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Showing posts with label indigenous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label indigenous. Show all posts

Humans as Texts: Conservationists in Three Nations of the West

On Semester in the West, the Whitman College field program I completed in autumn 2016, our texts were not books, but the dozens of speakers who gave us their time and wisdom.

I once thought the West was contained within one country, the United States. And I thought a conservationist was someone who tried to save animals from extinction. Below are brief biographies of three of our speakers who challenged those ideas.

They are citizens of Mexico, the Diné (Navajo) Nation, and the Nimiipuu (Nez Perce) Nation, all of which compose the West. They fight to conserve things that matter, from language to habitat to the body parts of planet Earth. I hope they inspire you, as they did me. They remind us that there is an enormous diversity of ways to be good and be yourself.

Cross-posted from the Semester in the West blog.


Meet Our Speakers: Alejandra Calvo-Fonesca

November 18, 2016


“You’re going to have to swim!” These were the words of Alejandra “Alex” Calvo-Fonesca when our boat ran out of gas in Ciénega de Santa Clara, a vast marsh of recycled irrigation water in Sonora, México. Her mischievous smile told us she was joking, and she quickly produced a paddle with which to rescue us. Wildlife Survey Coordinator for ProNatura, Alex brims with enthusiasm for her job. “It’s like school,” she says. “I’m always learning. Sometimes I have a theory, and my coworkers know what’s going on in the place. We correlate the two and learn. That’s what I love.” When Alex majored in aquaculture at Universidad Autónoma de Guadalajara, she planned to design ornamental aquaria. Instead, she began working at a shrimp farm and surveying birds for ProNatura, a nonprofit that has been collaborating with governments and local communities to restore the Colorado River Delta since 1990. Now in her ninth year, Alex has risen from fieldwork to the office. “I knew nothing about biology when I started, but they provided a workshop,” Alex explains. She conducted vegetation and wildlife surveys, learning to identify marsh birds such as sora, least bittern, and the endangered Yuma clapper-rail by ear. Alex’s curiosity has earned her a vast and growing base of knowledge. She can point out native cattails and introduced cane, bird species in English and Spanish, and even the way out of a maze-like marsh when your boat runs out of gas.


Meet our Speakers: Valencia Edgewater

October 7, 2016


Valencia Edgewater is chíshí diné, of the Chiricahua Apache clan, from the Black Mesa region of the Navajo Nation. She teaches community-based Navajo language and culture classes near her home in Hardrock. In addition, she drives her own vehicle for a family-owned, non-emergency medical transportation company. After earning a master’s degree in bilingual bicultural education from Northern Arizona University, Valencia started using her training to pass on the Navajo language, which she began learning in childhood from her grandmother, to community members and visitors. Valencia teaches through immersion, speaking entirely in Navajo and focusing on ways of thought. Through gestures, images, and the natural environment, Valencia invites her students to learn. She begins a lesson with the sun, orienting her students to the cardinal directions of sunrise, sun passage, sunset, and the North Star. After only an hour of instruction, novice students can point out the directions of the sacred mountains, introduce themselves in Navajo, and ask others to do the same. As a mother of two boys, Valencia is committed to imparting Navajo language and culture to the next generation.


Meet Our Speakers: Allen Pinkham

September 3, 2016


“Son, do something for your people.” These were the words of advice left to Allen Pinkham, or Paaxat Higatin in the Nez Perce language, by his father. Pinkham is a Nimiipuu elder who has accomplished a great deal for his people, a vast family that includes salmon, deer, eagles, grizzly bears, wolves and insects. “Everything you see on this earth is your people,” Pinkham told us. “We have red blood just like them.” This concept, one of Pinkham’s “mythological truths,” was the basis for his 1999 book on Nez Perce fishing culture, Salmon and His People. Last year, Pinkham published a second book, Lewis and Clark Among the Nez Perce: Strangers in the land of Nimiipuu, to recount the famed explorers’ journey from his people’s perspective. As former Chairman of his tribal council, Pinkham fought to enact treaty rights, bring fish ladders to local hydroelectric dams, and reintroduce coho and fall chinook salmon to the Clearwater River. While he has won many battles as leader and activist, Pinkham’s greatest gift is his ability to weave together history and future through story-telling. He invited us to visualize our bodies as part of the earth, each finger representing a species. “When you lose the passenger pigeon, you lose your little finger,” he explained. Because we abuse ecosystems, we’re at risk of losing bison, salmon, and thousands of others. Wounded, fingerless hands seared across our imaginations. “The earth is squirming,” Pinkham concluded. “How much longer until we say, no more body parts lost?”
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When Our Gods Take Us Back: A Western Podcast and Epiphany

Blast from the past! My work from Semester in the West, a Whitman College field program I completed August through December 2016, has been published on the program's website.

Click here and scroll down to listen to my podcast, "A Lethal Take On Conservation."

It's an eight-minute journey with three conservationists who have come to terms with a paradox: sometimes to save a species, we must sacrifice an individual.

Click here to listen.

Then click here and scroll to watch the public reading of my epiphany, "When Our Gods Take Us Back."


The essay imagines the Sixth Mass Extinction through the lens of Diné (Navajo) cosmology.

Click here to watch.

They don't show up in the video, but this epiphany reading was paired with a slideshow of images from the semester. I'll include them here, and you can view them with the video as you like.











While you're on the website, I highly encourage you to listen to the epiphanies and podcasts of my fellow Westies. These people are articulate, compassionate, insightful, and a whole long list of things I admire. Every single one of their epiphanies gives me shivers. Seriously. Check them out.

Signe, Griffin, Sophie, Willa, Amanda, Hunter, Abby, Maggie, Thomas, Gardner, Kenzie, Evan, Hannah, Grace, Rachel, Elizabeth, Maya, Fields, Emma, Sarah, Ysa, Collin, and Phil: you've changed my life. I miss you, and I am thankful for you.
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Soundtrack of Sunrise: Birding at Limoncocha

Reminder: you can browse all the photos in a high resolution slide-show by clicking on one.

Tuesday, February 25


This morning, Fausto woke me up an hour-and-a-half before breakfast for a special early-morning bird-watching boat ride. He said it was reward for all my help in the kitchen, and it probably had something to do with all the bird photos I took yesterday when I was supposed to be fishing.

A family of wattled jacanas - one adult and two juveniles.

At first I thought the juveniles were a different species -- they look so different!

The fleshy face mask and super-long toes give these birds a unique style.

I had no idea I'd photographed this bird until Fausto and I were going through my photos that night. We finally pinned it down as a juvenile purple gallinule -- one of those awesome, straight-from-the-book IDs.

The next day, our ID was validated when we spotted this glossy adult purple gallinule!

A patient striated heron.

Shaking off the morning dew!

The much larger cocoi heron.

A great egret poses next to a striated heron, as if to say, "Let's not forget about scale!"

An Amazon kingfisher, described as "oily green."

An everyday ringed kingfisher.

Cacique nests hanging over the lake.

A disheveled-looking smooth-billed ani, true to character.

A greater ani with her long, glamorous Lady Gaga tail.

A greater kiskadee, I think.

And two lesser kiskadees?

I think this is a rusty-margined flycatcher. My book shows Limoncocha within the range for this species, but notes that there are "no confirmed sightings" east of the Andes. I wonder if this photo counts?

A pair of black-capped donacobius, the melodic singers who provided a wonderful soundtrack for the sunrise.

A green ibis.

A female anhinga dries her wings.

An orange-backed troupial.

A tree of tanagers. I think there is a pair of masked crimson tanagers and a pair of silver-beaked tanagers, but that is very much an educated guess.

A tea-party of five (three shown) white-eared jacamers. I was so excited to recognize the profile of these strange, hummingbird-kingfisher-like birds.

Sorry for the terrible quality -- my camera lens always fogged up in the morning. I don't recall taking this picture, but it looks like it might be a limpkin?

A red-capped cardinal.

A snail kite, or caracolera meaning "snailer" in Spanish.

Hunting the snails which make up the majority of its diet.

My beloved, my favorite, my one and only hoatzin.

They look so at home among the enormous leaves of an alien landscape.

So conspiratorial, always whispering secrets...

... and looking so guilty when they're caught!

Watching the sun rise over the flat Amazonian canopy made the morning one of the best of my life.


While we were out, Fausto had me pull up one of the multitudinous nylon fishing nets secured at either end by a stick. We captured three fish.

Bocachico, raspabalsa, and white piranha.

In the afternoon, we embarked on a four-hour trek to the giant ceibo tree. My camera was running low on battery (since the electricity only comes on in for an hour in the evenings) so I took only the most important photos. Mostly, I photographed this vine, Monstera deliciosa.

It begins as a flat, understory vine plastered to a tree trunk.

When it reaches the canopy, it spreads out big leaves, like these.

I got an up-close look at this canopy epiphyte when we found a fallen branch.

I <3 Monstera!

My camera finally died, so our evening caiman hunting trip is remembered only in my mind. The aquatic reptiles were larger than the one’s I remember from my last caiman expedition at Tiputini [link], and far more numerous. Our weak flashlight revealed hordes of glowing eyes with one quick swipe of the lake shore. Between the ravenous piranhas and giant black caimans, I’m glad there’s no swimming beach in this lake!

Our boat’s propeller snared a couple times on hidden fishing nets beneath the surface. The nearby village of Limoncocha supplies many Kichwa fishermen who set up their nets around the lake. The process is completely legal or strictly illegal, depending on who you ask, but one thing is clear: if the procedure is illegal, there is zero enforcement. It’s always a conundrum when indigenous traditions contradict conservation – who really has more of a right to survive, the native people or the native flora and fauna?

I asked Fausto what the Kichwa people used to make fishing lines and nets before nylon existed. “We didn’t fish with lines or nets back then,” he explained. “Only spear fishing.”

I guess having a lake filled with fishing nets isn’t so natural after all. I wonder what the wildlife around here would be like if the bottom of the food chain wasn’t so heavily harvested.

When we got back to our dock, Nadine, Sascha and I were breathless at the dancing lights we saw. Time stopped for me as I watched white sparkles dance across the lilypads, or slowly flicker on-and-off in the trees. Lightning danced at the corner of the sky, always visible but never audible. The noise was a cacophony of insects and frogs, and occasionally the croak of a hoatzin or the squeak of a bat. At times I blurred my eyes and let the scene mesmerize me. Other times I tried to pick out individual noises or follow specific lightning bugs through the night sky. It might have been an hour before we realized we were alone on the dock. Reluctantly, we left the light show. We walked down the narrow boardwalk and up the muddy wooden steps to another delicious dinner in the rainforest.
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