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In The
Island Within, the anthropologist Richard Nelson writes
of his long engagement with an island off the coast of Washington.
Nelson’s book, however, is not a travel guide but a
“stay-at-home guide.” He writes to remind us that
our own special island is not necessarily an exotic locale,
but rather the habitat right outside our front and back doors.
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sycamore_$ivééla
As we become intimate with our special island in San Diego County,
for instance, we might anticipate the sound of mourning doves
at dawn, or know that a bevy of quail will disperse as we walk
a particular path, or recognize that the leaves crunching beneath
our feet are native sycamores. |
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live oak_wi’áá$alee
It’s not so much whether the place we love, or learn to
love, is oak woodlands or chaparral, mountain or coastal, but
that we become an intimate of that place. Then the land will
begin to dwell inside us, as well as surround us. The land will
inhabit us, as we inhabit the land. |
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yucca_panáá’al
Three of our stay-at-home guides—Diania Caudell, Teeter
Romero and Abe Sanchez—take us on a field trip in the
San Diego back country to learn about native plants and to harvest
two traditional basketry plants, Juncus textilis, also
known as wiregrass, and Yucca whipplei, known simply
as yucca. |
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indian lettuce_towish
popa’kwa
As we walk down the road above the streambed, we stop to taste
towish popa’kwa, Indian lettuce, also known as
miner’s lettuce. The stand of wild lettuce is surrounded
by mustard, an invasive plant. In California, mustard seeds
were first broadcast by the Franciscan friars, so that travelers
could see the “yellow glow” and know they were getting
close to the missions. |
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monkeyflower
We stop to photograph the bright orange monkeyflowers, and our
field guides point out that the stems and leaves of monkeyflowers,
as well as that of other wildflowers, including California poppy,
lupine, and Indian paintbrush, can be eaten as greens. |
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blue dicks_tóókapish
Now we’re on our knees, as if in communal prayer, eve-level
with tokapish, or blue dicks. On sinuous stems, the
flower heads sway gracefully in even the slightest wind. The
women in the group take a special pleasure in saying that they’re
photographing blue dicks. |
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indian potatoes_tóókapish
Teeter says we can eat them too, the bulbs that is. The nutritious
and tasty bulbs, also known as corms, were an important food
source for Luiseño and other California Indians. They
used digging sticks, often made of a hard wood such as mountain
mahogany, to dig up the corms. Blue dicks are also known as
grassnuts, wild hyacinth, or Indian potatoes. |
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purple phacelia_sikimona
Next, we stop to photograph a large stand of the velvety purple
phacelia, another beautiful native wildflower. |
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rattlesnake
weed_lawálxwash
On field trips when we’re photographing wildflowers, we
often find the best photo opportunities are on our knees. We’re
on the ground again, this time photographing the tiny lace-like
flowers of the rattlesnake weed. The pulverized leaves of this
prostrate little plant are reputed to be an antidote for rattlesnake
bite.
We all take note. |
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wild cucumber_’énwish
We continue our walk. Abe points out the wild cucumber, and
tell us the large shiny black seeds were pulverized and used
as a vehicle for paint pigment for ancient rock paintings. The
seeds also were strung together to make necklaces. This year
after the rains, the wild cucumber is prolific, twining under
and over everything. |
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_wild currants
I point out the wild currants, Ribes indecorum, one of the plants
whose Latin binomials I remember. |
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_lupine
Is that lupine?
Yes! No! Yes! No! Look at the leaves. |
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coyote_’anóóyi
We stop to examine coyote scat. Abe points out the rodent fur
in the scat. He tells us how to distinguish coyote scat from
a dog’s. A student photographs the scat. |
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ceonothus
We stop to examine a ceonothus, or wild lilac, in bloom. Abe
tells us we can stir the tiny blue flowers in water to make
a shampoo to wash our hair. |
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manzanita_múúkul
We pass a manzanita, and he tells us we can harvest and smash
the berries when they ripen in the summer to make a refreshing
drink. Coyotes relish the berries as much as the indigenous
people, Abe tells us. In late summer, he predicts, we’ll
see plenty of manzanita berries, as well as fur, in coyote scat. |
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farewell-to-spring
Look at that!
What is that!
Wow! That is beautiful! Look at that!
On my god! Those are gorgeous!
No one has any idea what the gorgeous violet-flecked wildflowers
are. (Later, I look them up: the elegiacally named farewell-to-spring,
Clarkia bottae.) |
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rhus trilobata_$óóval
We learn to distinguish between poison oak and rhus trilobata,
an important basketry plant. “Rhus trilobata has smaller
leaves and a strong smell,” Abe tells us. “That’s
why it’s also called skunkbush.” He smells a few leaves.
“Nope, this is definitely poison oak.” We learn that
when poison oak is in bloom, its flowers are white. Rhus trilobata’s
are yellow. We all want to remember the difference. |
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yucca_panáá’al
Teeter points out a Yucca whipplei, also known as “Spanish
bayonet” and “our Lord’s candle.” She climbs
the embankment and demonstrates how to carefully harvest the
inner core of yucca leaves by twisting and pulling them out.
After drying them, she will use them to begin her baskets. |
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yucca_panáá’al
Yucca blossoms, Teeter tells us, can be eaten, either raw or
boiled, and the stalk can be roasted. After processing, the
strong yucca fibers were used to make sandals as well. |
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chia_páásal
We spot a small stand of pashal_chia of the hillside. Abe, Teeter
and Diania are very excited—stands of chia are rare in
the wild, especially after a drought. The unrestrained enthusiasm
of our field guides is contagious. Following Abe’s lead,
we put down our cameras and help pull out the invasive mustard
plants that surround the chia stand. |
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chia_páásal
The high protein chia was once one of the primary staples of
indigenous people in southern California. Chia, as well as seeds
of white, black, and thistle sage, may have been more abundant
and important as a food source for Luiseño people than
acorns. |
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willow
Traditionally chia seeds were harvested using a seedbeater woven
from various basketry plants such as willow, chokecherry, and
redbud. Today, our chia is still in blossom, its seeds not yet
ready for harvesting.
We’ll be back, Abe says. |
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elderberry_kúúta
We pass an elderberry just beginning to bloom. Diania tells
how to use the elderberry blossoms to make a powerful tea to
break a fever or to fight the flu, a virus, or illness of any
kind. First dry the blossoms, she tells us, shake out any bugs,
remove any bitter green parts, and then steep the blossoms in
hot water. |
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elderberry_kúúta
Elderberry is one of the most sacred Luiseño plants used
in blessing ceremonies. It’s also one of the most versatile.
Luiseños ate the tasty berries. They made a poultice
of the leaves for sprains and itches. They used small branches
to make bows and larger ones to make flutes and clapper sticks.
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toyon_’ááchawut
We stop to photograph a toyon, its bright red berries so popular
with native birds that the plant is also known as an “aviary
on a stick.” But it’s spring, and the berries aren’t
out until late fall. Toyon berries are bitter tasting (to humans),
so Luiseño people would parch the berries to make a cider. |
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wild cherry_cháámish
Ceonothus shampoo. Manzanita berries. Currants. Yucca blossoms.
Chia seeds. Miner’s lettuce. Elderberries. Toyon. Teeter
jokes and tells us we’re ready for Survivor. |
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yerba santa_pálwut
One of our group comments that where she once saw brush by the
side of the road, she now sees a cornucopia of edible and medicinal
bulbs, bud, berries, roots, tubers, corms, greens, and seeds. |
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jimson weed_sacred
datura_náqtumutal
All of us are beginning to understand how profoundly it is the
plants that make Luiseño culture possible—their
source for food, medicine, fiber, cordage, clothing, tools,
shelter, fuel, weapons, musical instruments, sacraments, and
ceremony. |
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poison oak_’iyáála
When Abe finally descends the stream bank to harvest the juncus,
we must decide whether to follow our fearless leader through
a poison oak thicket, or to follow the more cautious Diania
and Teeter down the hill. As the instructor of record, as well
as someone well acquainted with poison oak rash, I encourage
caution. |
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mugwort_pakoshish_
Some of our group are worried. Our field guides point out the
riparian mugwort growing nearby, an indigenous remedy for poison
oak. We pick the mugwort, smell the pungent leaves, then rub
them on our face, hands and arms. We put the leaves in our pockets,
jot down the Luiseño name, pakoshish, and sketch and
photograph the plant for future reference. |
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poison oak_’iyáála
“I hate poison oak,” Abe tells us. “But
you’ve got to respect it. You’ve got to respect it.” |
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yerba mansa_chévnish
Take a warm shower when you get home, Diania advises. Use lots
and lots of soap. Later we learn from Kumeyaay elder Jane Dumas
that the best soap to wash with after trekking around in poison
oak is made from yerba mansa, another important medicinal native
plant. |
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canyon pea_‘axá$mal
We’re still busy photographing the mugwort, but our field
guides are already pointing out other companion plants in the
lush riparian growth—willow, mule fat, and canyon pea. |
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juncus_$óyla
Abe comments on the ease with which he pulls up the juncus stalks.
It has rained recently and the ground is still soft and the
plants pliant. He’s really excited by the coloration he
finds at the base of the stalk. “This is a very good brown,”
Abe tells us. This dark segment of the juncus will be used for
color in his baskets. |
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juncus_$óyla
Our field guides are passionate about native plants and love
nothing more than to wander the back roads of Southern California
hunting for basketry materials. Teeter tells us that if we plan
to go juncus-gathering with Diania, we’d better have some
money, a jacket, and a full tank of gas, because we won’t
come home until the tank’s empty and the money’s gone. |
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juncus_$óyla
As Abe, Teeter, and Diania demonstrate how to harvest juncus,
they speak to us of the difficulty finding traditional basketry
plants—streams where juncus stands once proliferated are
now cemented over, and creeks are now inaccessible because of
the dense overgrowth of invasive non-native plants. |
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juncus_$óyla
Our field guides speak of the profound commitment and determination
necessary to revitalize and preserve indigenous basket weaving;
how this commitment is a part of the larger struggle to preserve
native cultures, languages, and lands. |
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juncus_$óyla
We climb back up the stream bank to the road, carrying bundles
of juncus. |
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chaparral
nightshade_
Walking back to our cars, we comment that our field guides
are sophisticated observers, alert to the nuances and details
in the landscape we would otherwise easily overlook.
california sagebrush_húlvul
Abe, Diania and Teeter's detailed and precise observations
help to nurture in us an enhanced intellectual and emotional
engagement with our surroundings. This emotional engagement
is as important as the intellectual one, helping us cultivate
our hearts as well as our minds.
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toyon_’ááchawut
What Abe, Teeter, and Diania have offered us is a breathtaking
vision of what our southern California landscape could be—a
buzzing, singing, howling place, full of foods, fragrances,
medicines, as well as textile and basketry materials. |
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juncus_$óyla
We are beginning to comprehend how Abe, Teeter, and Diania’s
lives are intricately and intimately woven into the landscape.
We have witnessed their profound respect for the land, their
complex ecological knowledge of the region, their gratitude
for the generosity of the natural world, and their spiritual
beliefs that sustain them in the face of relentless development
and ravaged habitats. |
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phacelia_sikimona
What transpired on our field trip could not have happened, obviously,
in a classroom or computer lab. The fragrance of black sage
as we made our way through the chaparral, a moment’s intimacy
as we tasted the succulent leaves of Indian lettuce and felt
the velvety texture of yerba santa leaves, the subtle shifting
of the light, the translucency of phacelia leaves at the end
of the day . . .
This was not a virtual experience. |
