Anakwud Migizi indizhinikaaz. Ajijaak indoodem. Bejo Gitchiigaming indoonjibaa. Bejo Gikaabikong indaa noongoom.
For those of you who didn’t understand the above, that was a traditional Anishinaabe (Ojibwe) protocol greeting. I gave you my name, my clan (Ajijaak, or Crane), where I’m from (near Lake Superior) and where I live now (near Minneapolis, Minnesota).
I was not fortunate enough to be raised in close connection with my Indigenous community. I was around 40 before I ever had a clear idea where, specifically, my Indigenous ancestors were relocated. Mine, apparently, had to leave their homelands for their involvement in the confederation that negotiated the 1854 Treaty. This kind of dislocation and disconnection is not uncommon for people of my generation, as, until I was around seven years old (1978), it was still standard practice for the US Government to take Native children from their parents and raise them in so-called residential boarding schools. What children really learned there had little to do with anyone’s concept of “school” since they were denied (often violently) to speak their language, were forced to practice Christianity, and were often adopted by white families without the permission of their parents. Growing up, I was not encouraged to investigate this part of my heritage. I looked white, my parents reasoned, and most people treat Natives badly, so why make life harder? I, of course, rebelled against this notion in college. Through the intervention of the Creator, I ended up with a scholarship to Northern Michigan University, smack in the middle of my ancestor’s territory. I earned both two university degrees there, and a whole lot of Anishinaabe Aunties and Uncles who gave me an even more valuable education. I’m still learning, every day.
When I wake up in the morning and take my offering outside to say Miigwech to the Creator for another day of this good life, mino bimaadziiwin, I look at the land upon which I am blessed to live. It was Dakota land, primarily. Still is, to be truthful about it. Any Dakota who want to talk to me about what we are doing here, please by all means contact me. There are stories of Anishinaabe use of the land, and the name of nearby Manitou Island on White Bear Lake is an indication of that potential, since “Manitou” is an anglicized version of the Anishinaabe word “Manido” or Spirit.
Either way, I close the circle when I lay my prayers down. I’m here now. The ancestors and the Creator know who I am and how I came to be here. They know I honor ALL my ancestors–even the one who signed the Declaration of Independence that called my mother’s people “merciless Indian Savages.” Govenour Morris. Google him. Interesting guy–anti-slavery but seriously classist. One of the authors, along with Alexander Hamilton, of the Federalist Papers upon which (along with the Constitution) the laws of this land are (in theory) based. Somehow or other, the two lines converged in me, and put me in this specific place, with a unique perspective and base of knowledge.
And this land is like me and my ancestors–forced into a specific path for generations. Almost all the old oaks were cut. The wetlands drained. The sand hills, left by the glaciers, were mostly relocated to the beaches of White Bear Lake. I don’t fault the people who came here to work hard and make a living off this land. They wanted better futures for themselves and their children, and by virtue of their birth or country of national origin, the system gave them a truly golden opportunity–free or low-cost land. I’ve met many of the folks, still living, whose family last farmed this place.
But it’s 2022 and the big question is–what now? We can’t turn the clock back. We cannot, with just 20 acres and no ability to migrate to different areas during the seasonal harvests, live the way the Dakota did. So what are we to do with this place? To do nothing would allow invasive species to take over. I’m sure subsequent posts will discuss the decades-long Great Buckthorn Battle.
We could farm it, sustainably. And get the food to people who need it. But, just up the road, there’s a beautiful endeavor called Dream of Wild Health that is already doing this, and doing it very well.
It was the fox who first told me what this land wanted. I was out gathering some medicines (they’re everywhere, and more have shown up since I started looking for them–more on that later). In a spot near the sand hill, there was a huge pile of dirt and a very large hole. Woodchuck? No, it was a female fox, who had chosen that spot for her whelping den. I immediately left and let my family know not to go anywhere near that spot for a couple of months.
Then the turtle chimed in. She came up near the old dairy house to lay her eggs.
Then the otter zoomed through one day, sliding on her belly down the grassy hill near the barn. On her way from one wet spot to another, having a good time in the process. She told me what she wanted.
One winter, sitting down to eat, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A pine martin darted through the woods near that side of the house.
The deer give their opinion, constantly. Besides thanking us for the hostas someone (not me) planted alongside the house, that is.
And the plants–oh, the plants! So many have come. So many have offered their gifts to the bees, the birds, the four-leggeds and, last and least, the two-leggeds who used them for food and medicine.
The coyotes come just after dark and add their voices to the chorus.
The loudest voice belongs to the nesting pair of falcons. They love the big red pines and all the rabbits that live in the underbrush. If a tree falls and we need to move the result or use the wood, we pile up the small stuff for the rabbits. Thus the healthy population of fox, coyote, and birds of prey.
This place is one big nest. You’ll have to forgive me for the analogy–I’m a bird (eagle and crane) twice over. A nest is a place for things to begin, to be nurtured until they can care for themselves and move on to other places.
Migiziwazison is not a place for the people to come and be, in any large numbers. It’s not a place where we are “doing” a whole lot on the land in the sense of agricultural practices. What we do is to help restore the balance. We build the cradle for the Creator-created, naturally balanced ecosystem to take off and self-propagate. That is our primary directive. That is why we have created Migiziwazison.
Miigwech bizindaaweyag (thank you for listening). Mi’iw (that is all for now).
-Anakwad Migizi (Wendy Stone), Co-director