“It’s not a metaphor”: Strawberries, forgiveness, and renewal

This year, June 21st marked the night of the “strawberry moon” – a full moon that glows smoky pink. To honour Grandmother Moon, King’s University College sociology professor Jess Notwell shared “strawberry teachings” from their Elders with attendees at the Western University encampments. They also contemplated the meaning of strawberries in Gaza.

The teachings took place on June 23. Encampment attendees gathered at a picnic table, sitting shoulder to shoulder beneath a soft gray sky. Notwell joined the table with a microphone, a moon stone, an abalone shell, tobacco, and cartons of wild strawberries.

They shared that they are Eagle Clan and that their family’s traditional territories, according to Treaty 6, are in Northern Saskatchewan. They are Cree/Métis on their mother’s side and white settler on their father’s side.

They interpreted the implications of birds and the colour red in their spirit name. Anishinaabe teachings convey that birds were the first beings to make sound. Red, the colour of blood and strength, is the only colour spirits can see from the spirit world.

“We pick up our responsibilities of our name throughout our lifetime,” Notwell said. “People who have red in their name – we have a responsibility to stand up. Birds were the first beings to make sound. And so, having a bird in your name is something about using your voice.”

The encampment attendees were quiet, relaxed, and focused. Notwell spoke with openness and warmth. Their gaze swept the group of attendees. They described the sacredness of sharing space together in a circle – known as “circle teachings.”

In circle teachings, all are sacred. Everyone’s voice, truth, and wisdom are equally valuable. This extends to all beings: humans, Grandmother Moon, Grandfather Sky, Elder Brother Sun, the “winged ones” (birds), and the “standing ones” (trees).

“It’s such a powerful teaching, especially when we’re here on this campus where there’s such a phenomenally entrenched hierarchy where some people think their voices matter and other peoples don’t, or their lives matter and other peoples don’t,” said Notwell. “Even to practice that circle teaching is in itself resistance. To say: what all of us think and feel and are matters equally.”

Notwell circulated a smooth, fist-sized rock. It was navy and speckled, embedded with a white fissure shaped like a crescent moon. The rock was made of magma; the moon was quartz. Notwell found it on Lake Superior’s shore. They carry it to every teaching.

“We talk about the rocks as our libraries. They’ve been around for millenia and millenia and millenia,” said Notwell. “There’s millenia of wisdom that it’s carrying.”

They shared that those who grew up without their teachings often collect stones because they feel the “blood memory” they hold across time. Notwell draws a parallel to Palestinians who keep soil from their homeland; on a brief visit to Gaza, Notwell took sand from its beach for a loved one in the West Bank.

Some attendees held the rock briefly. Others held it longer, drawn to the quartz and its smoothness.

Notwell circulated a bag of traditional tobacco and began to recount the strawberry teachings. As they spoke, attendees took a dry handful of tobacco in their left hand, “close to the heart.”

“The strawberries are really the first berry, the first fully ripe spring food, that would come naturally from the land as a gift from our Earth Mother,” Notwell began. “Those strawberries are so important, they’re a sign that we made it through the winter. They’re a sign that the land is continuing to give us gifts, to sustain us.”

Notwell said that strawberries symbolize reciprocity, reminding us to care for the land – our Earth Mother without whom none of us could exist – and protect her as she protects us. Strawberries are about hope, renewal, life, spring.

Notwell shares a teaching they received from Elder Conni Ma’iingan – who had received it from Elder Lillian Pitawanakwat – that recounts how strawberries also teach forgiveness.

“I think it’s so important now in this encampment, in this community,” Notwell said of forgiveness. “Folks are feeling a lot of guilt and a lot of unforgiveness for (the self).”

The strawberry teachings tell the story of a family that built a life in the forest. They had left a community that was wrought with fighting and greed; the parents sought to distance their two sons from that upbringing.

In the forest, they offered tobacco to the standing ones and asked permission to cut only enough trees to build a house. A beautiful, loving home emerged.

The two brothers enjoyed playfully wrestling. Their mother urged them to play safely; they ventured deeper into the forest to escape her gaze. They eagerly made a wrestling ring and spent their days play-fighting.

One day, the elder brother accidentally pushed his little brother: he hit his head on a rock and died instantly. The elder brother was terrified.

“He was kind of frozen, not sure what to do,” said Notwell. “And he heard a voice that told him to bury his brother.”

He buried him by the wrestling ring and told his parents that his little brother was missing. The family searched the woods, gathered members from the community they had left behind, and searched for hours.

“Everyone was devastated. The parents didn’t know what to do, the brother didn’t know what to do. But every day he went back to the place where his little brother was buried. He didn’t tell his parents. He just went back every day, and he carried this incredible guilt – this unforgiveness for himself. He couldn’t talk about it.”

Every day, the elder brother asked for a sign that his brother was somewhere safe. When spring came, green leaves sprouted at his grave. They steadily grew, blossoming into small white flowers with yellow centres that soon pooled into a strawberry. A voice told him to eat the red berry.

“As he ate it, it was so sweet and delicious and he found that he was filled with joy for the first time since he buried his brother,” said Notwell. “And he suddenly felt strong enough to tell his parents what happened.”

The family cried together. They sent prayers. They each ate a strawberry, nourishing their strength and hearts, forgiving themselves and one another.

The family moved back to the community to share the strawberries and teachings. Ever since, strawberries have grown in spring – red and heart-shaped.

Notwell said the word “strawberry” is called ode’imin in Anishinaabemowin and it means “heart berry.” Seed-studded red coats, they are the only berry with externalized seeds. This teaches vulnerability.

‘These strawberries teach us about love and they teach us about forgiveness,” says Notwell. “And they also, because all their seeds are on the outside – the only berry with all seeds on the outside- they teach us about being vulnerable, about sharing what’s in our hearts, about trusting one another to carry that.”

Notwell passed crates full of wild strawberries around the circle. The strawberries were tiny and vibrant. Notwell said that in traditional ceremonies, the star-like leaves capping the berries are eaten, not wasted. Some attendees ate accordingly, with quiet banter about the leaves’ fine taste. The crates steadily lightened.

***

Notwell began to talk of Palestine. They said that constant news of violence, suffering, death, and martyrs accumulates tremendous guilt. For Notwell, the strawberry teachings warn that we must forgive ourselves in order to care for others.

They shared the poem “What a Gazan should do during an Israeli airstrike” by Palestinian writer Mosab Abu Toha. One phrase carries imagery of strawberries:

“… and if you are a farmer, you should put some strawberry seeds

in one pocket
and some soil from
the balcony flowerpot in the other and hold on tight
to whatever number there was on the cake
from the last birthday”

Notwell believes that the poem’s image of strawberries symbolizes hope. A berry’s flavour reflects its soil: strawberries in Gaza will taste different than strawberries in London. Saving strawberry seeds within Gaza’s soil preserves a connection to the land.

‘It’s not a metaphor,” said Notwell. “It’s a really deep, physical, spiritual connection.”

***

Thoughts and feelings began to stir in the circle. Attendees began to share.

They shared how nourishing themselves allows them to nourish others; how fiercely they long for community; how fieriness can be a form of clarity; how colonization does not view land as alive but as a resource; how harsh it feels to not speak, to not be heard.

***

Notwell circulated an opalescent abalone shell. The tobacco, held in attendees’ left palms throughout the teaching, was poured into the shell with attendees’ silent prayers, intentions, or questions.

Notwell shared that these hopes, desires, and fears are burned so the eagle may carry them to the Great Spirit. Elder Dan Smoke teaches that our hearts become known this way; the Great Spirit delivers an answer in a week or so.

The tobacco was burned with a lighter. Its heavy, soothing fragrance lifted the air. The smoke rose into the sky.

Jess Notwell was consulted about this article prior to its publication to ensure the strawberry teachings were respectfully covered.

Incé Husain is a neuroscience graduate student and journalist who writes for the NB Media Co-op. She pursues local stories independently at The Unprecedented Times. She is based in London, Ontario.