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372 pages, Paperback
First published March 9, 2021
Thakóža, you’ve had no one to teach you, not even how to be part of a family or a community. You know what the grandmothers went through to save the seeds. That’s how tough you have to be as an Indian woman. And as a seed keeper.
Once in a while I rocked a bit, but mostly I just sat, my thoughts far away. I was not interested in what would come next. I still had business with the past. I could feel the way it tugged at me, growing stronger as John’s light dimmed. No matter what people said, when he finally left his body, this life of ours would go with him. There was so little left as it was. I was a burnt field, waiting for a new season to begin.
Sometimes, when I was working in the garden, a wordless prayer opened between me and the earth, as if we shared a common language that I understood best when I was silent. Only when paying attention with all of my senses could I appreciate the cry of the hawk circling overhead, or see sunflowers turning toward the sun, or hear the hum of carpenter bees burrowing into rotted logs. Just as birds made their nests in a circle, this clearing encircled us, creating a safe place to grow and to live. History might have cost me my family and my language, but I was reclaiming a relationship with the earth, water, stars, and seeds that was thousands of years old.