It’s Time to Decolonize the Garden

I’m walking through the wild witch’s apothecary garden I’m growing and thinking about oppression. It’s a heavy topic in a serene space, but the news is far too full of human rights and environmental violations for me to think of anything else. Many Americans think what’s happening is something new, but I know all too well that the roots of oppression run deep. It’s past time to yank them out.

The land I’m standing on is mine and not mine. According to the bank, it belongs to me, and I am the caretaker. But the land I’m on is stolen — taken long before my lifetime from indigenous tribes in the area. While it may not be my fault, it is now my responsibility. I am learning to care for the earth while acknowledging that it doesn’t belong to me; it belongs purely to itself.

But it’s more than just realizing American history is rooted in genocide and oppression. I’m also unlearning the “right” way I’ve been taught by society to garden. I’m doing this because I learned that the supposed “right” way is the colonizer’s way, and it ignores indigenous wisdom entirely.

I’ve written a lot lately about how I was changed by reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. A friend recommended it to me, and it truly gave me a new perspective. One line of thought that I had was how colonizers assumed their superiority and ignored everything that the native people tried to teach them. They were so sure that the way they did things back home was the only way, that they ignored new knowledge to their detriment. But of course, people who assume superiority are often too blinded by their ego to admit that they were wrong. Instead, they assume the land is hard to work or that crops refuse to grow. Any explanation is better than admitting that they didn’t know what the hell they were doing and refused to listen to those who knew better.

I recently read another book — the title to remain nameless here — where the author assumed superiority. It was all about how an English garden was vastly superior to any other. While I’ll admit that an English garden has its charms in its country, I was aghast at how tone-deaf the book was about other cultures and their gardening traditions. While I cannot claim any personal indigenous wisdom as a white woman living in America, I can do my best to decolonize my garden.

I’m choosing native plants over exotic ones.

I must admit that when I first started planning my garden, I planted wisteria. I didn’t realize it was a non-native and invasive plant. I just knew that it was pretty and fragrant. But later, as I learned about the many benefits of planting a native garden, I can only look at that wisteria as an intruder in it. It’s certainly lovely, but it was far from the best choice for my garden. When I planned this year’s garden, I looked for native plants. I researched my zone and found societies dedicated to native gardens, and I learned. I added native dwarf fruit trees to my lawn. Even the flowers I’m planting around them are native to my region.

I’m not planting a straight row of crops.

I didn’t place those plants in the colonizer’s neat and structured rows. Instead, I ignored the instructions printed plainly on the back of seed envelopes and planted close together, added companion plants, and began to structure the layers of a food forest. For a food forest to work, it needs a canopy layer to provide shade and shelter. This can be a tall tree if the land is abundant, but for smaller food forests, this layer can be skipped. The next layer is the understory. It can be a small tree or tall shrub. The next layer down involves smaller shrubs like berry plants.

The next layer is the one where most edible plants are placed. Groundcover or mulch is added to protect the plants. Root vegetables and climbing plants both add value below and above ground. Edible mushrooms can also be added for the completion of a full food forest.

I have half an acre of land in a small-town neighborhood. My understory trees are dwarf fruit trees. They take time to grow, so I know that a food forest isn’t something I’ll have overnight. It’s something that takes time to develop.

In another part of my lawn, I’m trying my hand at a Three Sisters Garden where squash or melons are planted with corn and peas for a complementary garden. The peas can climb the corn (and the sunflowers I added) while the squash and melons can spread on the ground to create ground cover. This indigenous style of gardening was something I came across in my research and wanted to try.

I’m gardening with care and attention.

In Kimmerer’s book, she wrote about how she doesn’t pick the first or the last of anything that grows in the garden. I love this mentality. When I harvest my garden, I leave the first and the last for the wildlife. I don’t assume everything that grows is mine to take.

I apply it to everything. When I pick dandelions, I don’t take the first or last I see. I leave some for the bees and other pollinators to enjoy. My relationship with the earth remains respectful and reciprocal because I don’t treat it like a commodity that’s free for the taking.

I’m using natural pest control instead of pesticides.

I’m thinking carefully about anything and everything I add, and I’m even more careful about what I don’t add. For instance, no pesticides are used on my property. I am not introducing anything that will threaten the health of local area wildlife — or the health of myself, my children and pets, and my community.

I use companion planting methods as a way to repel potential pests, but I also allow nature to take its course. I recently ordered local ladybugs to help provide natural garden pest control, and I also purchased nematodes to help benefit the soil. It’s an imperfect system, but I know that anything harvested from my garden is free of toxic chemicals.

I’m rooting out the old ways of doing things — in favor of older ways.

We all know that the United States of America was built largely on the genocide of the natives who lived here already. Understanding this is not where the work of decolonizing ends. Sometimes, I have to think about the way I’m doing things — even beyond gardening — that might come from a colonizer’s standpoint rather than indigenous wisdom. I’m learning to consider a perspective that’s been around for ages but is new to me.

Pausing is part of the practice. I try not to do things reflexively. I’m taking the time to think about the way I do things — and the why of it. I don’t assume the way that I’ve always done something or the way my family has done it is superior to other ways. In fact, any sense of superiority needs to be uprooted if we’re going to do the work of real personal growth.

I’m planting new seeds in my life.

It’s not entirely a metaphor to say that I’m planting new seeds in my life because I have planted more fruits, flowers, and vegetables this year that I have before. Some of the varieties are entirely new to me. But it’s also true that I’m planting different kinds of seeds. I’m teaching my children to think before plucking the dandelion out of the grass or pulling a weed without first learning what it is and how it can be used. I’m also writing about what I’m doing in hopes that someone else finds this perspective beneficial.

It’s not enough just to yank out many lifetimes worth of colonization. It’s also important to create new ways that rely on old wisdom. To pair progress with genuine care and intention. If we want our society to be different, we have to be willing to be the ones who color outside those lines even if no one else joins us.

I’ve had a little practice. For a long time, I was referred to as many things. Spiritual. A mystic. Pagan. I’ve had a lot of concepts lobbed my way to describe who I am. But only one felt right to me, and I will admit that it’s a controversial choice. I’ve reclaimed the title of Witch. While some shrink from the term and its association with evil, I know that there is nothing evil in the Craft, primarily because its core tenet is to harm none.

The propaganda around witchcraft is so strong that it still pervades our culture. It’s in the media we watch and the language we use. But witches were never mystical beings waiting to harm others. They were always women who were too wise and powerful for the patriarchy to abide. They were people who thought for themselves, relied on old wisdom, and were deeply intuitive. We may not burn witches anymore, but the fact that so many women are reluctant to own the term tells us everything we need to know about modern-day persecution.

I’m continuing to learn.

At this end of this article, I’ve attached some additional resources to provide more insight into the colonization of horticulture as well as how to decolonize an individual garden. I am not an expert. Rather, I am a lover of nature and the garden who is eager to learn.

Learning should be an ongoing endeavor. The garden is teaching me with every season. I’m learning how to better care for the things I plant. I’m also learning more about the land I’m living on and how best to be a caretaker. Throughout all the lessons, I’m still figuring out how colonization has impacted me — and how to make the necessary changes to correct the harm done by past generations.

This is our time.

Many of us are returning to gardens. It’s not just in liberal and progressive communities. Many prepper groups lean largely conservative. Gardening crosses political barriers — but that doesn’t mean it’s apolitical. It’s deeply political, but we can bridge much of the gap between us if we can come together side by side to learn and to plant different seeds. We have the potential to grow, together.

There is not a better time to do this. The best time is always right now. I’m starting small. I’m learning a little at a time. I’m not trying to become an expert on the topic of decolonization, but I am interested in learning more.

As I plant my food forest and nurture my garden, I am putting down roots of my own in this world. It’s a little different than my neighbor’s garden, I know. But I’ve stopped bemoaning the lack of change to become it instead. This isn’t the hill I’ll die on, but it is the land I stand on. I’m doing what I can to honor it.