this place doesn't belong to me

on origins, ancestors, and relations to place

Over the river and through the woods we would go to my grandparents’ house. Actually it was over the creek and through the woods. Slippery Rock Creek flowed under the bridge we crossed before turning up the mile long hill.

Halfway up the hill there was a mysterious road that we never went on when we visited. It wasn’t until I became a resident of this place that I ventured down this road for the first time on a run. I was overwhelmed and had to stop and catch my breath from the flood of beauty, gratitude, and belonging I felt.

I had found my place, or maybe this place had found me. 

this place I call home

The Appalachian region of western Pennsylvania was once unowned free land, inhabited by many indigenous cultures, and according to Native Land Digital, it was the ancestral territory of the 𐓏𐒰𐓓𐒰𐓓𐒷 𐒼𐓂𐓊𐒻 𐓆𐒻𐒿𐒷 𐓀𐒰^𐓓𐒰^ (Osage) and Monongahela Cultures.

Knowing and acknowledging the land we live on is a way of deepening our connection with place, and honoring the ancestral people who stewarded this land in the past.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of Gathering Moss and Braiding Sweetgrass, wrote an essay called, “Greed Does Not Have to Define Our Relationship to Land: On Choosing to Belong to a Place.”

“Native people have a different term for public lands: we call them home. We call them our sustainer, our library, our pharmacy, our sacred places. Indigenous identity and language are inseparable from land. Land is the residence of our more-than-human relatives, the dust of our ancestors, the holder of seeds, the makers of rain; our teacher. Land is not capital to which we have property rights; rather it is the place for which we have moral responsibility in reciprocity for its gift of life. Here is the question we must at last confront: Is land merely a source of belongings, or is it the source of our most profound sense of belonging? We can choose.”

Before my husband and I built our homestead here, and before we established Forest & Flowers Retreat as a botanical farm and retreat space, it was the home of my maternal grandparents. They handcrafted many of the structures, leaving a legacy of beauty and love that will forever be felt here.

I stayed with them periodically one summer since I went to college nearby. Sitting on the porch one day I rememeber saying, “It always feels so peaceful here – it’s like coming to a retreat.”  They laughed. Little did I know how those words would come into form. 

When my husband and I returned home to the Appalachian region, we were looking for land to build a house. My grandmother passed on during this time. After many discussions and plans, my grandfather sold us some of this acreage so we could build. He supported and watched us create as we began the journey with his steady encouragement and wisdom. We were neighbors for a short 5 years before he passed on.

Gram & Pappy at the front porch, circa 1994

Suddenly, it felt lonely living here, on land that we had shared for a time. I spent many walks around these woods wandering with grief and sadness. As time has passed though, I’ve also felt a connection to them that has remained. Tears often flow in between smiles and laughter as I witness the ways their love and presence continues in a different form.

The vision of opening this space to others as the retreat it has always felt like to me led to the creation of Forest & Flowers, and in this season, we’ve just entered into the fourth year. I sense that this continues to be a place, for those who visit here, where cycles of change are felt and honored.

“You outdid yourself,” I said recently, as I walked past the row of White Pines and blooming rhododendron. Had I ever told my grandparents how much I loved these trees? Had I ever told them how grateful I was that they started these “rhodi dodis” from seed and planted young saplings? They put these roots into the soil nearly thirty years ago. Thirty years.

My responsibility to this place runs as deep as the roots here on this sacred land that holds the ashes of my ancestors. The gratitude I feel for this place and the people that came before me is what moves me to cultivate it with reciprocity.

What future gifts can I tend in this soil now?

And… everything we do here flows downhill to the creek. So may it be a place to support the pollinators and the people who visit. May what we grow be regenerative for all, on this patch of Earth and beyond. May we know it as the residence of our more-than-human relatives, our teacher, and as the holder of seeds.¹

I have found my place. This place has found me. And this place doesn’t belong to me. I belong to this place.

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Is there a place you belong to? Who are the ancestors of your place? Leave a few or several words in the comments if you wish.

I’m exploring place-knowing in a course called “Journey in Place” in Trackless Wild with Janisse Ray. I’m grateful for the journal prompt that inspired the title of this entry. Thank you for the nudge of continued exploration, Janisse.

peony with morning rain

You can either stroll the garden of the natyrë journal for free, choose a subscription option, or make a one-time contribution in reciprocity for what you receive. Thank you.

1. Robin Wall Kimmerer: Greed Does Not Have to Define Our Relationship to Land