We're in the middle of winter now, but today I wanted to share some thoughts with you that I've been pondering since this summer.
In the summer, I love to relax in my backyard in my hammock. The hammock is slung between a Siberian elm (Ulmus pumila) in my yard and a tree of heaven (ailanthus altissima) just across the fence in my neighbor’s yard. Where I live on Anishinaabe land in southeast Michigan, these two trees are both invasive species. The Siberian elm is fast-growing and prolific, but disease-prone and short-lived. The tree of heaven, more accurately monikered the “stink tree” or “tree of hell” is also extremely fast-growing and fast-spreading through both seeds and long root suckers that can sprout as far out as 50 feet from the parent tree. My hammock is a pleasant place to be, but when I look up at these trees from the ease of my hammock, I often reflect on my own ancestry.
And it’s uncomfortable.
The blood that runs through my veins is that of white Europeans colonizers: arguably the most invasive species on planet Earth.
My paternal grandmother proudly shares that her ancestors on her mother’s side, the Fullers, arrived in North America on the Mayflower. My brother’s ancestry research bears this out as fact. Meanwhile, on my mother’s side of the family, the Swiss and English colonizers arrived in the early 1700s, eventually made their way down to Virginia, and have been a steady presence there ever since.
The family stories handed down with an air of pride and dignity fall differently on me now than they used to when I was a child.
In the plant kingdom, there’s a distinction between non-native species and invasives,* so I believe that is it possible to be a transplant but not a damaging presence in the new ecosystem. But that is not the story of the Mayflower or of Virginia.
And it’s also not the story of the Christian church—another revered tradition into whose line I was born.
In fact, in the most recent generations of my family, the Christian and colonizing systems got merged, and I was born into a 4th-generation missionary family. I grew up in a country where I did not belong. White foreigners proclaiming an exclusionary religion among the descendants of formerly enslaved peoples who wanted nothing to do with the white man or the white man’s god.
But there we were anyways.
Even at a very basic human level, our presence there was rude. We were uninvited and unwanted in the village, but by the time my 3-year-old self arrived in the jungle with my family in 1989, the familial presence had been there since 1965.
Ironically, I was raised to be polite. “Yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am” in the classic style of the American South. “Please.” “Thank you.” “Excuse me.” I was raised to be well-behaved. “Don’t invite yourself over.” “Don’t take something unless it’s offered to you.” “Don’t make a scene.”
But there we were anyways.
The teachings of courtesy and respect apparently did not apply to other countries and cultures. It was a major inconsistency, justified by a dogmatic theology that undermined basic human decency, proclaimed one right way, and condemned all other approaches as deceptions.
For my entire life, I have lived on land that I have no ancestral connections too. And I know that there have been times in my life where my presence and way of taking up space has been harmful and out of sync with the native ecosystem. For this, I grieve.
But while the tree of heaven is in no position to change its behaviors and will forever be sending up shoots throughout my whole yard, as a human, I have the option of change. I can adapt. Conscious choice is the superpower of humans. We have a brain with a prefrontal cortex that gives us, as a species, a whole range of options that is not available to other species in the same way.
One of the good things my Christian roots taught me is repentance. Repentance is the ability to recognize your error, change your mind and heart, and adjust your behavior accordingly. And so, as I’ve grown throughout my life, I have sought to live a life of repentance.
While I will never be a native species, I can be a non-native that lives respectfully within the environments that I occupy. Many members of carrot family (Apiaceae - includes parsley, dill, fennel, Queen Anne’s Lace) are non-native to North America, yet now serve as food sources for pollinators and are a favorite of swallowtail caterpillars (a North American native). I think that’s a good goal: how can I and those of us who are non-natives support the wholeness and thriving of the ecosystem around us?
If you find yourself one of those who has behaved in the past as an invasive, remember that you can change. By grieving and making reparation as much as it is in your power to do so, and by being observant, agile, humble, and collaborative going forward. By the way, I'm not talking about change that shames, betrays, or harms yourself (self-flagellation doesn’t serve you or those around you—it’s actually just another form of ego), but by learning, leaning in, and trusting that there is a way to honor yourself and the life that we all share.
I wish you a beautiful, reflective, and healing winter.
* The technical difference between the label “non-native” in contrast to “invasive” is that invasives bring harm “to the environment, the economy, or to human health” (https://www.usgs.gov/faqs/what-invasive-species-and-why-are-they-problem#:~:text=An%20invasive%20species%20is%20an,economy%2C%20or%20to%20human%20health.).
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