I grew up in Saint Paul, MN in an area close by the Mississippi River. When I was younger we would walk down to an area we called our “secret spot”. It was an overlook where you could see a bridge, a church and Fort Snelling. Throughout my grade school education, I would go to Fort Snelling and learn about the history there. I grew up walking down to the river with my family, friends, and pets. We would walk close to the river and skip rocks. We loved to explore the different paths in the woods. I loved the nature around me. I felt connected to this place. I loved gardening outside with my dad and being connected to where my food came from. 

Years later, I found myself learning more about the history of the sacredness of the land I walked throughout my life. The stories that were embodied in the land. The bdote where women would walk for miles upon miles and days after days to give birth to the place of genesis. The place of creation. I learned of the concentration camp that was less than a mile away from my own home. The bodies that were buried, the tears and cries and death that happened on the land that I joyfully strolled through. 

I am now holding multiple stories that exist in this one place. The sacred stories that connect me to those that came before me and those that will come after me. The weight of awful things and the joy of new life and everything in between are held now in my hands. The rivers have converged that once were parallel. Or maybe they always were the same river? I just didn’t know it yet. Always deeply interconnected but unless I paid attention I didn’t know what my impact was on the other water that joined my own. 

This last summer when I went on a sacred sites tour with a group of students to the same place I walked as a kid, we were invited to take tobacco with us to honor the stories that the land holds. I slowly walked with a different intention than previous walks.  I closed my eyes and listened. I envisioned the people who came before me. I sprinkled the tobacco and whispered thank you. When I think about how to have an embodied, sacred relationship with creation, I think about that walk with the tobacco. A remembering of those who co-sustained the land before we forcefully took it away and now occupy it.

I was part of the garden leadership team at the church I used to work at along with other young adults who cared passionately about creation. We intentionally have a pollinator garden that is a food source to the bees on top of the church and for our neighbors. We are strategic and intentionally about what and where we would plant. It seemed to be easier on that land than in my own home. There is a team together with a goal and community surrounding how we steward that land.

As a new homeowner I think about the land I am on. As I am laying down roots, what other roots already exist here. What are the stories that live here? In order for me to have an embodied relationship with the creation in my own back and front yard. How can I invite a community to join me in co-sustaining the land I now am on. As we approach the spring and the land is becoming green and ask I pick seeds and get ready to tend to the land that is not actually mine, I am sitting with that question of how I co-sustain this land around me with what I plant and who I invite to share this space with. I think the answer lies in reflecting back to my experiences on the tour, from our speakers and my experience tending a garden team. It is an embodied community working together with the land not on the land or for the land, but with.