We name ourselves after the land we live with. Because, not only are we breathing in, we are also drinking from the water that is flavored by that very land. Whatever is deposited in the soil is in that water is in us. So we are all one thing, and we name ourselves after the place that is our nurturing. That sustains our life.
Ramona/Nosapocket Peters[1]
Science proves what Native people have known all along: that humans and all forms of life on earth share common DNA and are dependent on one another for survival. Humans have kinship with all plants, including trees, animals, bacteria, fungi, protists, and archaea. We also share a relationship with everything in our physical world not made by man. This relationship connects us to the web of life, the intricacies of which we struggle to understand.
One of our Quaker testimonies, stewardship, speaks to care for the Earth and all its inhabitants. In my mind, stewardship carries as much weight as our other testimonies: peace, equality, integrity, community, and simplicity. ["SPICES" is a 20th-century way of articulating some of the ways Friends have traditionally expressed our faith in our lives—ed]. Most often these Quaker testimonies interface, providing a rich environment that nourishes growth, discernment, and leadings. Bearing witness to the state of the natural world helps us stay in right place, in right relationship with all of nature.
I feel very fortunate to have grown up on Cape Cod in the 50s and 60s, when the land still had a rural feel. I wish every child could have the experiences I had. My father, a Wampanoag, taught me how to catch fish and fillet them; dig clams and quahogs and shuck them; make chowder; plant a garden, tend to it, harvest, and can vegetables. In season we picked raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, grapes, pears, beach plums and rose hips, cranberries and apples, and made jelly and jam. Relishes and apple butter, too. Dandelion greens were steamed and buttered. Watercress and sautéed fiddleheads were anticipated the winter long. (Some fruit has enough pectin of its own for making jelly, while others don’t. The expense of paying for the pectin had to be considered.)
My brother, four sisters, many cousins, and I grew up outdoors. If it wasn’t storming and the temperature wasn’t in the teens, we wanted to be outdoors. It’s just a matter of bundling correctly. Packing a picnic and snacks allowed us to wander at will for whole days during summertime, the only constraint to be home before dark. We had our favorite paths, ponds, marshes and trees. One of the joys of a tree was finding one big enough, yet supple enough at the top, to climb and rock back and forth. The tops of the right trees won’t break and you are almost upside down while rocking.
We built forts, treehouses, and boats and lay down in that thick, soft green moss that likes to grow at the base of trees in damp earth scented soil. We loved sledding, and in the autumn when the field grass turns brown and lies flat you can take a flattened cardboard box and slide down a hill just as nicely as on snow. One day we saw about eight cowlick-shaped circles in a field, all close together. Dad said that’s where deer had been lying. Imagining those deer as a child filled me with wonder. Bearing witness to the beauty of nature comes naturally to children who are allowed to explore the outdoors.
I went hunting for deer with Dad once. It was winter with four inches of snow on the ground. Black leafless trees, no evergreens and a grey sky surrounded us. The gun was fired. The deer was found lying on her side in the snow, nose tucked into her chest. The contrast of the red of the blood saturating the snow, against the leafless trees, against the dark grey sky, made me sadder than I had ever been in my life at 10 years old. I never went again. Dad stopped hunting shortly after that. He said he was a fishing man not a hunting man.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our Quaker practice of bearing witness, of the ways we speak truth to power, of the importance of truth. To my way of thinking, when we bear witness we are doing three things. We are bearing witness to the injustice and the ones who suffer because of it. We are also bearing witness for whoever is actively addressing the injustice, the ones on the front line who need our support. And we are bearing witness for ourselves, to help us stay in right place, so that we don’t become numb, apathetic, or just “used to” injustice. Saving the earth and all life therein requires us to bear witness.
When it comes to stewardship it has been my experience that Indigenous peoples and Quakers share a lot of the same values and beliefs. The quote by Wampanoag Ramona/Nosapocket at the beginning of this article strikes to the core of the matter of climate devastation. We are not separate from the land; whatever is in the air and water is in us. The interconnectedness of all living things is an undeniable truth. I would like to think that as we move forward with our faith and practice involving climate crisis, we might consider forming relationships and collaborative projects/practices with local tribes. This teamwork might bear fruit.
While finishing up this article, I realized that my definition of bearing witness to nature is missing something. Something important. Along with speaking truth to power for her, the earth could use the adoration and affirmation of humans simply bearing witness to her beauty.
Gail Melix, is a Wampanoag and member of the Earthcare Ministry Committee of the Yearly Meeting.
[1] Ramona/Nosapocket Peters is a member of the Bear Clan of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe—People of the First Light. She lives on Cape Cod in Mashpee, Massachusetts, and belongs to the tribe who met the Pilgrims and kindly helped them survive. She is also president and founder of the Native Land Conservancy, Inc.