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1 1 In My Grandmother’s Kitchen grandma. the dark creases on my grandma’s face deepened when she smiled. To my young mind, she seemed the perfect grandma. Her white hair contrasted with her dark brown skin. The brightness of the sun deepened the wrinkles and creases on her face. She cooked the best cactus fruit jam from the large prickly pears that grew behind the house. She always had cookies at hand when I came to visit. And she seemed to know everything about the land and food. One day, in our yard, which was dotted with herbs and fruit trees, I watched her bend over to pick a sprig of bawena (spearmint ) and hold it out for me to smell. Her old, faded cotton dress with the flower print outlined her frail 80-year-old frame. Her full set of teeth glistened as she smiled, watching me enjoy the scent. Then, in a voice made scratchy from smoking, she explained, “That is what bawena does to your stomach; it makes it smile.” I cannot forget the many times when my grandma or my mother rescued my upset stomach with some hot tea of bawena. Always, after just one cup, my insides would begin to smile again, ready for some more food that I probably shouldn’t have eaten. I understand now what my grandma, my mother, as well as my grandfather and other family members were teaching me. They introduced me to Rarámuri traditional knowledge. I learned the names of plants, their uses, and their place in Rarámuri culture, 2 eating the landscape philosophy, and cosmology. I understood them to be relatives and living beings with emotions and lives of their own. I learned that they were part of my life as well and that I should always care for them. In short, my family led me into the traditional ecological knowledge of the Rarámuri. My grandparents’ souls now rest in the Milky Way with the other Rarámuri spirits that have departed this Earth. But their lessons live on in my memory. I recall my grandma’s smiling face and her short, shuffling gait. If I am ill and drinking a steaming mug of bawena, I hear her scratchy voice describing the uses of other plants from our yard. The knowledge I learned from my family was one aspect of a trove of culturally accumulated ecological knowledge. When they introduced me to individual plants, they also introduced my kinship to the plants and to the land from where they and we had emerged. They were introducing me to my relatives. Through this way of knowing, especially with regard to kinship, I realized a comfort and a sense of security that I was bound to everything around me in a reciprocal relationship. Figure 1.1 Chilis, chili powder, and chiltepines in a Rarámuri collection basket. In My Grandmother’s Kitchen 3 The richest memories of my family are associated with plants. I frequently remember the seasonings my grandmother, mother, and aunts lovingly added to our meals. Epazote, cilantro, salvia, yerba buena, and, of course, chili pequin embodied the mural of flavors expressed at the table. These foods not only were eaten at home but also were central figures at fiestas, weddings, and other gatherings. I recall the many plant-related lessons I learned in my grandma’s herb house. This latticed structure was filled with hanging dried and living plants as well as pungent and savory smells from the many herbs hanging from the ceiling. The roof was no longer visible through the layers of vines that draped over its eaves to the ground. On hot days, the interior would be nearly 10 degrees cooler. Inside, I would sit and watch my grandma grinding chilis and herbs in old stone metates and mortars while she talked about our origins and about our plant relatives. On my frequent visits there, I would enjoy the many aromas. It was during these times that she told me about the lives of plants and their characteristics. She described the relationships the plants had with each other. She taught me that the plants were not only plants but also people. Some were Rarámuri, whereas others were Apaches and non-Indians. When I was older, my grandfather introduced me to plants while we shooed away crows and other critters from his corn, beans, and chilis1 that grew in the large backyard garden he maintained in Chula Vista, California...

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