Dear readers, Happy Spring Equinox! In this story, I am introducing you to Robin Wall Kimmerer’s* “revolutionary grammar,” replacing the objectifying pronoun “it/them” with “ki/kin” to denote living non-human beings. The word “ki” is pronounced “key,” as in a tool to unlock our memory of the world’s animacy. The plural of “ki” is “kin,” to remind us that we are related to all the living world around us. I know this is an awkward transition, but language shapes our perceptions. I am unwilling to blindly follow the vocabulary of commodification. We are living in a poignant moment when we still have the power to choose if we will join the Sixth Mass Extinction, or reweave the human species back into reciprocal relationship with this marvelous world we live in. I invite you to join me.
The Old Woman has spent the winter descending to the beach in search of driftwood for her hearth, but today she ascends the cliff above her cave for a view of the horizon. Biting winds from the north belie the fact that the Equinox is nigh, but in her bones, The Old Woman can feel Spring rising. She can sense life beginning to hum deep in the ground. Winter cormorants bob serenely on the ocean’s rippled surface. A flock of gulls lifts with the wind, white shapes against the dark backdrop of the island, while higher up, Ravens and Eagles wheel their dark bodies against the bright sky.
Trickster Raven flies among the dark birds soaring in pairs. Despite the cold, their bodies sense that mating season is near. The Old Woman catches sight of something hanging from Trickster Raven’s beak. Focusing her sharp eyes, she realizes that he has one of her baskets.
“When did he…?” she mutters to herself as she follows his flight spiral down.
Trickster Raven lands in the upper branches of a tall Spruce tree. By the ensuing ruckus, The Old Woman realizes he is not the only Raven in the tree. A few minutes later, Trickster Raven swoops down empty-beaked from the Spruce and lands beside The Old Woman. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“What have you done with my basket?” she demands.
“It looked perfect for their nest. What are you upset about? You can weave another one.” Raven spreads his wings and launches himself back into the air. “I’ve got a new story. Race you to the cave!”
Keen to limit the havoc Raven is sure to wreak in her absence, The Old Woman trudges back down the windy cliff path, her long grey hair whipping about her head. Stepping into the dim light of the cave, she catches Raven skip-hopping toward another of her baskets. She shoos him away.
“What about this story?” she asks, effectively distracting the Trickster.
With a dramatic flourish, Raven launches himself into the air to land on the back of The Old Woman’s chair. Keeping an eye on him, she stirs her cauldrons before settling into the chair herself to weave. Raven knows his friend well enough to understand that she listens best when her hands are working. He begins.
“In a north land, where spring comes slowly, a Birch tree hurt terribly. A pain had been growing in ki’s trunk for some time, but no matter how much sap Birch sent to the area, the affliction persisted. Birch asked Woodpecker to look at ki’s trunk and find the source of the pain.
“You have insects in your xylem,” diagnosed Woodpecker, and drilled into Birch’s bark to eat the larvae.
Birch expected Woodpecker’s solution to work, but the pain did not go away. So, Birch asked Squirrel to find what was causing the trouble.
“Someone has stashed a bunch of nuts in here,” Squirrel explained, stuffing ki’s face with the delicious food.
After Squirrel had eaten all of the nuts, Birch hoped that the pain would subside, but to no avail. So when Owl landed on a branch one night, Birch once again asked for help. Owl paused and with large eyes, investigated Birch.
“‘You have a large hole in your trunk,’ observed Owl.
“‘Yes, I know,’ replied Birch. ‘But why can I not heal it?’
Owl looked more closely.
“‘Why, you have someone living inside you!’ ki exclaimed.
“‘Who? Who is living inside me?’ asked Birch.
“‘Hello, little one,’ Owl crooned. ‘Who are you?’
But the creature did not answer.
“Owl continued speaking. ‘You are shaking; you must be frightened. I get frightened, too. Will you come out so I can help you?’
“‘Oh no,’ the creature whispered. ‘I am too ashamed to let you see me.’
“‘I have felt shame’s sharp talons grip my heart as well,’ Owl spoke compassionately.
“‘You have?’
“‘Yes,’ replied Owl. ‘The other birds have teased me all my life for my big head and forward eyes.’”
“Do you tease owls?” The Old Woman asks of Raven.
“Of course!” Raven croaks with a shrug of his big shoulders. “They are so funny-looking, after all.”
“That’s not very kind of you,” observes The Old Woman.
“Kindness is not my forte,” declares Raven unapologetically. “The story goes that the creature inside Birch decided to trust Owl and peeked ki’s head out of the hole.
“The creature looked like a bird, but right away, Owl realized that where the bird should have had wings, only thin bones remained. Owl swooped over the ground to find a branch for the bird-creature to cling to during transport from Birch’s trunk to Owl’s own nest: a hollow in a decaying tree trunk. There, Owl nursed the wingless bird, bringing ki food, and collecting feathers every night. With a sharp beak, Owl carefully trimmed lungwort lichens and glued them with spruce sap to cover the wingless one’s bare bones as a new skin.”
The Old Woman can’t help but chuckle.
“Why are you laughing?” demands Raven.
“Oh, I was just remembering that pine pitch you got stuck in when you found Little Snake.”
“Don’t remind me! That took forever to clean out of my feathers - and all the oil you smeared on me!” Raven complains, lifting his feet as if recalling the feel of the pitch. “So, one by one, Owl glued all the feathers ki could find onto the lichen skin. The feathers came from many different birds: Blue Jays and Juncos, Woodpeckers and Magpies, and Ravens and Eagles, of course.
“The wingless one never shared ki’s name, so Owl called the bird “Feathers,” and it stuck as much as the actual feathers. The once flightless bird now had much bigger wings than ki could have imagined, due to all of the Eagle pinions Owl stuck on.
“‘You will have to practice flapping,’ Owl told Feathers, ‘to build your flying muscles again.’
“Feathers heeded Owl’s advice and practiced every day, but growing muscles is an arduous process, and slow. Thankfully Owl was an excellent and dedicated hunter, because Feathers was a hungry bird. However, kin soon realized that Feathers preferred insects to mice. Owl was not built for insect hunting, thus Feathers found more motivation to regrow ki’s wings.
“‘How did you lose your wings?’ Owl asked at dusk one evening.
“‘Since forever, my kind were part of the family of our land, together with the Trees and other Birds, Squirrels and Humans, and all the other creatures who lived there. But, when I was young, humans changed. They took our home for their own space. They cut down the forest where my kind nested and ate. They forced all of us to leave our home and find a new place to live. We left, but they kept chasing us farther and farther away, cutting down forests and changing the landscape. Eventually, they pushed us beyond our natural range, into lands we had never called home before. The day I flew from where once had been the farthest limits of my home, my spirit broke and I fell from the sky in grief. All on their own, my wings caught fire and burned away to ash, leaving only my bare bones.
“‘I walked on, part of me ready to die, but another part needing to survive. I fed on insects I found on the ground and hid in holes from predators. I could still climb trees with my feet, though I often fell until I relearned how to balance myself without the weight of my wings. Eventually, I walked all the way here and found the Birch tree.
“‘Something about Birch felt safe and comforting, so I pecked away at ki’s trunk until I made a big enough hole to fit inside. Birch oozed with sap, trapping insects for me to eat, so I made sure the sap always ran around the hole. I could catch rain water dripping down ki’s trunk. I had everything I needed and never had to leave. Then you came and pulled me out.’
“‘I didn’t force you out,’ Owl reminded Feathers. ‘I invited you out,’
“‘How did you find me in my nest in Birch?’ inquired Feathers. ‘Why did you go looking for me?’
“‘I wasn’t looking for you. Birch was hurting and could not understand why. I just wanted to help, and in looking for the source of Birch’s pain, and I found you.’
“‘I was hurting Birch?’ Feathers asked, aghast.
“‘Yes. You pecked a hole in Birch and stayed inside, keeping the wound fresh. Birds make nests inside of trees all the time, but they don’t hide inside forever. By staying, you kept Birch from being able to heal the edges of the hole. Neither of us knew you needed healing as well. Yet here you are, mending. We just need a few more feathers and then you can try flying again!’
“Though willing to regrow ki’s wing muscles, Feathers wasn’t sure about trying to actually fly. Which,” comments Raven, “I can’t understand at all because flying is the best thing ever.”
“I can understand,” perks up Little Snake from where she has been sleeping farther back in the cave. She uncoils and slithers slowly forward to join the conversation. “When you have been forced to leave your home, you have little desire to find joy. You feel like, if you have joy, then you are betraying your homeland and forgetting your grief.”
The Old Woman bends down and caresses the top of Little Snake’s head. “We will find a way to get you back home when the weather warms.”
“Can I get back to the story?” Raven croaks impatiently. The Old Woman gestures for him to continue.
“Feathers tottered about at the edge of Owl’s nest hole in the dead tree trunk, but shied away from flapping ki’s new wings. One afternoon, though, Owl awoke to a rustling sound and opened one round eye to see Feathers raising multi-plumed wings, trying to balance. Having only seen Feathers in the dark of night, Owl had never realized just how much dirt and dried mud caked the bird’s body and feet.
“What a mess, thought Owl. Feathers will never fly with ki’s tail encrusted like that.
“So, Owl resolved to give Feathers a bath. This was not an easy task, for the new wings were large and cumbersome for both birds to work with. Owl was a clever bird, though, and in the end, snatched a basket from some nearby humans to carry Feathers in.”
“Oh-ho! Is that where you got the idea to make off with my basket this morning?”
“Yes!” exclaims Raven with a quick flap to sit on The Old Woman’s loom. “Will you stop interrupting me?”
The Old Woman apologizes with laughter in her eyes. “Please go on.”
“Where was I? Oh, right, the basket. At dawn, Owl flew Feathers down to a shallow stream and washed all the old dirt off of Feather’s feet and tail.
“The smaller bird sighed, 'I feel as if the weight of my journey has lifted a little.’
Feathers hopped into the basket expecting Owl to fly kin home, but Owl had other plans.
“‘Now that you are clean, we’re going to do a little flying practice.’
“‘I’m not ready!’ whimpered Feathers, huddled in the basket.
“‘You will never be ready if you spend all your time cowering in a nest, so let’s go practice.’ Talons wrapped securely around the handle, Owl hoisted the basket up to a low bough on a Hemlock tree. ‘Climb on out. We are high enough for the air to catch you, but not too far if you fall.
“For a moment, Feathers considered refusing, but realized that would prolong ki’s misery. Stepping cautiously up to the basket’s rim, the little bird with the big wings tottered unsteadily.
“‘You can do this,’ encouraged Owl. ‘I am here with you.’
“Feathers awkwardly spread ki’s new wings and leaned forward. Trusting the air felt scary, just as trusting Owl had felt when they first met. Feathers glanced at the larger bird. Owl was steady, kind, and dedicated. I can trust Owl, Feathers decided, and let go of the basket.
“At first, the rush of air felt both exhilarating and terrifying, but the latter emotion took over when Feathers tried to flap wings that did not move as expected. Feathers was long out of practice, and the larger plumes responded differently to air currents than ki anticipated. Owl softened the fall by swooping silently below.
“‘Again,’ was all Owl said.
“They repeated the process over and over until both birds were too tired to practice any more. Owl carried Feathers home, leaving the basket hanging in a nearby tree. While Owl slept, Feathers explored memories ki had tried to forget. They were memories of home, of hot summer days and singing with family, of nest building and all the different flavors trees imparted on the insects who burrowed in their bark.
“From then on, Owl helped Feathers practice flying until, at last, Feathers found the confidence to lift upwards, into the canopy. Held together with tree sap and lichen, Feathers was a bird like no other. The little bird with the strange wings soared higher than ever before, inspiring others to mend and blend and adapt. Feathers taught them to take the time they needed to sit in the dark, wounded, but to reemerge when the time was right, even if they feared what the light might illuminate in them.
“One dawn, Feathers returned to Birch tree.
“‘Thank you for holding me.’
“‘I did not even realize you were there,’ replied Birch.
“‘I am sorry I was such a burden for you.’
Owl swooped down on silent wings, the basket clutched in ki’s talons.
“‘We have a gift for you,’ Feathers told Birch, ‘for the pain I caused you.’
“‘What is it?’ the Tree asked curiously.
“‘I have recently learned that healing can be as messy as wounding. I could not regrow the skin and feathers on the bones of my wings. I could not heal myself alone. I needed the help of other kinds of creatures. I will never look as I did when I was young. I am scarred. I wear the feathers of other birds and the skin of plants and fungi. I am a conglomeration of the living and the dead. I may look strange, may fly oddly, but I would not trade a single feather on my wings today for the wings of my youth.
“‘I will never be able to heal the hole I bore into you as if I had never been there, but Owl and I bring you medicine. Into the hole where I once hid, we will place Chaga.’
“‘I don’t understand,’ said Birch. ‘Who is Chaga?’
“‘Chaga is a fungus that will fuse with you, closing the hole I opened up. As you feed your sap into Chaga, both of you will take on the best qualities of each other. Eventually, you will not be able to discern where you end and where Chaga begins because you will have become a whole being together. After many years, if someone comes to collect Chaga’s medicine from your trunk, as long as they leave a little behind, both of you will mend again.’
“Together, Owl and Feathers lifted the dark fungus from the basket and nudged ki into the hole in Birch’s trunk. When the two birds flew off into the day - Owl to sleep and Feathers to track down a meal - Spiders tickled their ways to the hole, where they spun their strong silks, sewing the tree and fungus together.”
“He makes a good point for why he has to tear holes into my tapestry, doesn’t he?” The Old Woman says to Little Snake.
“I don’t know,” muses the reptile. “Destruction really hurts.”
“This is true,” concedes The Old Woman. “You are safe to grieve with me for as long as you need. When you are ready, or maybe even a little before, you will find that pain can create new life, new perspectives, new relationships, and healthier ones. If the dinosaurs had not died, so many of the creatures alive now would not exist. If Raven hadn’t crushed your den, we never would have met each other.”
“Arook! Glad you liked my story!” preens Raven.
The Old Woman tosses a ball of yarn at him. “Go find Little Snake some food, you menace!”
As Raven flaps out of the cave, The Old Woman whispers to Little Snake, “We can’t let him think too highly of himself!”
*https://www.yesmagazine.org/issue/together-earth/2015/03/30/alternative-grammar-a-new-language-of-kinship
Such a powerful tale about resilience, adapting, and healing from old wounds. Thank you!
What an absolutely lovely story. The regeneration of the spirit and rebirthing of joy.