For as long as I can remember, I've been a lover of books. One of the first books that I remember falling in love with was Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb. This rhythmic, repetitive ditty of a book featured prancing monkeys drumming on drums. What's not to love?!
As I got older my literary interests wandered to the Sweet Valley High series (mindless pre-teen lit that I could devour in a day or two), to classics like Island of the Blue Dolphins and The Princess Bride.
For the past 14 years, I've been participating in a book club that has kept me actively reading through the parenting years when it's tricky to make time for anything not kid-related. In the early book club years, I would occasionally get annoyed with the book choices. Being obligated to read a book chosen by someone else that didn't spark my interest occasionally seemed like a special kind of torture. But over the years I have learned to approach each book choice with a more open mind. Mostly I'm able to appreciate the book choices even if they aren't books I would have necessarily chosen to read on my own. Occasionally there was a flop....but not often.
This past year a book club friend recommended the book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. At the time we had a long lineup of books already chosen for book club, but this book had made such an impression on her that she strongly encouraged all of us to read it immediately. Her review was enthusiastic enough for met to borrow the book from a friend and read it in between "official" book club books.
When I first picked up the book, I honestly wasn't super intrigued. A nature book, over 400 pages long, written by a scientist. I dunno. Didn't strike me as a real page turner.
But I forged ahead, encouraged by the rave review of my book club friend.
And as I read, I was drawn in.
The writing is intelligent and beautiful. Thoughtful and lyrical. Educational and soothing. Kimmerer somehow combines the smarts and attention to detail of a scientist, with the creativity and intrigue of a master storyteller.
It was one of the last books that my mom read. I don't think she actually finished it, because when she died, her bookmark was still planted somewhere near the middle. (Ironically, a bookmark with a quote from PJ O'Rourke: "Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.")
After my mom died, her copy of Braiding Sweetgrass became mine. Having an actual hard copy of this book that I fell in love with was a bit of a novelty since the majority of my reading these days is on my kindle. And when I opened it up to see that my mom had underlined and made sporadic notes in the book, it became even more of a treasure for me.
I started re-reading the book again a few months ago, this time using the copy that had belonged to my mom. As I worked through the book for the second time, the stories that Kimmerer shared became not only a bridge of understanding between me and the natural world, but also between me and my mom. This book, both its physical form and its literary content, brought me a beautiful feeling of connection, months after my mom had left this earth.
My mom was my first teacher. The one who taught me the basics of reading as a child, and nurtured my love of books as an adult by inviting me to join her book club. I never expected her to live forever. But that knowledge is sorry preparation for the void of her absence.
For me, one of the more poignant chapters in Braiding Sweetgrass is "The Consolation of Water Lilies" in which Kimmerer reflects on the journey of parenting and describes the bittersweet experience of dropping her daughter off at college. I remember saying goodbye to my own mother at SFSU 30 years ago, oblivious to the wave of emotion she undoubtedly navigated as she drove away from my dorm. Kimmerer reminds us of the eternal truth of parenting "...if we do our jobs well, the deepest bond we are given will walk out the door."
The presence of children, mothers, and so many other gifts of living this imperfect, human existence, is temporary. These words by Kimmerer, underlined by my mom, bring some solace for this truth:
"We are showered every day with gifts, but they are not meant for us to keep. Their life is in their movement, the inhale and the exhale of our shared breath. Our work and our joy is to pass along the gift and to trust that what we put out into the universe will always come back."
-Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer
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Beautiful
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