The Land
Donna Haraway argues, inspired by Ursula le Guin (1986), that the kind of stories we need telling in these times are not those of the Antropos. Not those of the capitalized Human in History and all the weaponized tools such a Human might carry, but those of the netbag, the basket, or any other concave shape. Such a netbag, or even a pair of cupped hands enables carrying things along, and receiving and giving away. Such exchange suggests ongoing stories of becoming with-; a collective making and unmaking of the world with ‘companion species’ as ‘kin’ (Haraway, 2003 ; 2016). These stories acknowledge messy, earthbound, multispecies entanglements, rather than man-making tales of the single hero.
Whether collecting fish samples, or camping out next to a Weir. Both events provide knowledge. Both kinds of knowledges are needed for sustainable wildlife conservation.
The way that the dirt smells at a particular corner in my city, where I have lived most of my adult life, has never felt as meaningful to me as it does after spending so much time on the move. The smell of catpee and rainwater, entangled with the life that was lived on that corner, matters. At least it matters to me. This dirt - a wet, stinking clump of black mud in my hand - its memories are from a different me. A me, that one day, after a lifetime of becoming, did no longer return to that corner. I had forgotten. But it hadn't. The dirt never left, never became. It just was. Holding on. Patiently waiting until I would come and collect my belongings.
Go outside, and touch some dirt.
Take a walk