calls for more holistic approaches to diagnosing imbalances in our bodies and communities to put us on a path of deep personal and collective healing.

Read it.

David Solnit is a San Francisco-based carpenter; climate justice, anti-war, arts, and direct-action organizer; an author; puppeteer, and trainer. Learn more about his history and how he uses “artivism” to spread his messages in this Bioneers interview.

Read it.

Bioneers 2023 Registration Opens Soon!

As we roll into our 34th annual conference, the big wheels of massive change are turning. Sign up for alerts here, and you’ll be the first to know when registration opens; plus, we’ll send you a discount code for 15% the price of your ticket.

Top Podcast Episodes of 2022

In the late 20th century, a handful of scientists proved that aquatic mammals have advanced communication capabilities and a consciousness strikingly similar to humans. Author and adventurer James Nestor leads us on a deep dive into the mystery of marine mammal consciousness, and the story of how a small band of freedivers, pushing the limits of human endurance, is finding that saving the whales may become the story of the whales saving us.

Listen now.

From local communities and states to federal policy, movements to dismantle monopolies are challenging the current system that can be summed up as: Make Feudalism Great Again. Although breaking up is hard to do, we’ve broken up monopolies before. In this second of our two-part program, we join Thom Hartmann, Stacy Mitchell, and Maurice BP-Weeks to survey the landscape of rising antitrust movements seeking to break the stranglehold of corporate power and level the playing field for a democratized economy.

Listen now.

California Indians have survived some of the most extreme acts of genocide committed against Native Americans. We discuss this brutal history with Corrina Gould, a member of  the Lisjan/Ohlone tribe of Northern California and  co-founder and Co-Director of the Sogorea Te’ Land Trust. We talk about the importance of addressing that historical trauma, which caused deep wounds that still affect Indigenous Peoples today.

Listen now.

History doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes. From the historic Indigenous occupation of Alcatraz Island in 1969 to the fossil fuel fights throughout Canada and the U.S. today, Indigenous resistance illuminates an activism founded in a spiritual connection with the web of life and the human community – featuring Julian NoiseCat, Dr. LaNada War Jack and Clayton Thomas-Müller.

Listen now.

This conversation among diverse transformational women leaders offers insight into the depths of what it means to restore the balance between masculine and feminine to bring about wholeness, justice, and true restoration for people and the planet. Join Alice Walker, Jean Shinoda Bolen, Nina Simons, Sarah Crowell, Joanna Macy, and Akaya Windwood to envision a future in which all of us and the planet can thrive.

Listen now.

Most-Watched Videos from 2022

True solidarity requires stitching together what appears separate into a powerful, magnificent whole. Angela Glover Blackwell, a renowned civil rights and public interest attorney, longtime leading racial equity advocate, and founder of PolicyLink, discusses transformative solidarity and why it’s necessary for a thriving multiracial democracy.

Watch now.

California is the world’s largest single destination of oil from the Amazon rainforest, and its extraction contributes to climate change, deforestation, ocean pollution, and the displacement of Indigenous peoples who are the best stewards of  the Amazon’s remaining biodiversity. Two Indigenous Amazonian forest protectors, sisters Nina Gualinga and Helena Gualinga, work with Amazon Watch to appeal to Californians to demand corporate responsibility for people and the planet.

Watch now.

As climate change and environmental destruction accelerate, women are disproportionately affected but also often on the frontlines of the fight to protect our future. However, their work and leadership are often not recognized or supported. Daughters for Earth, a new initiative founded by female leaders in the women’s rights, environmental, and philanthropic sectors, seeks to address this marginalization. Zainab Salbi, a co-founder and leader of the initiative, is a widely celebrated humanitarian, author, and journalist. She previously founded Women for Women International, and now explores the connection between personal healing and addressing the challenges of climate change.

Watch now.

Nick Estes, Ph.D. is an Indigenous Rights activist, scholar, writer and author and a co-founder of The Red Nation organization. He speaks about the outsized impact frontline Indigenous communities are having in fighting climate change and resisting extractive industries, the importance and effectiveness of Earth-centered approaches to fighting for Climate Justice, and the overarching goal of being “good ancestors of the future.”

Watch now.

What if cities were designed so that they could absorb excess rainfall, neutralize floods, and turn their streets green and beautiful in the process? Kongjian Yu is doing just that, as he reports from China. This award-winning leader in ecological urbanism and landscape architecture, and founder of the planning and design firm Turenscape in Beijing, has become world-renowned for his “sponge cities” and other revolutionary nature-based solutions.

Watch now.

Bioneers Projects from 2022

In this multimedia series, we focus on the water scarcity facing arid regions, highlighting innovative designs and far-sighted strategies based on principles drawn from conservation hydrology, permaculture, regenerative agriculture, and keystone species restoration that demonstrate that there are existing strategies and practices we can implement to sustainably steward our most precious resource and ensure water security for all life.

Explore now.

Join Bioneers co-founder Nina Simons on an inspiring journey to shed self-limiting beliefs, lead from the heart and discover beloved community as you cultivate your own flourishing and liberation. Inspired and informed by Indigenous wisdom keepers who are leading the way towards a regenerative future, Nina invites women and people of all genders to, as Joanna Macy suggests, “see with new and ancient eyes.”

Purchase now.

Where do psychedelics fit into modern medicine and societal traditions? Because psychedelics are currently generating so much interest and societal attitudes about them are undergoing enormous change, we decided this would be a propitious time to bring together some of the most interesting and topical material in this domain that has been generated under the auspices of Bioneers in the last few years in an easy-to-read and to-share format.

Download now.

The Indigeneity Conversations podcast is a project of Bioneers Indigeneity Program, a Native-led Program that promotes Indigenous approaches to solving the earth’s most pressing environmental and social issues. We produce the Indigenous Forum, original media, educational curricula and catalytic initiatives to support the leadership and rights of First Peoples, while weaving networks, partnerships and alliances among Native and non-Native allies. 

Listen now.

Nature’s Intelligence: Coming Down from the Pedestal | Jeremy Narby and J.P. Harpignies

These days, scientists are starting to talk like shamans and shamans are starting to talk like scientists. So says anthropologist and author Jeremy Narby. And, he says, we need to talk about talking – because words matter. In this episode, Bioneers Senior Producer J.P. Harpignies speaks with Narby about how the very language and words we use reveal the topography and limits of our worldview, including Western culture’s adamant centuries-long but now increasingly discredited assumption that intelligence is restricted only to human beings.

Featuring

Jeremy Narby, Ph.D., an anthropologist who has been working as Amazonian Projects Coordinator for the Swiss NGO “Nouvelle Planète” since 1990, backing initiatives of Amazonian indigenous organizations in land titling, bilingual and intercultural education, environmental monitoring and sustainable economic development, is the author of The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge (1998) and Intelligence in Nature (2005), and co-edited the anthology Shamans Through Time with Francis Huxley.

J.P. Harpignies, Bioneers Senior Producer, affiliated with Bioneers since 1990, is a Brooklyn, NYC-based consultant, conference producer, copy-editor and writer. A former Program Director at the New York Open Center and a senior review team member for the Buckminster Fuller Challenge from 2010 to 2017, he has authored or edited several books, including Political Ecosystems, Delusions of Normality, Visionary Plant Consciousness, and, most recently, Animal Encounters.

Credits

  • Executive Producer: Kenny Ausubel
  • Written by: Kenny Ausubel
  • Senior Producer and Station Relations: Stephanie Welch
  • Program Engineer and Music Supervisor: Emily Harris
  • Producer: Teo Grossman
  • Host and Consulting Producer: Neil Harvey
  • Production Assistance: Monica Lopez

Resources

Interview with Francis Huxley and Jeremy Narby

Are Plants Intelligent? With Kenny Ausubel and Jeremy Narby

Intelligence in Nature: Our Family Tree of Life

More Bioneers podcasts, articles, and videos featuring Jeremy Narby

This is an episode of the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature series. Visit the radio and podcast homepage to find out how to hear the program on your local station and how to subscribe to the podcast.

Subscribe to the Bioneers: Revolution from The Heart of Nature podcast

Transcript

Neil Harvey (Host): So it was obvious that there was this human supremacist thing lurking in the word “nature”.And anthropologists have pointed out that this is a concept specific to Western cultures. So you go to the Amazon and ask people there how they say “everything that is not human”, they say, No, we think plants and animals are people like us. We don’t have this idea – “everything that is not human”. 

In this program, we drop in on a provocative conversation about the concept of “Intelligence in Nature” and how language itself can encode our worldviews. Bioneers Senior Producer J.P. Harpignies talks with anthropologist Jeremy Narby, author of many books including “Intelligence in Nature: An Inquiry into Knowledge.” Narby suggests that today you’d be hard pressed to find a scientist who disputes intelligence in nature. But what is intelligence? And what if how we talk about it still signals a human-supremacist bias?

These days, scientists are starting to talk like shamans and shamans are starting to talk like scientists. So says anthropologist and author Jeremy Narby. And, he says, we need to talk about talking – because words matter. The very language and words we use reveal the topography and limits of our worldview, including Western culture’s adamant centuries-long but now increasingly discredited assumption that intelligence is restricted only to human beings.

We join a free-range dialogue between Jeremy Narby and J.P. Harpignies at a Bioneers conference.

J.P. Harpignies (JP): One of your big themes here at the conference has been your insistence on the fact that the words we use and the language we express ourselves in are really determinant in- not just our attitude towards the natural world, but how we behave.

Maybe we should talk a little about that, about why you think that’s so important. And you know- a lot of your life, one of your big intellectual challenges has been this idea of reconciling Indigenous wisdom and ways of knowing with the Western scientific approaches, something that’s very difficult to reconcile, but that’s been your life’s work. And you’ve often used the term being bi-cognitive. Now you’re sort of talking about being plural-lingual. So maybe let’s explore that a bit. 

Jeremy Narby (Jeremy): Ok, well, obviously, it’s complicated to talk about the limits of a language in that language. But that also makes it interesting. For me, it started to become clear when I wrote Intelligence in Nature. 

So English is my mother tongue. I also speak French. I know that when you go from one language to another, things don’t necessarily translate. So I think that experience of having grown up with several languages, and then Spanish, then a bit of German. I’m not bragging. Actually I feel my head’s relatively small. I know some people who can speak a whole bunch of languages. 

But anyway, as I was writing Intelligence in Nature, I still have the reflex of most people just to think that the words that are in our mother tongue are normal there, so “intelligence”. Well, everybody knows what intelligence is, or we think we do. Or okay, you can look in the Dictionary and there’s a definition. Alright. So my book is going to be about intelligence in nature, but the more I started looking into the subject, the problem with the word emerged fairly quickly.

So intelligence is a word that comes from the Latin inter legere, to choose between, so it’s in Western tongues, and if you look in the dictionary, the definition of the word is often in exclusively human terms, which means that it can’t really be applied to other species if we’re strict with words. 

So then you think, well, wait a second, how come intelligence is in exclusively human terms? Well, you look into it and you realize that there’s this thing in Western cultures, human exclusivity, this whole idea that humans have things that the others don’t, and there’s like a kind of a long shopping list that Western thinkers have tended, especially modern Western thinkers, to line up as being what makes us above all other species. And you think, but hold on. What is this above other species business? I mean, we’re all—we’re mammals, after all, so where is the above? 

Well, we say there’s a whole list of things that humans do and that other species don’t do, and intelligence is one of them; that over the centuries, Western thinkers have said humans have intelligence and the others have instinct or– 

JP: (overlapping): Well, but those goal posts have moved quite a bit. Right? Because a lot of recent research on animal—I mean, when you wrote [CROSSTALK] your book, it was early, but now there’s been quite a lot…[CROSSTALK]

But when I was doing the research in 2002, so, yes, the goal posts have been moved all over the place, but when a Japanese researcher showed that a slime mold could solve a maze and use the word intelligence in Nature magazine in 2002, all the Western commentators said, Wait, you can’t use the word intelligence for a single cell of slime.

I remember he said that if he used the word “cleverness” they were better with it.

Jeremy: (overlapping): “Smart. Smart.”

JP: Yeah, “smart”. 

Jeremy: But, so it was obvious that there was this human supremacist thing lurking in the word intelligence. Okay…And then I found that it was also lurking in the word “nature”, so that if you look in the dictionary, “nature” is defined as the phenomena of the physical world – plants, animals, and the landscape, as opposed to humans and human creations. This is the Oxford English Dictionary definition of the word – as opposed to humans and human creations. Nature is everything that is not human.

And anthropologists have pointed out that this is a concept specific to Western cultures. So you go to the Amazon and ask people there how they say “everything that is not human”, they say, No, we think plants and animals are people like us. We don’t have this idea – “everything that is not human”. 

So then you think, okay, so let’s wind the tape back. So English is my mother tongue. Nature, we know I like nature; nature’s plants and animals. Okay. But it means everything that is not human. Yeah, it’s kind of a weird concept. I thought that nature was a natural concept. I thought nature existed. I like nature. I’m a friend of nature. But actually the concept is this weird concept.

JP: (overlapping): So what do you think about how to transcend—to deal with that, because as you were saying, the only languages we have are the ones that we are raised with, so how to—Is there any escape?

JEREMY: Yeah. There’s escape. Like, for example, I tend to not use the word nature. I tend to say plants and animals, or the living world, or all living organisms. You know, there are ways of—or the biosphere. 

JP: Or the web of life. 

Jeremy: The web of life. There’s all kind of ways of talking, but… So then, both intelligence and nature are centered on humans but in opposed ways. In fact, “intelligence in nature”, if you’re strict with words, is a contradiction in terms, because intelligence excludes non-humans, and nature excludes humans. But that just shows that our categories or our concepts have these blind angles.

So I think this is interesting, but it means that if we want to move forward with understanding what we would call “intelligence in nature”, or let’s just say “the full capacities of all living organisms”, if we want to understand that, doing away with concepts that put a difference between us and the other species seems like a good move. In other words, okay, if intelligence is problematic because it’s irremediably a human exclusivity, forget about it; we need a new concept. 

If nature is problematic because it also excludes humans and puts a difference between us and other species, then we don’t need it; we can use alternatives. 

JP: There is a sort of more underground philosophical tradition in the West, of panpsychism, this idea that consciousness permeates everything in the universe, even inanimate—what we think of as inanimate—that’s probably another problematic word. So—

Jeremy: Still, but you note that — let’s call it the capitalist world that has been established; this sort of huge industry, market-driven, worldwide distribution containers, plastic objects made all over the place, that world is a world that has considered plants and animals as objects, not as subjects. So there’s humans on one hand. They’re the subjects, they’re the consumers, and all the rest are objects. We can wrap them in plastic and sell them. And that’s what’s going on. 

So, this view that humans are somehow above all the rest and can do with all the rest what they want, is the world we live in. 

Asháninka tribe

Host: For over 30 years, Jeremy Narby has worked with the Swiss-based nonprofit Nouvelle Planète supporting Indigenous Amazonian initiatives in Peru for land conservation and cultural preservation. Living and working with tribes including the Asháninka, he participated in their ceremonial use of ayahuasca, a psychedelic plant medicine central to their medical and spiritual practices. These powerful experiences ignited in him a desire to seek to build bridges between shamanic and scientific worldviews.

JP: So one thing that will certainly interest probably a certain subset of listeners, is because you’ve written about ayahuasca, and ayahuasca experiences had a big influence on shaping your world vision when you were living with the Asháninka in your younger days, how do you think the use of sacred plants and ayahuasca in particular, and other sacred plants, might influence that type of—that linguistic struggle or does one access states that are beyond language or apart from language? Or what do you think the relationship is?

Jeremy: Well, I can talk on the basis of personal experience. For me it’s been clear that ayahuasca has kind of heightened or enhanced my attention to words, how one pronounces them, the choice of words, also the sound of one’s voice, that what comes out of one’s mouth counts and participates in the creation of the world. So that may sound a little bit – I don’t know what – but, yeah, words matter. What you say matters. And if you can say things clearly and with a pure heart, it has a ring that people can hear, and so you really can transmit, well, knowledge or these things through how you speak. Yeah, that is a kind of an ayahuasca insight. 

Language almost seems more concrete in that state of mind, or breath, certainly. And actually in the ayahuasca experience, people sing spontaneously, and as they sing, they experience the power of melody in their voice, that it’s really this beautiful thing that we can make these sounds with our voice and add meaning and melody to them. It’s such a precious and beautiful thing, that you don’t want to spend your day cussing and having garbage coming out of your mouth. 

JP: Do you think that those early ayahuasca experiences, you describe them as having really changed your worldview. How does that apply to this issue of language? Do you think the seeds of your questioning of Western language began then, or do you think it’s something else in your anthropological training that triggered that, or some combination of the two?

Jeremy: Well, it’s true that the ayahuasca made me think about language and how you say things, and then how when you say things in one language, it’s not the same as the other, and so forth. Then I started writing The Cosmic Serpent, and trying to think about things, and realized that actually it’s like two different systems of logic here. It’s not just that we’re in English on the one hand and in Asháninka on the other hand. It’s, we’re in Western science on the one hand and in a kind of a shamanic epistemology on the other. And it’s kind of like oil and vinegar, and making sense of one from the other is difficult. 

And then I started seeing it was towards the end of writing The Cosmic Serpent that I understood that it was kind of like bilingualism, and that you could look at the world from the point of view of science, and so the molecules that it contains, and so what does science tell us about ayahuasca and the brain, and so on and so forth. And then you could look at the same scene from the point of view of shamanic knowledge. And they’d be fairly complementary. The Cosmic Serpent was all about that, how you could reunite these two different gazes that had been separated, and actually they’re surprisingly coherent and agree on many fundamental levels about the nature of nature. 

So, hmm, it was like the metaphor I had, it was like a reserve camera angle. My main camera angle was Western science, but we could see the replay from a reserve angle, and you could look at any question, like how does a DNA molecule function. Well, seen from the shamanic side, there must be some portents of vibration, melody, if what the shamans say is true about the essences that animate living beings, then vibration must be part of what makes a molecule tick. Well, okay, so that’s what you can get from the reserve angle. It may not—These are ideas for future research, for example.

And so then I understood that what was at stake, or what could then happen, if you could line up science and shamanic knowledge, then it would be a question of learning to go back and forth, like a bilingual person. And as somebody who’s had experience learning languages, other languages to the point of more or less becoming bilingual, there’s a period when you learn the second language where you cease to speak your mother tongue as well as you used to, yet you don’t speak the second language fluently yet either, so you’re in this kind of no-person’s land, so you speak two languages poorly. And what it takes is a lot of going back and forth, and that’s how you become bilingual by going back and forth a lot. 

So the idea was that this was like bi-cognitivism. So it’s not two languages but two systems of knowledge.

Host: When we return, Jeremy Narby and J.P. Harpignies survey the erosion of the heretofore seemingly unbreachable dichotomies between scientific and shamanic ways of seeing the world. They suggest it might behoove us to try to come down from our imagined pedestal to be able to see ourselves as a part of nature, rather than apart from it.

I’m Neil Harvey. You’re listening to The Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature…

You can visit bioneers.org to subscribe to our newsletters and podcasts, check out Deep Dives on the topics that matter to you most, and learn about our events. That’s bioneers.org

Today, science has established beyond dispute human beings’ literal kinship with all other plant and animal species. Half the genes of a banana have exact equivalence in the human genome. Chimpanzees, bonobos and humans share close to 99% identity in their genomes. There are genes common to both humans and bacteria. In other words, we’re family.

At the same time, a growing body of research has convincingly demonstrated that intelligent behaviors and capacities are widely distributed throughout nature. Pigeons have a better memory for paintings than college students do. Sheep have a better memory for human faces than people do. The list goes on and on. 

Yet how does the illusion that we humans are the only intelligent species, persist so tenaciously? Is it part of a Russian doll of false dichotomies that mistakenly separate humans from nature? Might our language itself be trapping us into faulty worldviews?

Let’s drop back into the mystery with Jeremy Narby and J.P Harpignies, talking about talking…

Jeremy: There’s that good old dichotomy where you have matter on one hand and then spirit on the other. And that’s what we then learn looking at this is that it’s not that Asháninka people don’t do dichotomies, they have a dichotomy between visible and invisible in that word “maninkari”, it’s that their dichotomies are a lot less watertight than Western ones. That’s what characterizes Western thinking. It’s not only that it’s dualist and it makes dichotomies, but that the categories are so watertight. 

JP: So you think fluidity is a key aspect of the Indigenous worldview that we lack in Western languages.

Jeremy: This has been commented on by different anthropologists and so on, is that there is an increased permeability in the categories in Indigenous traditions worldwide, really. You can think of it as the yin yang symbol, where you have not only white and black surrounding each other, but the little bit of black in the white and the little bit of white in the black. 

JP: Well that’s the dialectic where you get something else that results from the two forces. There’s a kind of a synthesis or interpenetration or—

Jeremy: But it comes from categories being less water tight. 

JP: Right. 

Jeremy: So what’s also interesting about thinking about other cultures and about the limits of our vocabulary to try to understand those other cultures is that we think we’re trying to understand the others but at some point we’re also looking in the mirror and understanding ourselves. So like, you know, by trying to understand Amazonian reality in English, I’ve learned a lot about the limits of English and of Western thought. And that so—By trying to understand Amazonian logic, I realize the extent to which my Western logic is filled with this tendency to dichotomize you know—mind-body—

I used to think I have a body. I used to think I know what a body is. But actually the body is the result of an opposition between mind and body. You go to Asháninka people, of course they recognize that you have a hand, an arm, they have the word for knee, foot, leg and so on. They don’t have a word for body. They don’t have a word for mind either. They don’t make a separation between mind and body. And when you ask them to say body, they say all my skin standing. [LAUGHTER] So it takes—So actually their word, it’s more like there’s a skin capsule. So that’s their view of the world.

And then what we would call mind is that with which we know, it’s the same word as heart. So then I go back to body and mind. I think that, well, first of all, body is a pretty strange concept, because it is this part of this whole thing of me that is not my mind. And then you think, wait a second, but this idea that there’s a mind that is entirely separate from the body.

JP: Well there also is the Buddhist tradition which tells you that you don’t have a body or a mind, as you think of them, and that your body, in fact, looks distinct but in fact it’s interacting with the environment, molecules are leaving and coming, and there is no clear boundary. And in the same way your mind was deeply influenced by your education, your school, it’s permeable. So there are other traditions that question this.

But also the other thing is that—

Jeremy (overlapping): Well, I’d like to make clear that [CROSSTALK] I don’t doubt that I’m an organism.

JP: Right.

Jeremy: I actually do like my whole physical setup. I’m not complaining.

JP: And if you stub your toe, you—

Jeremy: It hurts.

JP: It hurts. Yeah.

Jeremy: But I think that getting away from seeing it as being a sort of a body on the one hand and a mind on the other is what I want to do, because I want to understand myself, and I think that—like calling it body is like turning it into an object a little bit. Why do that?

JP: Yeah. But I mean, there is no complete way out, because we are stuck with language, to some degree. Right? So every effort we make in this will be partial. Don’t you think?

Jeremy: Well, like I could say I think of myself as a pulsating organism. Okay? Or a wet organism. Alright. I do try to think of myself that way. We could do—So it recognizes the physicality, but—And body, which is this kind of weird concept resulting from a pretty water tight dichotomy, we don’t need it.

JP: So, Jeremy, are you thinking of writing a new Dictionary of appropriate terms to describe the human condition? And which words to avoid and new ways to describe ourselves?

Jeremy: You know, it’s more like it’d be a guide to how to think ourselves out of this mess. And it’s true. I think that—

JP: Liberation through nomenclature…

Jeremy: Yeah, kind of. But obviously one would want to avoid word police, absolutely. But just that becoming aware that I don’t think that we can really remove ourselves from the pedestal we’ve put ourselves on relative to all the other species if we continue using the word nature, because it’s a—it’s a pedestal word. So there are pedestal words, and avoiding them is part of coming down from the pedestal. It’s as simple as that.

JP: The linguistic smashing of the pedestal…

Jeremy: Or just the coming down from. No smashing. 

JP: No smashing. Okay.

Jeremy: Just get down from the pedestal.

JP: So, Jeremy, the idea of your work having come at a time when very few people were open to this idea of intelligence in nature, forgive the use of those two terms, but it was the title of your book–[LAUGHTER] Do you—Have you seen progress in terms of the mainstream scientific establishment in terms of catching up with the ideas you expressed in that book? And do you see hope there, or do you think it’s just partial penetration and much more needs to be done?

Jeremy: Yeah. Actually the funny thing was that obviously my experience is specific to the quirk of what I lived, but the quirk of what I lived was publishing Intelligence in Nature in 2005. The book was mainly ignored, like it was non-reviewed and so on. Then in the months that followed and the years that followed, the examples of the intelligence in nature reported by scientists kept on cropping up, new ones, like some have said there’s been a revolution in vegetable biology since 2005. 

I mean, the timing was almost perfect, not for book sales because the book didn’t sell, but it was like all that science has produced since then has been an enormous confirmation of the surprising capacities of plants and of uni-cellulars, of fungi, of trees and networks of trees, and interspecies communications, and at this point, there’s no articles on stupidity in nature, and thousands of articles and bits of research on these surprising capacities of all kinds of species, including communication, learning, remembering, perceiving, even plants. They perceive. They smell. They hear. It’s just been demonstrated that plants can hear the sound of water and so on. So there’s all this research that has unfolded in the last decade, so, yeah, clearly it’s been shifting. And it’s funny how it happens, because for so long the subject of the intelligence of plants and so forth, this was almost like a taboo subject.

JP: Well hippie. It sounded like hippie nonsense…

Jeremy: Yeah. But now it’s like everybody knows that plants are intelligent. So I’m really happy. It’s never occurred to me to have been so right so fast. These things usually take longer. Now I don’t think there’s any argument. 

All plants and animals are objects in the eye of the law, except some are starting to receive personhood, except person is another one of these human-centered concepts. The first definition of the word, if you look in the Dictionary, is a human being regarded as an individual. So by definition, this is what critics say, you can’t grant personhood to other species because it doesn’t make sense.

JP: Although French is a weird one because it’s person and no one. 

Jeremy: Yeah. And the etymology, “person” in the Greek, refers to a mask—

JP: Right. 

Jeremy: And the mask is—can apply to anybody. In other words, person is one of these complicated concepts, and it’s probably going to be—get on the list of concepts that need to be avoided if—

JP: In your linguistic dictionary.

Jeremy: Getting down from the pedestal. We’re going to have to drop that one too. [LAUGHTER]

JP: I think we just came up with your next writing project. [LAUGHTER]

Jeremy: The list. Yeah.

Bioneers 2023: Transformation, Regeneration, Celebration

As Bioneers rolls into our 34th annual gathering, the big wheels of massive change are turning. Climate disruption bears down daily, and there’s a widely felt morning-after awakening that it’s going to crash the economy and bring civilization to its knees. Although the regime shift to renewables is now an accelerating inevitability, it’s going to take relentless political action. To beat the clock, we also need to override the doom loop of delay and propaganda the desperate fossil fuel industry will keep pushing.  

Meanwhile, the unprecedented movements of the past decade for liberation, justice and multicultural democracy are swelling to challenge the right-wing populist and neo-fascist forces underwritten by cynical plutocratic elites. “Make feudalism great again” is proving to be a marketing challenge. Something’s gotta give.

At the core is a crisis of democracy: a radical disconnect between the world people want and the world corporations and their client governments have hijacked. The climate crisis and the inequality crisis are the same crisis. Our separation from nature and our separation from each other are the same dis-integration. The choice is clear: nihilism or regeneration. Shattering or wholeness.

Slouching toward sustainability will not turn the tide. Only immediate, bold and transformative action will enable us to make the leap across the abyss. As Bioneers has long shown, the solutions are largely present, or we know what directions to head in. The solutions residing in nature surpass our conception of what’s even possible. Nature has a profound capacity for healing, and we can act as healers. What we do to each other we do to the Earth, and we’ll have peace only when we practice justice, a process that never ends. We can marry the genius of nature with human creativity to heal the web of life and ourselves.

Bioneers is about a revolution from the heart of nature and the human heart.  “As world leaders take us on a guided tour of Hell, let love reign,” as Robbie Robertson puts it. Since 1990, the Bioneers conference has illuminated the topography of transformative change. This transformation inspires a change of heart, celebrating the unity and intrinsic value of all life.

The rise of regenerative social movements and civil society leadership hold the greatest power and promise for successfully navigating the “Great Unraveling.” For over three decades, the Bioneers Conference has served as a trellis on which this visionary movement of movements has grown and grown together around authentic “solve-the-whole problem” solutions. This historic shift to become an ecologically literate and just civilization heralds a declaration of interdependence.

Never has it been more vital that we come together around the council fire to share what we’ve learned, link arms, fill our hearts and vision, and align ourselves to prevail for the long haul.

Especially in these darkest of times, we come together to regenerate and celebrate. We invite you to join forces with the Bioneers community of leadership in this time when we’re all called upon to be leaders. As David Orr says, “Hope is a verb with its sleeves rolled up.”

REGISTRATION WILL OPEN JANUARY 5, 2023.

Sign up for Bioneers 2023 email alerts, and we’ll send you an exclusive 15% discount to use when you register.


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How Artivists Are Making the Invisible Visible

The key role of the arts in social movements is as true today as it’s ever been, and we at Bioneers have long sought to feature the work of groundbreaking socially and eco-engaged artists from across different disciplines. It is our belief that without the inspiration and visions artists provide, we won’t be able to give birth to the life-affirming and just civilization we aspire to.

This newsletter features five new interviews by Bioneers Arts Coordinator Polina Smith with profoundly influential engaged artists. Below are interviews with:

  • Two renowned California-based Indigenous artists: muralist/collagist Mer Young and ceremonialist and earth-altar/mandala creator Veronica Ramirez
  • Two daring curators: Patricia Watts, who has, over several decades, done more to promote the “Eco-Art” movement than anyone on the planet and Patsy Craig who is passionately helping promote the work of Indigenous artists in the Andean highlands
  • The leading advocate for and educator about “tiny homes,” Lindsay Wood.

Want more news like this? Sign up for the Bioneers Pulse to receive the latest news from the Bioneers community straight to your inbox.

Do What You Love, The Rest Will Follow

Mer Young is an Indigenous (Chichimeca and Apache) socially-engaged, Southern California-based artist whose body of work includes collages, drawings, paintings, and murals. She is the founder of Mausi Murals, and she has been widely exhibited nationally and internationally. Some of her public artworks can be found in a wide range of Southern California towns, including Long Beach, Glendale, South Pasadena, San Pedro, Paramount, Anaheim, Tustin, and Los Angeles. 

Bioneers reached out to Mer to help design the beautiful look and feel of Bioneers’ latest podcast, Indigeneity Conversations. She worked closely with the podcast team and guests to create the singular images of each guest that appear alongside each episode, highlighting the power and depth of the work of each of these leading activists. We discussed Mer’s career as both an artist and an activist in our recent interview.

Read more.

Making the Invisible Visible

“Artists are creative divergent thinkers who can inspire new ways of seeing and of addressing the ecological problems of our era. They can serve as healers in this time, and they are here in large numbers because this is their time to speak; and now is our time to listen.”

Patricia Watts, the founder of the groundbreaking, highly influential nonprofit ecoartspace, has been one of the world’s most important curators and leading figures in the “eco-art” movement for over a quarter century. Ecoartspace is an online platform for hundreds of artists across 26 countries to connect and learn from each other.

Read more.

A New Collection from Bioneers

All significant movements for positive change are accompanied by outpourings of artistic expression that help open our eyes to injustice and convey powerful new visions and possibilities.

Explore the world of incredible artists within the Bioneers community in our Engaged Arts collection, featuring interviews, galleries, resources, and more.

Check it out.

Living Small to Live Big

Lindsay Wood, widely known as “The Tiny Home Lady,” the founder and CEO of Experience Tiny Homes, is an expert on tiny home design, material/appliance selection and builder analysis. She has been a leading figure in developing innovative strategies to change the way tiny homes are designed and purchased, and she serves on the board of the Tiny Home Industry Association. 

In this interview, Lindsay describes her home-buying struggles and how she became the “Tiny Home Lady.” She also explains the highs and lows of tiny house-living, and why she thinks tiny homes can play a role in helping address the housing and climate crises.

Read more.

Reconsidering All that Drives Us

Patsy Craig is a curator/producer, author/artist and Indigenous rights advocate who has for over 20 years generated and cultivated a wide range of cross-cultural collaborations in the fields of art/design, music, urbanism, and environmentalism. This output has included publications, exhibitions, and events, including lectures, concerts, symposia, workshops, etc.

Six years ago, Craig turned her focus to the environment and Indigeneity after spending time at Standing Rock to support the water protection movement resisting the infamous Dakota Access Pipeline. Since then she has continued her activism and seeks to provide platforms that contribute to amplifying Indigenous world-views.

Read more.

Sacred Activism

“I like to do and make with purpose.”

Veronica Ramirez, an Oakland, CA-based artist of Mapuche/Chilean-Mestizo ancestry, was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. She has been leading public “earth-altar” making (mandalas) for the past 24 years in a variety of different communities. In this interview, Veronica discusses her artistic journey, her favorite projects, and her hopes for what role her art will play in the world.

Read more.

Designing for a Regenerative Future: What’s Love Got to Do with It? With Jason F. McLennan

What would it feel like to live in a world where our built environment was as elegant as nature’s designs? What if our living and working spaces nurtured our human communities and quality of life? Architect and designer Jason F. McLennan takes the revolution from the heart of nature and the human heart into our built environment. He is shifting the fateful civilizational inflection point we face – from degradation to regeneration – from fear to love.

Featuring

Photo © Rick Dahms

Jason F. McLennan, one of the world’s most influential visionaries in contemporary architecture and green building, is a highly sought-out designer, consultant and thought leader. A winner of Engineering News Record’s National Award of Excellence and of the prestigious Buckminster Fuller Prize (which was, during its 10-year trajectory, known as “the planet’s top prize for socially responsible design”), Jason has been showered with such accolades as “the ‘Wayne Gretzky’ of the green building industry and a “World Changer” (by GreenBiz magazine).

Credits

  • Executive Producer: Kenny Ausubel
  • Written by: Kenny Ausubel
  • Senior Producer and Station Relations: Stephanie Welch
  • Program Engineer and Music Supervisor: Emily Harris
  • Producer: Teo Grossman
  • Host and Consulting Producer: Neil Harvey
  • Production Assistance: Anna Rubanova and Monica Lopez

Resources

Jason McLennan – From Reconciliation to Regeneration

Deep Community Resilience: Preparing for the Coming Age, Place-By-Place | Jason F. McLennan

Child-Centered Planning: A New Specialized Pattern Language Tool | Jason F. McLennan

This is an episode of the Bioneers: Revolution from the Heart of Nature series. Visit the radio and podcast homepage to find out how to hear the program on your local station and how to subscribe to the podcast

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Transcript

In this episode, architect and designer Jason F. McLennan takes the revolution from the heart of nature and the human heart into our built environment. He is shifting the fateful civilizational inflection point we face – from degradation to regeneration – from fear to love. 

Neil Harvey, Host: “In the design world, when you’re talking about regeneration of a place, you have choices that you make. And every design intervention, there’s a decision whether you’re going to participate in a feedback loop that is regenerative or degenerative. 

What is fundamental, and this is the work that we all have to do, is we actually have to focus on love. Imagine going into design meetings with developers and say let’s talk about love. [LAUGHTER] But my belief is that only through the sustained awakening of the human heart are we going to have a future.” [APPLAUSE] 

Jason F. McLennan: We need to design our built environment in the same way that nature devises its architecture, running off of the sun rather than fossil fuels, using the water that we can capture, and not polluting our environment. The important thing, of course, is that we solve these issues in an interconnected fashion. They aren’t isolated issues. They are things that have to be solved together. And that holistic framing, if you will, is fundamental to the Living Building Challenge. And what we’re trying to imagine, of course, is a world that actually is living, that will be worth living for.

Host: Now, contrast that vision with current reality:

In the US, buildings are the number-one energy-using sector. They account for 40% of primary energy consumption, 39% of CO2 emissions, and 13% of water consumption. 

Instead, what would it feel like to live in a world where our built environment was as elegant as nature’s designs? Where nature itself is our design model, mentor and metric, so we live comfortably within its boundaries and limits? What if our built environment actually enhances natural systems? What if our living and working spaces nurture our human communities and quality of life? 

And yes, what’s love got to do with it?

Those paradigm-changing questions have inspired Jason McLennan’s lifelong quest to design and build what he calls “living buildings” that are in harmony with nature and create vital healing spaces for people.

He’s among the world’s most influential visionaries in contemporary architecture and green building. As a sought-after designer, consultant and thought leader, he’s the principal of McLennan Design. As a global design firm, it uses regenerative design to solve some of the most vexing challenges bedeviling society at this transformative inflection point. 

He published the influential WELL Building Standard and has written seven books on sustainability and design, including the cornerstone in the field, the Philosophy of Sustainable Design.

In 2006, McLennan transformed the still nascent field of green building with a shot across the bow called the Living Building Challenge. It conceptually leapfrogged the leading green building certification standards – by a country mile. 

Jason McLennan spoke at a Bioneers conference…

Jason McLennan speaking on a panel with Deanna Van Buren and Dawn Danby at a recent Bioneers conference. Photo © Alex Akamine

Jason F. McLennan: I started writing the Living Building Challenge, and the idea was that we needed to fundamentally change architecture, that we needed to reimagine the impact that our built environment was having on the world. And it was a bit crazy in people’s minds, and I was told that this will never happen or be a long time, and I’m glad that that has been proven wrong. It was so far out there when we launched it, it was illegal, in fact, in just about every jurisdiction in North America, so we had to get to work on that. And it’s amazing to think that doing things in support of life would be the thing that was illegal. 

So a lot has happened since I launched the challenge. I remember not only was it illegal and we had to change water laws in particular, and you couldn’t find the materials, but of course energy, renewable energy at the time was more expensive, and now that’s changed. Right? The cheapest form of new energy is renewable energy, and that’s incredible. It’s amazing to think that when we launched the challenge, we didn’t have Smartphones, we didn’t have Teslas. This idea that we can now electrify everything is much more real, and people are doing it, and they’re doing it all over the world, which is exciting, again, which is good. It’s progress. And we can imagine that we have all the tools now that we need to have a fundamentally different world. 

Host: The Living Building Challenge standards were so radical that initially, even when the practices were legal, there simply weren’t many architects, developers or construction companies that dared even to try to achieve them.

But what may have seemed like wild-eyed idealism or fringe folly has matured into dozens of certified Living Buildings and thousands pursuing it on six continents. These efforts are rapidly spawning the beginnings of a global movement.

The nonprofit Living Future Institute that McLennan founded, along with numerous other innovative organizations and companies, have been systematically disrupting and transforming an entire sector: the architecture, construction and design industries.

On the ground, the work has evolved from Living Buildings to initiatives to create entire Living Communities. The Living Building and Products standards include the world’s first social justice label, called JUST.

And that’s not to mention certifications for zero carbon, zero energy and more. 

In 2019, Jason McLennan connected with some colleagues in his Seattle home base who landed him smack in the middle of mainstream. The firm behind a billion-dollar stadium project in downtown Seattle – the new home of the national hockey league’s Seattle Kraken – was hoping to sell the naming rights to Amazon. Together, the Oak View Group and Amazon opted to call the venue “Climate Pledge Arena,” and they engaged McLennan as lead Sustainability Consultant to ensure that it lived up to its ambitious name. 

Climate Pledge Arena, Seattle, WA. Photo © Sea Cow | wikimedia commons

Jason F. McLennan: I got involved and I got asked to figure out, well, how do we actually live up to this kind of name; what would we do differently? And this is a major sports venue, 17, 18,000 people or something like that.

First of all, there was this incredible 1962-era building for the Seattle World’s Fair. It was designed to be kind of like a rain hat, a Coast Salish looking rain hat. And one option was that it would have been torn down. It’s right next to the Space Needle. You know, there was, of course, it was on the Nationally Historic Registry and people love it, and there was a decision to keep it, which was the right decision.

They brought me in and said, okay, we have an opportunity to do something amazing and to be a beacon for the sports and entertainment industry and be the greenest venue of its kind in the world. And I said, well, the first thing you need to do is get rid of all the natural gas and have no fossil fuels inside the building, and that wasn’t done for a building of that size. But they – to their credit – they said, okay, alright, we’ll do that, even though we’ve ordered the equipment, paid for it, we’re going to cancel the orders, suck up the lost cost, and we’re going to go all electric. 

And then the second thing was, well, but then we’ve got to get all of our electricity from renewable sources, so we have to have on-site solar, which we had put in a few places, and then we’ll have off site renewable energy as well, and 100% of the energy will be from renewable energy sources, so now we’ve decarbonized the energy. We already had lower embodied carbon because they were recycling the building. Then there was a decision to go even further and say, how do we actually track all the transportation of fans getting there, all the food purchased, all the materials that are used in the building, track the carbon footprint of that as well. And there’s all sorts of other things that are pretty cool when you go there. 

Environmentally, it’s not a huge benefit in Seattle where it rains a lot. But it is cool that why would we not make the ice from rainwater, and why not do that everywhere? Why do you spend all this energy and resources to treat water and then use it to make ice when rain falls naturally on these big roofs of these venues? So, it had been done once somewhere else, not for a professional hockey team. But, I knew that rainwater was going to be actually a better source of ice.

So we essentially put in cisterns just like you would at your house with a rain barrel. We have a big rain barrel under the plaza of the building. And we collect rainwater and we make NHL hockey ice on it. And the good news is the experts there believe it’s the best ice they’ve ever made, which I already knew it was going to be; water is distilled, and they have to make sure that it’s clear so you can see the puck on the ice and everything else, and they love it. 

Climate Pledge Arena. Photo © SounderBruce | wikimedia commons

Host: Even the beloved Zambonis that sweep the ice are electric and charged by renewable power. The Climate Pledge Arena aims to be the first zero-carbon stadium certified by the Living Building Challenge.

The initiative is also pledging to produce zero-waste and eliminate single-use plastics by 2024, which is unprecedented for a major arena. 

Although the stadium project is one high-profile result of decades of prior learning and practice, McLennan’s efforts behind the scenes to transform the way we create the everyday products and materials that surround us has had widespread impact. 

He and his organization developed a Red List of toxic chemicals such as formaldehyde, PVC and some flame retardants to eliminate from building materials. Now, Red List-free products are available throughout the building industry. 

Taking a holistic, nature-based approach requires a fundamentally different mindset. Jason McLennan says it also engenders a change of heart.

He spoke on a panel at a Bioneers conference.

Jason F. McLennan: The hardest barriers that we have found to doing regenerative projects, to doing living buildings in the end are not technological, they’re not economic, they’re not educational like know-how based, it has been the resistance that we face from people and attitudes and inertia of, “well, that’s not how we do it here, or that’s not how we did it last time, or I don’t know if you can do that, I’m afraid to do that” and all the excuses. And so that, and there’s just this inaction that happens.

My focus, of course, has been on primarily the environmental impact of the decisions we make around buildings. But you can’t get into that in any authentic way and not understand it’s about people as well. And so the deeper you get into regeneration, the more you realize that the barriers to change, the barriers to regeneration are all between our ears and the way we think, and the stories that we tell ourselves.

So the ironic thing is that I talk about living buildings, but our buildings are not actually alive. They are actually more like—it’s not the dam, it’s the beaver that is the hydrologist. It’s not the building, it’s the people in the buildings. But our buildings are these sort of manifestations of our values, you know, the things that we believe are important, our needs, our desires. And they’re the biggest things that humans built, our buildings and cities, so they take the most stuff, and they have the biggest legacies and the biggest impacts of the non-living things that we’re surrounded by.

And I think a lot of architects overstate the importance of architecture, and a lot of other disciplines misunderstand or underplay how important architecture is as a form giver for our values. 

Host: So how do we integrate the humanity, dignity and purpose of people into the design of buildings and communities? Moving beyond bricks and mortar, McLennan became engaged with a next generation of living building projects that transformed his understanding of what a living building could be and do for the people using it. 

Clearly one barrier to the spread of living buildings and living communities has been inertia – or what you might call Intention Deficit Disorder. Yet as these inspiring models do get built and seen, people love them and want more of them. 

According to Jason McLennan, it’s biophilia in action – the innate love and attraction that life has for life. The question becomes: Can we translate that love both to the natural world and to our fellow human beings? 

From the pyramids to skyscrapers, our built environment vividly shows that that has not been the story so far.

Jason F. McLennan: What is fundamental, and this is the work that we all have to do, and this is the work that we’re trying to do in our practice more and more, which is a tough thing for architects to admit that it’s not about the buildings, because we actually have to focus on love. Imagine going into design meetings with developers and say let’s talk about love. [LAUGHTER] But my belief is that only through the sustained awakening of the human heart are we going to have a future. [APPLAUSE] 

In the design world, when you’re talking about regeneration, regeneration of a place, you have choices that you make in what you do and how you design, so there’s this point of action. And every design intervention, there’s a decision whether you’re going to participate in a feedback loop that is regenerative or degenerative. 

But more than that, bigger than that now is the idea that there is this need for love and reconciliation, and that same decision point, is the decision point between fear and love, and feedback loops that are either bringing us together as a people and as life on this planet or moving us apart.

And after decades and decades of this in any culture, in any country, it builds into this insidious form of institutional racism, institutional harm that is done– most people don’t even see. And these same forces are there with institutional environmental degradation. 

And so this is what we have to overcome. And as you go from thinking about people and other species, you understand that it’s the same root issues, the same fear, the same lack of love allows us to justify our cruelty not only to each other but to all of life. And that’s why in my mind it’s clear – and I understand, of course, it’s clear to the people in Bioneers – that environmentalism and social justice are truly two sides of the same coin.

Host: As the scholar and activist Cornel West has said, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” 

So if we’re talking about love, then what’s justice got to do with it? Are Living Buildings to be only for the wealthy?

Jason F. McLennan: The systems that we have benefit certain people and they don’t want those systems to change, as you might imagine. If you’re the beneficiary of a lop-sided system, you know? 

Obviously, if I had all the resources in the world, I would love to see living buildings for those that can’t afford to pay for good infrastructure of any kind right now. It would be nice if affordable housing were all living buildings and they never have energy bills and water bills to worry about, and they were more comfortable, and they lived in a healthier environment so their kids wouldn’t have asthma and allergies, and sort of perpetuate the cycle of always being at a disadvantage because of the poor infrastructure that they have. The rich can take care of themselves. 

If we could design or retrofit our cities to be truly sustainable – and by we, I mean a very large collective “we” of really smart people – we know how to do that. We could transform our energy systems, our water systems, our waste systems, our food systems. We could do that within a few years, in a decade. I believe that. I believe we could get off of fossil fuels, for example, in a short amount of time if we could get out of our own way, and if we could solve those huge political hurdles that get put in place.

We should be, as a culture, in this unparalleled moment of decarbonization, that if there was real political leadership, real moral leadership in this country, that this would be a discussion of like—not a question of if or how long or these vague targets of 2050, 2040, 2030. It should be like we are going to transition our economy, and we all need to come together on this, and this is what we’re going to do, and then actually do it. We need to engage in a more quick way.

Host: Jason McLennan says he’s been doing a whole lot of soul-searching about where this work has had the most impact or less impact. He finds himself continually coming back to the projects that embrace reconciliation as the heart of regeneration. 

One of those endeavors was in partnership with the Ngāi Tūhoe a tribe from the northern Island on Aotearoa New Zealand. In the 2010’s, work began on the design and construction of their new parliament building and community center. 

The building site was adjacent to their ancestral homeland (called Te Urewera), a vast area of rugged, forested hill country formally designated as a national park. 

Like Indigenous communities worldwide, the Tūhoe have experienced waves of colonization, land theft and settler violence. It has included the confiscation of the best agricultural lands, accompanied by brutal military campaigns targeting their settlements. In 2014, their ancestral home was returned to them as part of a transformative national reparations settlement.

A design team worked with the Tūhoe to co-create a design process inspired by the Living Building Challenge that incorporated an active process of reparations and reconciliation. The goal was to conceive of and build a structure that healed not only the community, but the land itself. 

The question was, could that process help justice become love made public?

Jason F. McLennan: They shared it with the chief and members of the clan, and they resonated with it immediately and said, oh, this is another way of saying what we believe. And it became then a real useful tool for the architects and engineers and builders and the Tūhoe to talk about the values and the goals and the vision for what success would look like if they could build a building that would embody who they were in their relationship to the land. And so that was really kind of cool. 

So, yeah, the Living Building became a rallying cry. The whole community got involved, literally. They made earth blocks together, and there’s some great photos, sometimes I show, of people from the Tūhoe making earth blocks that were the walls of the facility. And you had that happening, as well as you had a lot of sort of big glue-laminated timbers from New Zealand forests that were brought in with big equipment. So it was this high-tech, low-tech, centuries-old way of doing things and modern ways of doing things coming together. It actually was the first living building in the country, which is great. Now there’s several other living buildings in New Zealand. And yeah, it was inspiring to be part of that.

Host: Known as Te Kura Whare, the Living Building-certified structure is now a thriving community hub. 

It’s 100% off the grid and off fossil fuels.  It collects and treats all water onsite. It was built by the community with materials caringly harvested from the surrounding lands. Yet it’s so much more than just a structure. 

The New Zealand Property Council described the deep community-process design approach as “transformative.” It’s now used as a model practice in New Zealand and beyond, and a glimmer of what a Living Community can be and do.

It starts with a change of heart.

Jason F. McLennan: We have to be able to have uncomfortable conversations. We have to be able to accept that we have had an impact on other people. We have to ask for forgiveness. We have to make amends. We have to stop the damage. We have to work together to heal and design systems together. You cannot heal an ecosystem without healing yourself. [APPLAUSE] 

And the beautiful thing, though, is if you begin to heal an ecosystem, you will heal yourself, because it is an opening up of your heart, and that’s this amazing thing. When you start this journey of opening your heart to love, and asking for forgiveness, and making amends, and working together, it is a powerful path in my mind to both, again, reconciliation, regeneration. And you can begin it anywhere. All of us here have a journey, some more deeply than others, perhaps.

Narriation: As the renowned ecologist and Biomimicry designer Janine Benyus famously put it, “What life does is to create conditions conducive to life.” 

Like the Gaia Hypothesis, it’s the idea that the entire symphony of all living things self-regulates the Earth’s conditions to make the physical environment more hospitable for them in an exquisite, dynamic balance. Think of it as a vast “hospitality” enterprise. 

Jason F. McLennan: And the world wants to heal. It wants to regenerate. Life is the only thing in the universe that we know resists entropy.  It wants to come back. And I think, and what I would add to Janine’s quote is: Love creates the conditions for love.

And so where you begin, that’s up to you. There’s so many places, peoples, cultures that we need to reconcile with as a society. We need to obviously reconcile within ourselves. And there’s so much regenerative work that needs to be done, and these are like interlooping spirals of work, I think. And one without the other doesn’t work.

And I hope that that can extend, of course, not only to the people that look like us and other people generally, but to all of life.

When we begin to see the world as one interconnected system of which we are just one critical part, and when all people and all life are deemed valuable, then we will make it. And only then will we have a future. 

And we can either decide to take that point of inflexion that I showed earlier and move towards love, regeneration and reconciliation or move towards degradation, divisiveness, and essentially consume ourselves out of a planet. 

I think I know the secret to life. It’s to be in right relationship to all living things. [APPLAUSE] And to be personally reconciled with our role of life on the planet. And so we need to let go of our old ways of thinking and become a new kind of human. Maybe homo Regenesis. [APPLAUSE] And if you’re homo Regenesis, you do recognize that you’re just one part of an interconnected system of all life on the planet, and that we’re all beautiful and we all have a role to play in healing and making sure that there’s conditions for life to thrive, using love as the conditions for life to thrive.

It feels at times like that starfish story. Right? You guys know the starfish story of this young child is throwing starfish back in the water, and someone says, “Well, what good is that? It doesn’t matter. Look at all the starfish on the beach.” And she says, “It matters to this one. It matters to this one.”

So I don’t know how many people we have to touch. I don’t know how much is enough. I guess we’ll find that out, but all I know is that I’m doing the work that I do and doing the best I can, and I hope that you are as well. Thank you. [APPLAUSE] 

What It Means to Decolonize Thanksgiving In 2022

The Bioneers community (that means you) has always been at the vanguard of social and environmental movements, especially those that honor Indigenous knowledge to solve the planet’s most pressing challenges. In order to understand how destructive practices continue to persist in America, we need to examine how narratives of “conquest” continue to disconnect us from nature and the peoples who have been stewarding it since time immemorial. In this newsletter, we share our ideas developed by the Bioneers Indigeneity Program about how to transform Thanksgiving into a new set of narratives that honor nature, the plants and animals indigenous to this land, and help us reconcile our nation’s troubled past.  

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Teaching Children the True Story of Thanksgiving

In 2022, Charlsebridge Press published Keepunumuk: Weeâchumun’s Thanksgiving Story to transform the story of this holiday that so many Americans take for granted. The inspiration for this children’s book came from the idea of hosting a “Decolonized Thanksgiving,” and it creates a new story that puts Native peoples—and nature—at its heart: Two children from the Wampanoag tribe learn how Weeâchumun (corn) persuaded the First Peoples to help the newcomers (the Pilgrims) survive in their new home. 

“I think it will play an important role in a larger, Native-led movement to educate the American public about Native Peoples, our histories, and the contributions that we make to this country. It’s very important to underscore that this book is reaching children. I strongly believe that children are the pathway to the social change their parents learn. When children learn, their parents learn. For children who read this book as their first exposure to Thanksgiving, Keepunumuk will shape their baseline understanding of the Wampanoag peoples and all Native Americans by extension.” —Alexis Bunten (Unangan and Yup’ik), co-author of Keepunumuk and co-director of the Bioneers Indigeneity Program

Read more.

3 Simple Ways to Teach Children About Thanksgiving

As parents and authors of the children’s book Keepunumuk: Weeâchumun’s Thanksgiving Story, Alexis Bunten, Anthony Perry, and Danielle Greendeer strove to create a story that gets ahead of the stereotypes that are so often children’s first exposure to the narrative of Thanksgiving. They believe that the holiday can be celebrated in a way that shows gratitude to the plants and animals native to North America, while not shying away from the true history of this country. In this article, the authors offer three hands-on ways to help children learn the real story of Thanksgiving and integrate the lessons from Keepunumuk into their holiday traditions.

Read more. 

How to Decolonize Your Thanksgiving This Year

In 2016, Bioneers made a commitment to decolonize Thanksgiving by recognizing and sharing the truth of what this holiday means for Native Americans and all Americans. We’ve collected a variety of resources to learn more about what it means to decolonize Thanksgiving, including articles, videos, and curriculum on how to “Indigenize” the holiday and what decolonization encompasses that can help you start conversations with your family and friends, and create new traditions. You’ll also find an interactive map that will show you whose ancestral territories you’re living on. 

Read more.

Healing From Colonization on Thanksgiving and Beyond

Edgar Villanueva and Hilary Giovale share an ancestral bond that is far from unique, but one that is rarely acknowledged. Edgar is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina. For generations, his family has lived in the same region where Hilary’s ancestor received a land grant after his family migrated from Scotland in 1739. Now 280 years later, Edgar and Hilary reach across the Thanksgiving table to bridge the painful colonial gap.

Read more.

3 Simple Ways to Decolonize Your Thanksgiving

With Thanksgiving around the corner, millions of families across the country are preparing to celebrate one of the more loved holidays on the calendar. Most look forward to the day as a time to take a break, to be with family, and to enjoy a meal together in the spirit of gratitude, but for many Native Americans, Thanksgiving is a national day of mourning over the genocide that took place throughout America. Here are some ideas for new traditions you can include at your Thanksgiving this year to better honor the Native Americans, immigrants, and their descendants who contribute to our country’s diversity.

Read more.

3 Ways to Teach Young Children About Thanksgiving – An Indigenous Perspective

By Alexis Bunten, Anthony Perry, and Danielle Greendeer

As more Americans become aware of the ongoing effects of stolen land and slavery in the United States, many are becoming increasingly concerned about Thanksgiving. Most Americans cherish the turkey and family get-togethers that mark this holiday, but many recognize that the story didn’t turn out so well for Native Americans. Some Native Americans consider Thanksgiving a Day of Mourning, but many of us have conflicted feelings about it.

As authors of the children’s book Keepunumuk: Weeâchumun’s Thanksgiving Story, we strove to create a story that gets ahead of the stereotypes that are so often children’s first exposure to this narrative. Our take on Thanksgiving is that the holiday can be celebrated in a way that shows gratitude to the plants and animals native to North America (see 3 ways to Decolonize Thanksgiving) while not shying away from the true history of this country.

Image of the cover of Keepunumuk courtesy of Garry Meeches Sr. and Charlesbridge Press

As parents, we are also aware of children’s social and emotional development stages. We were very thoughtful in how we introduced concepts and themes around the holiday to our children who were of preschool age when we started writing this book. The easiest way to introduce Thanksgiving to young children is to read Keepunumuk to them.

After that, try the following three easy Native American-inspired suggestions to help young children to integrate the lessons introduced in Keepunumuk.

1. Connect to Nature

Try to make a Thanksgiving meal with food indigenous to North America, and have your children help pick and cook the produce. Danielle is a seed keeper and has helped to revive the Wampanoag traditional corn (see A Thanksgiving Lesson in a Handful of Corn). You can serve the Three Sisters — corn, beans and squash — and explain how the sisters help each other to grow strong and healthy. This year, Alexis is growing the Three Sisters from heirloom seeds for the second time. Spending time in the garden with her daughter is a way for them to connect with nature by being outside and caring for the plants as they watch them grow. Tony is also raising the Three Sisters in his garden with his family in England, using seeds of plants raised by his Chickasaw ancestors.

Here’s a Three Sisters curricular resource and craft written to Kindergarten standards, but these could be easily modified for other grades and contexts.

Author Danielle Greendeer with the King Philip Corn

2. Help Others

We will never know the “real reason” why the Wampanoag decided to help the Separatists, now known as Pilgrims, to grow their indigenous foods. It is possible that they thought an alliance with the settlers would strengthen their position politically vis-à-vis other Native groups in the area after their population was decimated by disease. They may also have simply wanted to help others in need. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. Regardless, the theme of helping others lies at the heart of Thanksgiving, no matter what background you come from. Make a new tradition by asking your young children to “help at least one other person, plant, or animal” on the holiday. Ask them to share at the table who they helped and how that made them feel.

3. Honor Elders

One of the things that we love most about Thanksgiving is gathering with family across generations. The dominant American culture has divided families into nuclear units, dividing families by generations. However, for more than 99.9% of human history, our species has lived in intergenerational groups, where elders are revered for their knowledge and help in taking care of children. Ask your young children, “Who is an elder?” and “Why is it important to honor elders?” and your heart will be warmed by their responses. Have them make a present or put on a play for an elder in your life or community.

Here’s a crafting and play activity developed for 1st graders that can be adapted for other grades and contexts.

Author Danielle Greendeer’s mother Nokomis with her grandchildren, who inspired Keepunumuk. Photo Courtesy of Danielle Greendeer

More Helpful Resources

The activities shared in this article and many more can be found at the Bioneers Indigeneity Curriculum webpage. The early grade Thanksgiving curricula have been developed to Massachusetts State Standards and take into account social, emotional, and cognitive learning as well as different learning styles. All of the curricula has been created by Native content developers.

To learn how to teach these resources, check out our pre-recorded Thanksgiving Curriculum webinar. For more Thanksgiving resources in general, check out the Bioneers Decolonizing Thanksgiving Page.

Do What You Love, The Rest Will Follow: An Interview with Indigenous Artist and Activist Mer Young

Mer Young is an Indigenous (Chichimeca and Apache) socially-engaged, Southern California-based artist whose body of work includes collages, drawings, paintings, and murals. She is the founder of Mausi Murals, and she has been widely exhibited nationally and internationally. Some of her public artworks can be found in a wide range of Southern California towns, including Long Beach, Glendale, South Pasadena, San Pedro, Paramount, Anaheim, Tustin, and Los Angeles.

Bioneers reached out to Mer to help design the beautiful look and feel of Bioneers’ latest podcast, INDIGENEITY CONVERSATIONS. She worked closely with the hosts and guests to create the singular images of each guest that appear alongside each episode, highlighting the power and depth of the work each of these leading activists.

She was interviewed by Bioneers’ Polina Smith.

​Polina Smith (PS): Mer, you have had such an extraordinary career as an artist and activist. How did you start off on your path as an artist? Were there specific people and/or events that inspired you?

Mer Young (MY): I have always been moved to help others. When you go through the trenches yourself and are able to come out of them, you know what many people have to go through, so it was natural for me to want to give back. As a youth I used my gifts to help me survive through some hard times in very hostile and volatile environments: art was my outlet, but it wasn’t until my early adulthood that I began to use my art as my voice to create change. The light went on, and I felt a calling from within.

Many people have influenced me: my son, some of my relatives, my shimá (my mother), those from my community, the Trask sisters from Hawaii (Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask and Mililani Trask), Assata Shaku, Angela Davis, James Baldwin, Wendsler Nosie Sr., Lozen, Dahteste, Gouyen, Goyaałé, Casey Camp Horinek, Corrina Gould; the list goes on, but these individuals molded me into doing better for the greater good.

PS: Is there a particular project of yours that you feel especially, deeply committed to and passionate about?

MY: I have been creating collages inspired by the “Land-back” movement. Land-back is long-term, lifelong work. All over North America, Native folks are seeking to bring a number of traditional lands back into Indigenous hands. In this collage project, I reimagine 1900 photographs that were taken by privileged men with cameras who took posed photographs of Natives in unnatural settings in the 19th and early 20th centuries. I try to learn about each photograph: the individual in the photo, their tribal nation, the land they came from, etc., and then I cut the original image and place it into a photo of their actual ancestral lands. Photographs are long lasting, like time capsules, so I felt it was important to me to reframe those images and give them back their lands in this symbolic way.

PS: Do you have any projects on the horizon you’re really looking forward to?

MY: I am also a muralist, and I am always happy when I get to go out and paint and create public art. I have a project coming up, and the wall is approximately 30x30ft, so it will be nice to get out in the sun and create something on a large scale for the community.

PS: What role do you hope your art will play in the world?

MY: My hope is to bring awareness, to invoke change, to inspire the hearts and minds of the young and of future generations.

PS: When things feel challenging and seemingly insurmountable, what keeps you going?

MY: My family keeps me going. I have a four-year old son who looks to me for love and guidance, and fighting for my people keeps me going as well. I was always taught never to break, to keep pushing and have courage to move out of whatever vortex you’re in and to show resilience. I believe there is nothing that can stop us from overcoming what’s wrong on this planet. Even in death, our lives move into the spirit world, and from there we can live through our relatives and ancestors to keep the struggle and the good work going forward.

PS: Could you share some words of inspiration to young artists who may be feeling scared or just aren’t sure where to begin?

MY: I was told as a youth that art wouldn’t take me anywhere, but when I created, it did. It provided a safe place from all the ruckus around me. I kept at it and continued, and I found my voice, so my advice is: Continue doing what you love, and the rest will follow. Show your work to your relatives, to your peers, to your community, and they will see your gifts. They will have different things to say, good and bad. Take them both equally, and that will help you get better at what you do. Never be afraid to use your gifts: they were given to you for a reason, so listen to yourself and your heart. It is always an honor to share your talents; it brings life and appreciation even when no one is looking. You can begin by simply putting your work on the wall with tape. Be proud of yourself because no one, other than you, created those marks. You can only get better and soar beyond your imagination. The best part is that there is no end in the universe, we are a part of that, so there is no end to us. Ahéhee’

PS: Thank you Mer, for taking the time to speak with us today and for your extraordinary work!

Learn more about Mer Young’s work at: