Book Name: Braiding Sweetgrass
Writer: Robin Wall
Hold out your hands and let me lay upon them a pile of newly
picked sweetgrass, free and streaming, as recently washed hair.
Brilliant green and polished over, the stems are united with purple
what’s more, white where they meet the ground. Hold the wrap up to your
nose. Discover the aroma of sweet vanilla over the fragrance of stream
water and dark earth and you comprehend its logical name:
Hierochloe data, which means the fragrant, blessed grass. In our
language, it is called wiingaashk, the sweet-smelling hair of Mother
Earth. Inhale it in and you begin to recall things you didn’t
realize you’d overlooked.
A pile of sweetgrass, bound toward the end and separated into thirds,
is prepared to twist. In plaiting sweetgrass—with the goal that it is smooth,
reflexive, and deserving of the blessing—a specific measure of strain is
required. As any young lady with tight twists will let you know, you need to
pull a piece. Obviously you can do it without anyone’s help—by binds one end to a
seat, or by holding it in your teeth and meshing in reverse away
from yourself—however, the best route is to have another person hold
the end with the goal that you pull delicately against one another, at the same time
inclining in, straight on, talking and chuckling, observing each
other’s hands, one holding consistent while different movements the thin
packages more than each other, each in its turn. Connected by sweetgrass,
there is a correspondence between you, connected by sweetgrass, the holder
as essential as the braider. The interlace gets better and more slender as you
close to the end until you’re meshing singular pieces of sod, and
at that point, you tie it off.
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