The Wildwood: Kinomaage & the Northern Forests

Several of the courses I teach are based on the Anishinaabe concept of “kinomaage.” In the language the word is translated as “education.” As discussed by Native American Studies scholar Dr. Martin Reinhardt, taking more literally the translation of “kinomaage” is profound: “the Earth Shows Us the Way.” That is, education in the Anishinaabe cultural tradition comes from the land and all our relations. It comes from Mother Earth herself. We simply need to learn how to listen.

No matter what state the land is in, it teaches us. It is with wild land, however, that we learn most what it means to be human and what it means to be of the Earth. The video here takes a look at what wilderness means from a personal perspective mixed with Anishinaabe and some general Indigenous cultural teachings.

For the Anishinaabeg, the Northwoods is home. It is Anishinaabeg Akiing, the land to which the Anishinaabeg (Ojibwe/Chippewa, Bodewadomi/Potawatomi, and Odawa/Ottawa) belong. It is also Ma’iingan Akiing, the land to which northern Wolves belong. And Aandeg Akiing, the land to which northern Crows belong. As well Zhingwaak Akiing, the land to which the White Pine belong.

Since the arrival of European explorers, this land has undergone significant changes starting with the fur trade, greatly exacerbated by the coming of the mining and timber industries in the 1800s, and continuing on today with those same industries complicated by increasing temperatures, human population numbers, and development. As a result, it can be difficult to find land that either comes from or resembles the precolonial forest of Anishinaabeg Akiing.

Yet finding that precolonial forest is essential to understanding Anishinaabeg Akiing, to understanding the Northwoods. As explained in the video, it is in wild land that we find the healthiest expression of that land. And of ourselves. Humans, living respectfully, are part of that wildness.

(It is important to note that although Anishinaabe and other Indigenous teachings tell us we as humans are all a part of the Earth, and that we are then, when living as part of the democracy of species, all a part of wildness, there are special wild places that we need to just let be. Places of particular wildness where humans can go only with permission from the guardian of those wild places. In the Anishinaabe stories, that guardian is Bagwaji-Inini (see Eddie Benton-Banai’s telling of this story in The Mishomis Book) or the Wildman. There are ancient pictographs connected to him in Anishinaabeg Akiing.)

When entering a forest, wild or otherwise, it is considered respectful to bring a gift of asemaa or traditional tobacco. Today’s commercially available tobacco is laden with pesticides, arsenic, and other chemicals. There are culture bearers today who advocate for growing your own tobacco in a good, non-chemical way and then processing that tobacco to eliminate the nicotine. I’ve yet to be able to do that, so I often use a substitute, which is not the same as offering asemaa, one of the four sacred medicines, but in my heart it feels preferable. Each person needs to make their own decision on that. For me, if I don’t have the good tobacco to offer, I bring a small gift of unsalted sunflower seeds, walnuts, raisins or something else I feel is a good gift to bring as a guest visiting my relatives of the forest.

This is perhaps one of the greatest differences between a settler culture and an Indigenous one: from an Indigenous perspective, we are privileged to be one member of a vast community of species, species that are our relations. As relatives, we respect them as we would an aunt, uncle, parent, sibling or grandparent. They are also our teachers.

A settler perspective sees the land in a different way. It is there to conquer, to tame, to manage. Early European explorers to the northern forests saw themselves as ”Caesars of the wilderness.”

I never understood that phrase.

At least, I’ve never understood what would make another feel such an urge to celebrate wildness by declaring one’s intention to dominate it.

Yet for many of the European explorers who came to what they called the Americas, this was their reaction. Conquerors of the wild land before them, kings of all they surveyed. And in that very process of domination they destroyed the wilderness they so admired. This conflict in regards to wilderness echoes throughout the pop culture of the “frontier” eras: admiration followed by domination.

However, I think I understand the feeling that gave rise to the phrase. There’s something about a wild landscape, alive and free in all its glory, that brings a feeling of exultation.

This morning as I stepped onto the porch, the goldenrod in the wildwood meadow created a glow all its own. The purple of the aster and clover, the white petals of the fleabane shared in that splendor. Spiderwebs wet with dew. The maple forest, dark and lovely, echoed with the creaky-gate sound of saw-whet owls. Beyond sandhill cranes called. It’s perhaps no coincidence the same words we use to describe such a land (glory, splendor, grandeur) are also used to describe experiences with the divine.

It is this the explorers likely felt: the feeling is incredibly empowering. That this would lead them to see themselves as “Caesars of the wilderness” is likely due to the cultural upbringing they had: empowerment equals taking control.

But when a person comes from a culture rooted in wild land, you understand that the exultation you feel is felt by all. Each person is empowered with this divine feeling. And I don’t limit that exultation to humans only. No doubt many, perhaps all, of our relations feel it too. It’s no wonder that the democracy of species, a complex concept found in various forms in tribal societies, thrives in wild lands: the two require each other. Without wilderness, the democracy of species crumbles and a system of domination arises. Without a thriving democracy of species, wilderness cannot exist, dominated as the land will be by only a few. As in all tyrannies, the spirit of the tyrannized can begin to fade.

In this day and age, finding wildness is difficult, and it grows increasingly rare with each day. Yet we feel that need to connect with the wild. To experience, however briefly, that exultation that comes only from a wild land. We have a need to remind ourselves of our own wildness. Tourists flock to national parks or remote wild-rural areas, often not fully aware of what they seek. Some cruise Lake Superior on ski-doos. Wild landscapes are posted on social media in numerous selfies. Glamping becomes the way to hang out in a white pine forest.

The need to re-connect with what we’ve lost is strong even if not fully understood and ably acted upon.

Wildness is as much a human birthright as it is a wolf’s or a coyote’s or a sugar maple. It is, after all, who we are as human beings. The city-based life is only a blip in our species history, as is the species isolation we feel as a result of it. But it can be changed. The colonized, whether it be a landscape or a mindset, can be Indigenized. We can find a way back to that old enchantment, ancient as the trees we walk among. Many have already.

After all, it’s lonely “at the top.” But why try to be at the top at all? Once we understand the answer to that question, we’re on the path to returning to participation in the democracy of species. The Earth will show us the Way.