As a child I was intrigued by culture and it’s remnants, buried within the earth, waiting to tell us their stories. At the age of 12 I got my hands on some cultural anthropology university textbooks…and devoured them. How amazing that we could derive such a connection to the past by observing the arts, artifacts, foods and stories of a culture no matter how distant in space or time. I realized later in life why I yearned for those mysteries to be unfolded in those books…I was yearning for my own culture (s). Plural as I, like most of us, am the child of multiple cultures. I am Metis on my father’s side and Scottish, Irish, and German on my mother’s side. I wanted to feel that connection, to hear those songs, and to listen to those stories. I wanted to taste those foods and take part in ceremony. I wanted to belong.
I did belong…my cultures haven’t gone anywhere. They are timeless yet ever changing…and they awaited me. The words of those songs hadn’t changed…they were simply awaiting my lips. The dances of generations passed have not dulled…they simply awaited my body to bring them back to life. The stories of the past have not faded…they simply awaited my hands to continue their legacy. My hands? Yes…and my mind. But, the most profound of stories are experienced, lived…not just told.
Feeling drawn to my the history that birthed both my soul and body, I determined that although I may not be surrounded by my culture, for many reasons, I would start to reconnect through all of the skills that I could learn both on my own, and where possible in community. I learned to cook the dishes that held a special place in my longer history. I learned to combine needles, beads, and thread with cloth to make beautiful patterns. I learned the basic dances which my feet seemed to remember. I learned the songs, which seemed so familiar, though I had never uttered them before. We reconnect through doing.
Like the pictures and artifacts in those textbooks, we often see culture through the evidence of it. We often confuse the artifacts with the actual culture. When we look at a painting, we call it art. I would argue that the painting is the evidence of art, but that the art was the process. The art was in the strokes of the brush, the tracing of each contour and the blending of colours. Just so, culture is not held in the artifacts of culture. Culture is not found in woven cloths…though these are evidence of a culture. Culture is not found in breads, stews, dumplings and spice blends…though these give testament to the culture that birthed them. You see, culture is in the doing. Culture is an active process. Culture comes alive as we interact with the world around us in that unique and traditional way that our ancestors have for generations.
What I have been doing this is relearning the skills of my ancestors. I am relearning how to make medicines…a skill. Relearning how to cook the food my body knows…a skill. Relearning how to follow trails in the woods to find the plants and animals my ancestors would have sought…a skill. Relearning how to make clothing, work with fibers, make moccasins, bead, make cheese, bake bread, knit, tan hides…all of these things are the treasures of my cultures. They are the skills that allowed generations passed to survive, to thrive, to become rich, complex, and beautiful. Within each of these skills, and more specifically the practicing of these skills, is the soul of the culture.
To heal the wound of absent culture that so many of us feel and try to fill with new identities, online groups, and a never ending search for meaning, we do not simply need to hear the songs, we need to sing them. We cannot simply wear the woven fabrics, we need to train our fingers to create them. We cannot simply taste the foods, we must learn to cook them.
Collecting the skills that our cultures valued allows us to become the embodied story of our culture. Each act reconnects us with a proud heritage. And, most importantly, these skills that practice are kept alive for another generation so that those who come after us will also have the opportunity to know their heritage and to live their culture.
Each time I practice a skill, I can feel my culture around me. I can feel the women beside me who spend hours beading and sewing. I can hear them beside me as I walk collecting herbs. And, I can see my grandchildren doing them same.
No matter where your body and soul come from and where you are now, no matter the gap in distance and time, you can learn the skills of your culture. It could be learning a craft, a recipe, a song, a dance step, a word in a forgotten language, or even a morning ritual.
Whether you are taking your first steps in learning new skills, or you are honing them after years of practice, you are taking a part of a longer story; a story that began long ago and that will continue for many generations.
I wish you satisfaction as you explore those skills that our cultures share in common and those that make our cultures unique.
From my home fire to yours, hai hai.