Becoming Indigenous to Place
As promised by the many people who independently recommended Robin Wall Kimmerer’s “Braiding Sweetgrass” to me, her mix of lyrical writing, scientific precision, and spiritual philosophy was just what the doctor ordered. In a book entirely about place, and the people— both human and nonhuman— who inhabit it, Kimmerer rejects the idea of some kind of unchanging, deterministic nativism, even as she centers centuries of Native wisdom in her approach to stewardship and co-habitation. She refuses to embrace a rigid dichotomy between Indigenous and Invasive while calling out, with grace and sensitivity, the destructive and exploitative practices and habits of mind that have led to habitat loss and the accumulation of “waste,” a concept entirely foreign to the worldview of her Potawatomi ancestors and other North American cultures whose languages and lifeways she has spent time studying, alongside western botany and American history.
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| Finding my "place" at Grant Park in Atlanta, April, 2026 |
Kimmerer believes that immigrants can, through attention and devotion, become “indigenous to place,” a process that can only come about through appreciation and commitment to the values of reciprocity and a kind of integrative approach to land use and social structure. Kimmerer’s values-based approach to habitation can be compared with philosophies of citizenship that encourage pro-social, sustainability-oriented behaviors rather than claims based solely on lineage, allegiance, or power. Kimmerer writes, only half-jokingly, that she is a citizen of “maple nation,” a place governed by the seasons and dedicated to an ecosystem whose balance allows for the gift of sap and syrup from old-growth maple trees. Her citizenship in maple nation is rooted in her preference for that North American "Zone 3" where maple trees grow best, but it is also related to her dedication to practices that sustain the best environment for sugar maples. Kimmerer's notion of citizenship, complete with pride and devotion, reminds me of the concept of “civic nationalism” articulated by Katrin Bennhold in the New York Times World newsletter in reference to recent movements in Scotland and Wales that celebrate pluralism and welcome immigrants, contrasting with the ethno-nationalism that has been trending alongside right-wing populist movements on the rise from the United States and Columbia, to Russia and Israel.
As I begin transitioning to my summer research and writing season, ideas about citizenship and democracy alongside ideas about nature and place are swirling around in my personal zeitgeist. I’ve assigned myself some readings that I hope will provide nourishing food for thought along the way. I’m working my way through “Race and the Greening of Atlanta” which charts democratic processes and citizenship claims in competing and eventually overlapping movements for civil rights and environmental protection. I'm about to start Molly Crabapple's “Here, Where We Live, is Our Country” and Susan Fenimore Cooper's “Rural Hours,” to juxtapose different "immigrants'" views on becoming indigenous to place. I also plan to read Angela Buchdaal's "The Heart of a Stranger" for her perspective on maintaining outsider/insider status while leading a spiritual community. I will do all of this against the backdrop of my summer vacation which begins and ends in Greenville, South Carolina.
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| View of the Reedy River Falls from the Liberty Suspension Bridge in Greenville, SC, May, 2026 |
Greenville offers a study in contrasts. Planning for a brief getaway halfway between our homes in Winston-Salem and Atlanta respectively, my friend Sheena (of Words, Music, Memory fame) and I decided to stay at Hotel Hartness, a luxury hotel that bills itself as an all-inclusive resort on a nature preserve with more than ten miles of hiking and biking trails, unobstructed views of the “up-country” from its pool deck and its on-site spa, and artisanal farm-to-table cuisine.
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| Anticipating what proved to be an ok meal at Hartness's Patterson Kitchen |
Upon arrival, we discovered a place where the logic of 21st-century private property capitalism had upstaged any pretension to nature preservation. The hotel was surrounded by construction sites with multi-million dollar condos sprouting up across the fields, promising their denizens maximum internal square footage in a manicured setting calculated to preserve their access to unmitigated continuity regardless of changes taking place in the world beyond.
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| The scenic construction site is just visible through the trees toward the left of this photo of the Hartness pool deck. |
Greenville itself offered a remarkable story of civic recovery centered on Falls Park along the Reedy River where the city council had voted to replace a four-lane highway overpass with a pedestrian suspension bridge in 2004, reclaiming gorgeous views and green space for the people of the city and their guests in seemingly balanced proportions. The Swamp Rabbit bike trail (one of a species of "rail trails" converted in the early 2000s), runs along the river through the middle of downtown.
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| Grand Bohemian Lodge across the lower falls, Greenville, SC |
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| Preserved facade of the Dukes Mayonnaise Factory, Greenville, SC |
I look forward to returning to this place in early July with new perspectives gleaned from my summer reading and travels in Ohio, Canada, Vermont, and Pennsylvania.
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