Allegiance to Gratitude in Braiding Sweetgrass

Earlier this week, I blogged about the increasing popularity of rage rooms and the owners who are purchasing vintage glassware, antique dishes, and grandma’s oil lamps to be smashed with baseball bats and golf clubs in controlled settings across the nation. They’re scouring estate sales for the dishes that families have gathered around for the last century or two, purchasing what folks can no longer persuade their children or other relatives to use in their own homes, and wearing helmets with eye protection as it’s all beaten to smithereens behind a concrete wall.

This may seem to some like a violent death of memory and sentiment. It may show disrespect to the items being smashed, from the artistry of the design to the materials used to make these things that have long held presence around tables feeding families or that have held oil to light rooms and keep aglow the faces of loved ones centuries ago.

Perhaps, though, the best chance of life these items have is in their recycling – – a reincarnation, of sorts, for things boxed up in darkness, locked away in storage, held hostage as prisoners of uselessness for decades, like the aging adult’s own version of the Island of Misfit Toys with nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait. A rage room may at first seem in direct opposition to the gratitude factor of thankfulness – but is it really any more offensive than attics full of items without purpose, kept that way by those who should value them most and keep their spirits bright?

As I drove to visit a family member having surgery two states north of me last week, I listened to Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer. The author herself reads the book on Audible, and hearing her voice is almost as pleasant as pausing every few minutes to truly soak in the meaning of her words from a new perspective – – and an important one. Similarly to the way Aldo Leopold reminds us of our duty to be good stewards with a strong land ethic in A Sand County Almanac, Kimmerer reminds us in her chapter “Allegiance to Gratitude” that every single item we eat or use comes at the cost of the life of a plant or animal. As good citizens, we should follow the guidelines for the honorable harvest of consumption, from the wood in our furniture to the food on our plates. Allegiance to gratitude is what begets abundance – not the collecting and storing of items that are not being used, because this disrespects the energy from Mother Earth to produce these things and invokes perceptions of hoarding: get all you can, can all you get, and sit on your can. Taking and using only what is needed is the way to be environmentally responsible for future generations. Having what can be used and fully appreciated cultivates a fuller appreciation of all of our blessings.

Gratitude has been a year-long spotlight word for me – – a goal word. It is fitting that in December, I am reading Kimmerer’s words with a renewed sense of gift giving. This year, we’re practicing a different gift-giving arrangement for my grandchildren. They’ll each receive something they want, something they need, something to wear, and something to read. We’re simplifying, redefining less as more.

We’re cultivating gratitude.