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253

GERALD CL ARKE

BRINGING THE PAST TO THE PRESENT Traditional Indigenous Farming in Southern California

For thousands of years, the Indigenous people of the lands known today as California developed a relationship with the land, plants, and animal life that enabled Native communities not only to survive but thrive. This symbiotic relationship was undoubtedly developed through keen observation, generations of experimentation, and the passing down of empirical knowledge.

Most historians and anthropologists mark the development of agriculture as the trigger that ended the hunter-gatherer way of life for some cultures and ushered in the dawn of civilization. Yet hunter-gatherer societies continue to exist in the world today. One aspect of such societies that has been generally ignored until recently is the modification of “nature” to encourage beneficial outcomes for human survival. These cultivating practices served to ensure the survival of these societies, but also benefited the environments in which they lived. One only needs to look up the definition of “farm” to see why anthropologists and

<i>Indigenous Food Sovereignty in the United States : Restoring Cultural Knowledge, Protecting Environments, and Regaining Health</i>, edited by Devon A. Mihesuah, and Elizabeth Hoover, University of Oklahoma Press, 2019. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ucr/detail.action?docID=5838903. Created from ucr on 2019-11-05 14:17:44.

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historians did not recognize these practices as agriculture when they encoun- tered the Indigenous peoples of California.

Farm: an area of land and its buildings used for growing crops and rearing animals, typically under the control of one owner or manager.

This definition reflects a couple of key differences in the views of agriculture between Native Californians and their European counterparts. First, “growing crops and rearing animals” implies a great deal of control over the “product,” whether plant or animal. The farmer actively directs what, how, when, and where these products are produced, from sprout or birth until harvest or death. Second, “under the control of one owner or manager” implies the idea of land or resource ownership. For the early European explorers, landownership was a centuries-old concept that they used to justify claiming land even when Indig- enous people were living on it.

This perspective kept the Europeans from understanding that California’s Native people did create cultivated areas that one could recognize as “farms.” In fact, if we were to adopt a more liberal understanding of the definition of a farm, we could easily conclude that California’s Native people not only developed agriculture, but possibly developed a more efficient and sustainable system than that of the Europe model. If we can understand that “growing crops and rearing animals” could include the pruning of oak trees to benefit acorn production, the burning of meadowlands to produce grassy pastures that support animal populations, and the selective harvesting of plants to encourage plant produc- tion, then we can conclude that California was indeed one big farm. And while the tribes of California had no concept of legal landownership, tribal territories, clan areas, and familial gathering sites did exist and continue to exist today. With this understanding, we can assert that the traditional clan or familial gathering areas cultivated by Indigenous people could be considered farms.

California’s Indigenous peoples are continuing these traditional practices, or in some cases are reclaiming these practices, as part of a larger effort to reclaim their cultural sovereignty, improve the health of their people, and assert an alternative approach to modern life. In this chapter, I focus on the traditional foods, plant use, and environmental stewardship I see occurring in southern California, relying on a combination of academic articles and other publications, interviews with knowledgeable tribal people, and my personal experience. While I mention aspects of Indigenous plant use throughout California, a survey of

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the entirety of California’s tribes, their environs, plant use, and traditions is beyond the scope of this chapter.

CALIFORNIA AT CONTACT

While accounts vary as to who might have been the first European explorer to reach California, it can be asserted with good confidence that substantial contact between Europeans and the Indigenous people of California occurred during the eighteenth century. With the founding of San Diego de Alcalá in 1769—the first of twenty-one missions established by Franciscan priests in California—a consistent presence of European culture existed side by side with the Indigenous communities nearby. These Indigenous communities, which anthropologist Alfred Kroeber labeled “tribelets,” consisted of several families grouped together for their common welfare. They shared language, customs, and the daily tasks necessary for survival.

In writing about the Native people of northern California commonly known as the Pomo, Kroeber notes:

In any strict usage, the word “tribe” denotes a group of people that act together, feel themselves to be a unit, and are sovereign in a defined terri- tory. Now, in California, these traits attached to the Masut Pomo, again to the Elem Pomo, to the Yokaia Pomo, and to the 30 other Pomo tribelets. They did not attach to the Pomo as a whole, because the Pomo as a whole did not act or govern themselves, or hold land as a unit. In other words, there was strictly no such tribal entity as “the Pomo”; there were 34 Pomo miniature tribes.1

This description applies equally to various tribal groups in southern California, including the Cahuilla, Luiseño (Payómkawichum), Kumeyaay, and others. It is estimated that at the time of contact, California was home to more than five hundred distinct tribelets who spoke more than three hundred dialects of approximately one hundred distinct languages.

We must consider the geography of California to fully understand the neces- sity of living within a tribelet system. From open, arid desert regions to narrow valleys cut by ocean-bound rivers to coastlines that alternated between sandy beaches and steep cliffs, California’s geography is not conducive to the large, densely populated settlements founded by the Aztecs in central Mexico or the Mayas in the Yucatan Peninsula. Instead, California’s Native peoples organized

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themselves in small communities and created a system of sustainable living based on a relationship with the natural world that resulted in mutual benefits for the people and the environment.

Although there were not large Indigenous “cities” in California, numerous journal entries by early Spanish explorers report encountering Indigenous communities along California’s coast that sometimes numbered as many as eight hundred individuals or more. A community of this size would require a coordinated and specialized approach to resource management to support its population.

While the geography and the available flora and fauna of the area were impor- tant, so too was what anthropologist Lowell Bean characterized as a “reciprocal obligation” belief system he found among the Cahuilla.2 Reciprocal obligation stemmed from a belief that humans were only a part of a larger interactive system composed of cooperating entities that shared responsibility in the workings of the universe. These beliefs fostered an ecological ethic of gathering only what one needs and always leaving some for the other beings. These actions, combined with the performance of appropriate ceremonies and rituals ensured that the universe would remain in balance and that humans along with other entities could continue to sustain life.

For many tribes in California, a belief in the interconnectedness of various life forms and the shared responsibility of these beings formed the basis for their resource management. The concepts of competition and subjugation of nature were mostly absent from traditional beliefs about the world and a human’s place within it. For generations, a system of best practices was passed down, tested, and added to for the benefit of all interconnected entities.

Today, these beliefs are commonly referred to as “traditional ecological knowledge” (TEK), referring to ecological management practices formed over generations and based on observation, experimentation, and long-term relationships with plants, animals, climate, and environment. The results of these management practices were extensive. For example, the promotion of grasslands not only provided seeds for human consumption, but also provided key species of wildlife (quail, rabbit, deer, antelope, elk) with a food supply that sustained healthy and available animal populations. From those healthy animal populations, in turn, Native people gained meat for nourishment, furs for clothing, and bone and sinew for tools, regalia, and other ceremonial and utilitarian objects. In her book Tending the Wild, M. Kat Anderson describes the relationship between Indigenous people and the environment as “a knowledge

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built on a history, gained through many generations of learning passed down by elders about practical as well as spiritual practices.”3

European explorers themselves commented positively in their journals on the condition of the land they encountered. In the sixteenth century, the English explorer Sir Francis Drake sailed up the Pacific coast of North America, searching for the Northwest Passage, a water route thought to cross the North American continent. While historians do not agree on the extent of Drake’s exploration of California, while sailing along the California coast he wrote in his journal “infinite was the company of very large and fat deere, which there we sawe by thousands, as we supposed, in a heard.”4

During 1769, Gaspar de Portolá led an expedition of soldiers up from Mexico through southern California on their way to San Francisco Bay. Also on the journey was Franciscan missionary Fray Juan Crespi. On Tuesday, July 18, 1769, near the San Luis Rey River just north of present-day San Diego, Crespi wrote,

A little after three in the afternoon we set out to the north. We climbed a hill of good soil, all covered with grass, and then went on over hills of the same kind of land and pasture. We must have traveled about two short leagues, when we descended to a large and beautiful valley, so green that it seemed to us that it had been planted. . . . There are, indeed, pools of good water, with tules [bulrushes] on the banks. The valley is all green with good grass, and has many wild grapes, and one sees some spots that resemble vineyards.5

The observations of Fray Crespi hint at one of the most prominent misconcep- tions that Europeans had about the lands in California. To them, this fertile land was their reward from God for the risks they had taken, for spreading the word of Christianity, for the hunger and hardships they experienced. They were being rewarded with a pristine, Garden of Eden-like landscape to claim as their own.

What these early explorers were actually witnessing was centuries of care- ful ecological management that involved the coppicing, pruning, harrowing, sowing, weeding, burning, digging, thinning, and selective harvesting of plants to maximize each species’ productivity, usefulness, and contribution to the interconnected interests that made up the ecological system: plants, animals, climate, weather patterns, soil, humans.

Through careful management, the Natives of California were able to harness the full potential of their available resources. The full extent of plants utilized by these communities may never be known. I include here descriptions of just

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a few that are in use today as part of the effort to reclaim Indigenous health and sovereignty.

ACORNS AND OTHER FOOD STAPLES

Much has been written regarding California Indians’ utilization of the acorn as a major food staple. It is easy to see why. California is home to eighteen species of oak that occur throughout most of the state. After gathering acorns in the fall, tribes had various ways to dry and store them until needed. The fact that they could be stored for later use made acorns a reliable staple that could be utilized year-round. By some estimates, unshelled acorns could be stored for up to ten or twelve years.

Nutritionally, acorns provide much of what was needed for humans not only to survive, but to flourish. One researcher on the subject has suggested that oaks could have supported population densities fifty to sixty-five times higher than those estimated at the time of contact. Additionally, modern nutritional analysis of acorns show that some species contain up to 18 percent fat, 6 percent protein, and 68 percent carbohydrate, with the remainder being water, minerals, and fiber. By comparison, modern varieties of corn and wheat have about 2 percent fat, 10 percent protein, and 75 percent carbohydrate. Acorns are also a good source of vitamins A and C and many essential amino acids.6

Acorns were typically gathered in late September and October. Groups would camp among the oak groves, and it has been said that various clans would claim specific hereditary gathering areas. Today, bedrock mortars or grinding holes can be found near these sites. Many of the tribes in southern California preferred the acorn of the black oak (Quercus kelloggii), but other varieties were also utilized. Black oak trees, sometimes as tall as one hundred feet, drop their ripened acorns with help from the Santa Ana winds that occur at that time of year. Acorns that did not fall naturally were knocked down with long sticks and gathered from the ground.

The gathering and grinding of the acorns was only the beginning of the pro- cess. Unprocessed acorn meal is bitter and unpalatable to humans due to a high tannic acid content, and substantial leaching or washing is required to remove it. Some tribes leached the tannic acid from the pulverized acorn meal in sandy basins pressed into shallow streambeds. Water from the stream would cover and lightly flow over the acorn meal, washing away its bitterness. Over time, some tribes in California developed basket-weaving traditions that produced some of the finest examples of basketry in the world. They developed a technique of

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filling finely and tightly woven baskets with acorn meal and placing them in lightly running water for leaching. Some tribes in northern California adopted a subterranean leaching process. Whole, shelled acorns were buried in sand, and water was periodically poured over the area until the acorns were judged palatable and ready to be dug up. Sometimes acorns were boiled or roasted prior to burial.7

The leached acorn meal might be cooked until it thickened to a gelled consis- tency, incorporated into a soup, or formed into small cakes. At tribal gatherings today, attendees judge acorn mush (wii’wish in the Cahuilla language, shaw’ ii in the Kumeyaay language) on its smoothness of texture, nutty flavor, and absence of any bitter taste. At a tribal gathering I attended on the Morongo Reservation recently, I was served roasted turkey with acorn gravy.

Anthropologist Alfred Kroeber, who studied California tribes extensively, estimated that more than 75 percent of Native Californians relied on acorns for food on a daily basis. However, Willie Pink, a Cupeño/Payómkawichum descendant and Indigenous plant expert, thinks anthropologists have placed too great an emphasis on acorns as a food source. He stresses the importance of the holly leaf cherry as equally important to tribal communities in central and southern California. Pink points out that ancient village sites in southern California tended to be situated near stands of wild cherry trees as opposed to oak groves. The cherry tree he refers to is Prunus ilicifolia, commonly referred to as the holly leaf cherry or simply wild cherry.

HOLLY LEAF CHERRY

Prunus ilicifolia is a drought-resistant, evergreen plant that produces fruit which, unlike its domesticated cousins, has very thin flesh but a large, prominent pit that contains a large seed. The flesh of the cherry is sweet when ripe and was certainly eaten. Today, it is not uncommon for tribal people to make jelly from the wild cherry, although its thin flesh provides little juice. A small jar of jelly requires many cherries and quite a bit of effort.

For California’s early tribal communities, however, it was the seed within the large pit that was of greater importance. The cherries were gathered in late summer or early fall when they ripened. Once dried and shelled, the seeds could be stored for long periods to provide for year-round use. Wild cherry is not a large tree but a modest-sized bush, which made harvesting cherries easier than harvesting acorns.

The seed, like acorn, can be ground into a meal, but also requires leaching in order to eliminate naturally occurring hydrocyanic acid (cyanide).While some

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people simply leach or wash the seeds, others roast them prior to leaching in order to rid them of the cyanide. Willie Pink roasts cherry pits in a modern oven, but the same could be done in a clay pot near a campfire. Once leaching and grinding are completed, the meal is cooked until it thickens to a pudding-like consistency. In my experience, the prepared cherry-seed mush looks similar to cooked acorn mush and has a subtle, nutty taste with a slightly fruity flavor.

In addition to using holly leaf cherry as a food source, Kumeyaays and Cahuil- las were among the tribes that treated colds and coughs with infusions made from the roots or bark of the tree. This infusion was typically ingested as a type of cough medicine. During the spring and summer, while the sap of the tree was running, the infusion was made from the bark. During the winter, while the tree was dormant, the roots were used to make the infusion.8

It should be noted that both acorns and wild cherry seeds were widely traded throughout California and beyond. Both could be dried and preserved, allow- ing communities with excess supplies to transport and trade them with tribes that had little access to the growing areas of these foods. Jan Timbrook, an anthropologist and ethnobiologist who specializes in the Chumash culture, states that cherry kernels were an important trade item for Chumashes and “were measured with women’s basketry hats; one hat full of cherry seeds worth two of acorn.”9

PINE NUTS

Many of the varieties of pines that grow in California produce edible pine nuts. Some examples include the Jeffrey pine (Pinus jeffreyi), gray pine (P. sabiniana), the four-leaf pinyon pine (P. quadrifolia) and the single-leaf pinyon pine (P. monophylla). While pine nuts from these species were important to the tribal communities, so too was the pine pitch or sap. Pitch was used as an adhesive and waterproofing agent on various utilitarian objects, such as to waterproof baskets or adhere gourds for rattles.

For the tribes of eastern and southern California, the four-leaf or single-leaf pinyon pine were accessible varieties that could be found growing in the Mojave Desert, eastern Sierra Nevada, and Tehachapi Mountain Range, as well as in southern California’s coastal mountain ranges. These varieties typically grow at elevations between 4,000 and 7,500 feet above sea level. The single-leaf pinyon pine will generally begin bearing cones at about 35 years of age, begins producing good seed crops at about 75 to 100 years, and reaches maximum production at about 160 to 200 years.10

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Like the wild cherry seeds and acorns, pinyon pine nuts are a good source of protein, unsaturated fats, and carbohydrates. They can be dried and stored for long periods, allowing use throughout the year. However, pinyon pine nut production varies from year to year due to climatic conditions and is not as consistent or predictable as the holly leaf cherry. Yet despite its inconsistent avail- ability, the pinyon pine nut has been important to many Native communities of California. From ancient times, archaeological evidence points to its utilization as a food source, and it is mentioned in some tribes’ traditional songs and stories.

Newcomers to California observed the importance of pine nuts to the local tribes. In the mid-1800s, John Charles Frémont—a lieutenant in the Army Topographical Corps—was commissioned by the US government to explore and map the Pacific Northwest. Returning from this expedition through the eastern Sierras. Frémont recorded the Indigenous people’s utilization of pine nuts in his journal: “These [pine nuts] seem now to be the staple of the country; and whenever we meet an indian, his friendly salutation consisted in offering a few nuts to eat and trade.”11

YUCCA

Various types of yucca grow in southern California as well as Baja California, Mexico, at elevations from sea level up to eight thousand feet. Yuccas provided the tribal communities of these areas with both food to eat and fibers for utilitarian use. The late Cahuilla elder Alvino Siva stated that the Cahuilla preferred the fibers of the Mojave yucca (Yucca schidigera) for making rope and cordage, but found the chaparral yucca (Hesperoyucca whipplei), also called our Lord’s candle or panu’ul in the Cahuilla language, preferable for food. This spiny green yucca typically grows in rocky soils and produces a stemless cluster of long, rigid leaves that end in sharp points. The leaf edges are finely saw-toothed and, along with the sharp points, can easily draw blood from a person untrained in its proper harvesting.

When it matures after five to seven years of growth, the chaparral yucca shoots up a large stalk from the center of the plant that can attain twelve feet in height. Toward the top of this large stalk grow clusters of flowers that may be white, off-white, or white edged with violet. After the flowers are pollinated, the petals drop and the plant develops seedpods that eventually dry and open up, spreading seeds around the area for future plant propagation.

The chaparral yucca offers a few different opportunities for food gathering. First, the young stalk can be harvested before it flowers. Eaten raw it tastes like a cross between an apple and celery. If cooked, it can be eaten by itself

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or puréed and used in breads or cakes. Today, a number of tribal families also gather the flower petals (se’ ish in the Cahuilla language). After being cleaned, then parboiled two or three times, with the water poured off and replaced each time, the petals can be eaten, usually with a little added salt. To me, the cooked petals taste like a “floral cabbage.” Nowadays, people also often sauté the cooked petals in olive oil with onion, minced garlic, and even bacon! While not entirely traditional, this dish eaten with wild cherry or acorn mush and roasted wild rabbit serves as a healthy alternative to your local fast-food supersized meal.

Finally, once the yucca petals have naturally dried up and fallen off, the plant produces edible seedpods. The seedpods resemble mini-cucumbers and have a similar texture and consistency. They can be bitter if allowed to grow too large, so the smaller ones are preferable for eating raw. Some people have even begun to pickle the pods and are canning jars of “yucca pickles.”

However, the yucca is vulnerable to overharvesting. Harvesting the stalk or petals means little or no seed would be produced and could lead to the plant’s eradication from an area. I have come across yucca stalks that had been cut down in order to gain access to their blossoms. This approach to gathering is unsustainable. I have taught my own children to limit the number of yucca stalks they harvest per year and not to take more than one-quarter of the blossoms from any one yucca plant.

ELDERBERRY

Elderberry (Sambucus mexicana) is a fast-growing large shrub or small tree that grows throughout California. It is drought tolerant, grows to heights between eight and twenty-five feet, and features bright green foliage and yellowish flowers that mature into clusters of small, dark blue, almost black, berries.

Elderberry is important to wildlife and numerous bird species. Its dense, multistemmed structure provides cover for numerous small mammals, birds, and reptiles. The flowers and berries also serve as an important food source for wildlife, especially in the dry months of late summer.

For California’s Indigenous people, elderberry has multiple uses for food, medicine, and utilitarian or ceremonial objects. In excavations of ancient village sites, archaeologists have found evidence that California’s earliest inhabitants used elderberry. The archaeologist Paul Schumacher reported that he often found elderberries growing near ancient Native American settlements and gravesites.12

Among elderberry’s utilitarian uses, the young shoots were used for arrow shafts and larger branches for bows. Fibers from the inner bark were also used

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in making women’s skirts or aprons, and the leaves rendered a black dye for basket-making fibers, which was the source of the bold designs often found in California Native basketry. The woody portions of the elderberry were used to make pipes for smoking Indigenous tobacco, as well as to make flutes and clapper sticks. Elderberry branches feature a soft and pithy center that made hollowing out the branch for these uses easier.

Medicinally, Indigenous people brewed a tea from elderberry blossoms that is said to reduce fever and help fight off colds. Contemporary herbalists proclaim that elderberry tea boosts the immune system, alleviates allergies, lowers blood sugar levels and blood pressure, moderates the digestive process, and even slows down the spread of cancer. While these claims have not been proven by medical science, California Native people’s centuries-old use of elderberry as a medicine points to its effectiveness as a remedy for some illnesses.

Elderberry fruit is high in antioxidants and numerous vitamins, including 60 percent of the recommended daily allowance of vitamin C. The berries are also a good source of essential nutrients like calcium, potassium, manganese, iron, and phosphorus. Historically, the berries were eaten raw, cooked, or made into a cider.13 Drying the berries allowed them to be stored, transported, and used at a later time, allowing tribes to benefit from their nutritional content throughout the year.

MESQUITE AND SCREWBEAN

I’ve grouped mesquite (Prosopis glandulosa) and screwbean (P. pubescens) together because they are related plants that typically grow in arid desert envi- rons below three thousand feet in elevation. Both grow throughout the eastern deserts of southern California, but the mesquite has a far greater range and can be found down through Baja California and along the US-Mexican border to the Gulf of Mexico.

Tribes used these trees for a multitude of purposes. The Desert Cahuilla used hollowed- out mesquite stumps for grinding mortars, and larger limbs were used for building material. The wood was also used as fuel for cooking and for firing pottery. Mesquite branches were used for bows and the thorns were used as tattooing needles. Farther south, the Paipai, Southern Kumeyaay, and Kwatsáan used mesquite and screwbean wood for similar purposes.

Both plants offered desert tribal communities a dependable supply of edible flowers and seedpods, typically gathered from June through August. The long, beanlike pods of the honey mesquite were once the most important food source

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for these desert communities, and mesquite groves were often burned to increase production. From a nutritional standpoint “the honey mesquite compares favor- ably with barley in which approximately 8 percent is crude protein, and 54 percent carbohydrate and a little over 2 percent fat.”14 The blossoms of the honey mesquite could be dried and used in a tea or cooked and formed into cakes. The seedpods could be eaten fresh or pulverized into a meal, which could be added to water for a nourishing drink or be baked into cakes or mush. Screwbean was treated similarly, but required additional processing to rid it of bitterness. A subterranean leaching process was used for this purpose. Both mesquite and screwbean could be dried and stored for long periods, allowing for their use throughout the year.

Today, it is not uncommon for tribal cooks to include these traditional foods as ingredients in modern dishes. Either by necessity or by choice, current tribal communities use a diverse number of indigenous and nonindigenous plants as ingredients in their kitchens. These contemporary practices are evidence of California’s Native people’s ability to adapt new approaches to food as part of their efforts to regain food sovereignty.

EFFORTS TODAY

In the spring of 2017, I was contacted by a local man wanting to know if I was interested in taking a Slovenian documentary crew out into the local hills to gather plants that provided some of the traditional foods of the Cahuilla. Their documentary series, Cestou Necestou, featured international tourist sites and cultural interactions with various peoples around the world with an emphasis on food. This episode, to be shown on Slovenian television, was dedicated to the cultures of southern California.

We drove into the local hills of the San Bernardino National Forest, where I have a permit for traditional plant gathering and use. My four-wheel-drive truck bounced up what was once a fire access road and we stopped a good way from the highway and began our hike. The site we visited—and which I have visited often— hosts a number of different edible plants. We gathered yucca blossoms, white sage, and Indian potato (Dichelostemma capitatum). I also pointed out the chia plants that were not yet ready for harvest.

It was a warm day, but in spite of the heat, I knew the importance of wearing pants to protect my legs from the thick underbrush and dead branches. Then I noticed the cameraman was wearing shorts, and his legs were scratched and bleeding. I paused and explained how my ancestors used fire and controlled

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burns to “clean” the hillsides. The thick chaparral would be transformed into nutrients to nourish next year’s seedlings, and the people would be able to traverse the hillsides with ease. Our modern perspective is skewed to think of ancient people as living a hard life of subsistence and survival. Our schools, books, and movies all tend to feature Indigenous cultures as “roughing it” in an unforgiving wilderness. But these were not the conditions that met the eighteenth-century Spanish explorers. In their diaries they mention the ease with which they were able to make their way through the meadows, forests, and chaparral of the California landscape. It was the ecological practices of the Native population that fostered the European idea of California as a “pristine” wilderness!

Yet, now, fences, permits, private property, overgrowth, habitat loss, and loss of the ancestral land base have made the gathering of plants highly challenging for California’s Native people. Daniel McCarthy understands firsthand the difficulties imposed on Native people by the federal government. As a former archaeologist and tribal liaison to the San Bernardino National Forest, he worked for several years on obtaining “administrative passes” for tribal people who wanted access to forest lands for traditional gathering purposes. Just as non-Native people can purchase recreational permits for hiking or camping, Daniel advocated for Native access to forest resources and for a new category of acceptable activity: cultural gathering. In 2006, he began working to edu- cate Forest Service officials about the need for such a permit and in 2007, the regional forester and the state director of the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) approved the policy.

Why were National Forest administrators resistant? Clearly, there exists a fundamental misunderstanding of what traditional gathering practice is. No doubt fears of overharvesting, selling of resources, and negative environmental consequences were major concerns. However, these factors are not evident in historic accounts of California’s Indigenous plant-gathering practices, pointing to the need to educate government agency employees.

In their journal article “Native American Land-Use Practices and Ecological Impacts,” M. Kat Anderson and Michael J. Moratto assert that the wild plant management practices of California’s Indigenous populations involved “the human manipulation of native plants, plant populations, and habitats, in accor- dance with ecological principles and concepts, that effects a change (either beneficial or negative) in plant abundance, diversity, growth, longevity, yield, and quality to meet cultural needs.”15 How was this knowledge derived? Anderson

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and Moratto contend that these practices were and are “based upon traditional knowledge of natural processes gained over the millennia, [and] were applied to increase the quantity and improve select qualities of focal plant species. . . . This traditional knowledge, which permitted the adaptive success of large human populations and the maintenance of Sierran [Sierra Nevada Range] environments for more than a hundred centuries, must not be dismissed.”16 This perspective is mirrored in the beliefs and practices of those California Indigenous people today who carry traditional plant knowledge and continue to gather plants and promote environmental stewardship within their respective communities. While tribal people within California’s borders encounter the same life challenges as many other Americans—careers and employment, getting their kids to school, sitting in traffic, paying bills, and so on—today there are tribal people making efforts to preserve traditional plant knowledge and practice ecological stewardship.

Richard Bugbee, a Payómkawichum descendant, actively began pursuing his interest in Indigenous plant use in his early twenties. He worked at a health food store and eventually attended herbology classes at Palomar College. “I’ve always had an interest in the plants and animals” says Bugbee. On hunting trips with his grandfather, Bugbee learned of the connections among plants, animals, and the environment. This is what biologists call a trophic structure: the feeding relationships between organisms of a community, similar to a food chain. “My grandfather looked at coyote poop before we went rabbit hunting. If it was full of manzanita seeds, then he knew there were no rabbits in the area. If the coyotes needed manzanita berries to fill their stomachs, there were no rabbits around to be hunted.”

What Bugbee was learning was ethnoecology in its natural and cultural form—along with the role of humans in this symbiotic relationship. “Take the chia plants” he explains, “when we were actively harvesting these plants, we would use our seed beaters and knock the seed from the tallest plants and into our baskets. Some of the seeds would miss the basket and fall to the ground to germinate the next year. Now that we haven’t been harvesting in the old way, the birds have been eating the seeds from the tall plants, and only the shorter chia gets reseeded. Chia is getting shorter and shorter now without human interaction.”

In addition to his herbology coursework, Bugbee also completed courses in anthropology, archaeology, and botany. He learned all the accepted scientific names for various plants, but found that these names would change over time as various plants were subjected to DNA and other tests. This confusing system

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of classification and naming wasn’t conducive to Native communities that were actively teaching and passing down their plant-use traditions.

Although Bugbee learned from many different individuals, he considers Jane Dumas as his mentor. She was a Kumeyaay woman from the Jamul community who took notice of his interest in plants. She asked him to accompany her on her gathering trips to a site where her mother had gathered plants. “At first, I was just her lookout,” Richard says with a smile. “Back then, you had to gather plants wherever they grew, and sometimes that was on private property!” Over time, Dumas began to instruct Richard on gathering practices, plant uses, and environmental factors that had been taught to her decades before. Richard even began attending Kumeyaay-language classes in order to understand the Kumeyaay names for plants and places. He prefers the Indigenous names because they have been used consistently for thousands of years.

Lorene “Lori” Sisquoc is another person seeking to reclaim her community’s Indigenous cultural sovereignty. She is an enrolled member of the Fort Sill Apache Tribe of Oklahoma, but was born and raised in California and is also descended from the Mountain Cahuilla of southern California. Sisquoc attended Sherman Indian School, a Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) boarding school located in Riverside, California. She now works at Sherman as a dorm mom and serves as culture traditions leader for the school. Understanding the damage that the US government boarding school system had on tribal people historically, she says, “I work hard to make up for the damage that the boarding schools have caused to Native people and traditions being passed down.” One way she is doing this is to share her knowledge of traditional plant use with her students.

She began her journey into traditional plants, foods, and medicines in her teens. In 1973, after she got into some minor trouble, her mother sent her to the Red Wind Foundation, an intertribal organization situated in the Los Padres National Forest near San Luis Obispo, California. There, she lived in a tipi, gathered foods, learned songs, and was introduced to an Indigenous perspective of the environment. It was to be her awakening to the value of a traditional lifestyle. Although most of what she learned was introductory, it induced a passion for learning about traditional plant use, songs, stories, ceremony, and healing. From there, Sisquoc has learned from whomever was willing to teach her. While she lists Barbara Drake (Tongva), Donna Largo (Mountain Cahuilla), and Ester Quintano (Desert Cahuilla) as her main teachers, she has learned from many others, as well as from tribal gatherings, language classes, and workshops. She recalls a campout sponsored by the Indian Health Services where the late

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Annie Hamilton, a Cahuilla tribal member, instructed participants in language and plants.

As for gathering plants for food or medicine, she believes the environment is “set up to be used.” She says she feels bad about allowing plants to go unpicked because the plants will feel uncared for. She remembers hearing of a tribe whose word for an oak grove translated into “they wait for us.” Sisquoc stresses the importance of gathering to us as human beings. When gathering, it’s important to pray, be thankful, and be respectful. “We need this. Healing the earth is healing ourselves.” “Because everything is connected” Sisquoc says. “It’s not divided. Our language, spirituality, survival, our stories; it’s all connected.”

When she is out gathering, she is seldom alone. Her children and grandchil- dren typically accompany her on gathering trips. This generational learning environment is a contemporary reflection of how information has been passed down for centuries. Young and old work together for the benefit of their family, clan, tribe, and nation, ensuring that each new generation will be able to continue traditional gathering and stewardship practices. The elder with the knowledge of what plants to gather, where those plants grow, and when to gather them directs the younger people whose youthful agility enables them to climb trees, dig roots, or scale hillsides.

Concerning the difficulties that tribal people face in reclaiming cultural knowledge, she points out that many of the knowledgeable tribal elders have passed away. Some elders underestimate the value of the knowledge they hold. “Maybe an elder only knows one thing,” says Sisquoc, “they don’t think they have knowledge, but they do! Their memories are so important and valuable.” Another problem is access. Many of the traditional gathering sites are now on private property or on state or federally controlled lands. While there are now agreements between federally recognized tribes and the National Forest Service and the BLM, a number of non-federally recognized tribes like the Tongva and Acjachemen do not have access to those lands.

Access was one of the issues that led to the formation of the Chia Café Collective, a grassroots organization of southern California tribal members and collaborators committed to the revitalization of Native culture with an emphasis on plants, foods, and medicines. The members of the collective come from a variety of tribal and nontribal communities. They conduct educational workshops about edible and medicinal plant use, advocate for the protection and restoration of California native plant environments, and provide opportunities for mentoring and apprenticeships for interested tribal youth. The Chia Café

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Collective has presented to high schools, universities, and nontribal community organizations, as well as tribal gatherings throughout southern California.

Each spring, the Malki Museum, located on the Morongo Reservation near Banning, California, holds its annual Agave Harvest and Roast. This event offers an opportunity to harvest, prepare, and taste agave hearts as they have been harvested and cooked for thousands of years by southern California’s Indigenous peoples. In addition to roasted agave hearts, cholla cactus buds, stinging nettles, acorn mush, and elderberry tea are typically on the menu. Members of the Chia Café Collective participate in the Malki agave roast and similar events that promote awareness of a traditional Indigenous plant diet, emphasize the health benefits of eating traditional foods, and advocate for a return to such a diet.

In working with tribes directly, the collective has cooperated with tribally run Temporary Assistance to Needy Families (TANF) programs to promote cultural revitalization and in support of healthy nutrition initiatives to fight rising obesity and diabetes rates among Indigenous people. Craig Torres, a cofounder of the collective, speaks of “decolonizing the diet.” “Our palates have become so desensitized because of a lot of the processing that [modern] foods contain with the added white sugar and flour” he says. The late Cahuilla elder Alvino Siva echoed Torres’s belief about modern foods. He believed that processed foods have ruined our sense of taste. In a discussion we had a few years ago, Siva stated that salt and sugar is so prevalent in modern food that we can no longer taste the subtle flavors of our traditional foods.

One approach Indigenous foods advocates have taken to the reintroduction of traditional foods is to create contemporary dishes that incorporate traditional Indigenous ingredients. These Indigenous “fusions” are a way to get people accustomed to the tastes and textures of Indigenous ingredients. The hope is that over time people will gradually incorporate more Indigenous ingredients into their diets.

In addition to returning to traditional foods, Barbara Drake, Tongva descen- dant and cofounder of the Chia Café Collective, advocates for a return to using native plants for teas and medicines. “Native plant gardens are popular now because of the droughts,” she asserts, “and people are learning that they can have [grow] medicines right in front of them. We encourage people to grow their own,” says Drake. However, members of the collective are clear on their message to novice plant enthusiasts. They do not encourage wild plant gathering and caution against their use as food or medicines except under the guidance of a knowledgeable person.

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In The Ethnobotany Project: Contemporary Uses of Native Plants; Southern California and Northern Baja California, members of the collective warn of the federal, state, county, and city laws that govern the gathering of wild plants, but also caution readers about the plants themselves: “Some [plants] are toxic or have toxic parts and require knowledge that is not provided in this book—knowledge that was handed down through countless generations of Native people.”17

California Native plant expert Nicholas Hummingbird (Cahuilla/Apache) is founder and manager of Hahamongna Nursery in Pasadena, California. The nursery has under cultivation four dozen species of plants that are native to the Los Angeles Basin and surrounding hills. The nursery provides low-cost native plants for restoration, conservation, and park uses. Hummingbird warns that people should not take native plants for granted. “In our culture, we earn our knowledge, we earn our relationships . . . because then it’s valued more” he stresses. “When you see our Indigenous people gathering, they’re doing so with a knowledge and a relationship of a thousand years. What we do enhances the very environment that we’re interacting with.” Hummingbird’s views are shared among many Native communities today. This contemporary belief is a reflection of the traditional concept of reciprocal obligation that was cited earlier, the ecological ethic that one gathers only what one needs but always leaves some for other beings. “We give. We give a song. We give tobacco. We give water in honor of what we’re taking. [It’s] an honor that we are responsible for what we take. We don’t just take because it’s there. That life form has every right to exist as much as we do,” says Hummingbird.

ENVIRONMENTAL REHABILITATION

For more than a century, California’s Native people have been denied access to much of their traditional homelands. Thereby, the landscape has been denied the restorative management practices that Native people have performed for centuries. According to Daniel McCarthy, tribes in California actively managed pinyon pine groves by pruning, weeding, and conducting controlled burns in and around the groves to control undergrowth that competed with the pines for water. Thick undergrowth also fueled more intense wildfires, allowing the flames to burn up into the tree’s canopy, typically killing the tree. In a condition of reduced undergrowth, the low flames from wildfires would simply burn underneath the trees, allowing the trees to survive.

The Tribal Forest Protection Act of 2004 allowed the Forest Service and the BLM to place tribally proposed stewardship projects on their list of priorities.

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McCarthy reached out to tribal elders in the region and learned about the importance of tribal reliance on the pinyon pine. This led to the creation of the Parry Pinyon Pine Protection Project, which sought to reduce fuels in and around pinyon pine groves to protect them from wildfire and reduce stress from drought. In 2006, McCarthy and numerous Native and non-Native volunteers gathered at Pinyon Flat Campground just East of Ribbonwood, California, to manually clear brush from areas around the trees. While clearing overgrowth was the primary goal, the direct interaction with the trees and their immediate surroundings was educational for participants. “I really knew nothing before we started,” says McCarthy. “As dense as the vegetation was . . . those trees thrived. I saw that the seedlings need a nurse plant and protection to grow.” This realization has guided McCarthy’s replanting efforts ever since.

Other species of trees are also suffering from the lack of traditional manage- ment. By 2015 it was estimated that the bark beetle had killed more than twenty- nine million trees in California. In Southern California alone, the invasive goldenspotted oak borer beetle has killed more than one hundred thousand old-growth oak trees. Although recent drought conditions in the western United States have certainly affected the overall health of the trees, experts agree that another contributing factor in the unusually large die-offs is an unnaturally dense forest. The dense stands of trees in Californian forests are a direct result of the National Forest Service wildfire suppression efforts over the last century. These suppression efforts, combined with the absence of burning, thinning, and pruning activities that were part of Indigenous management practices, have created a forest full of dead plant matter and debris that fuel today’s extremely devastating wildfires.

Gone are the days when tribal groups had the freedom to perform selective tree thinning and controlled burns to prevent these types of infestations and die-offs. Instead, government agencies are dealing with “super fires” that burn vast acreages with so much heat that no plant survives. How have we arrived at such a predicament? The modern world’s belief that nature does best with no human intervention is a key factor. For most of the past century, US society has blamed human activity as the major element in the decimation of America’s natural environment. Indeed, the encroachment of commercial and residential developments on plant and animal habitat has greatly reduced California’s natural landscape. However, ecological damage is also occurring away from urban centers and suburban sprawl. The condition of the land is not as it was when Spanish explorers first set foot in California. The “pristine wilderness” they

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found is now overgrown, unhealthy, and dying. Nearly one in three vertebrate species and one in ten native plant species in California is now in serious danger of extinction.18 It is within this reality that California Native people are trying to rehabilitate their own tribal ecosystems as well as educate federal, state, county, and city governments and agencies about the traditional managements practices that were uniquely designed for California’s diverse ecology.

In 2003, the Sycuan Band of the Kumeyaay Nation established Kumeyaay Community College (KCC) in an effort to educate its own people and others on the importance of traditional ecological knowledge and practices. The tribe has stated that its goal was to support Kumeyaay cultural identity, sovereignty, and self-determination, while meeting the educational needs of Native and non- Native students.19 KCC offers classes in Kumeyaay culture, including language and history, along with courses in ethnobotany, ethnoecology, traditional plants/ foods, and arts (including basketry). A primary focus of KCC is to strike a healthy balance between traditional Indigenous and Western systems of knowledge.

Richard Bugbee team-teaches the ethnobotany and ethnoecology classes with Michelle Garcia, an associate professor of biology from the nearby Cuyamaca College. Each approaches the subject with a different perspective that, when combined, provides students with a broad understanding of the subject. Students in these courses range from tribal members, state conservationists, and park rangers to students pursing degrees in horticulture and environmental science.

Similar educational and outreach activities are occurring elsewhere in Cali- fornia. Recently, the Environmental Department of the Pala Band of Mission Indians sponsored the “Creating Successful Partnerships with Native Ameri- can Tribes” workshop. Among speakers at the workshop were tribal leaders and tribal environmental advocates, federal and state agency representatives, and academic faculty. The overall goals of the workshop were to build bridges between government agencies and tribes and to facilitate better understanding of tribal ecological management practices. Participants heard directly from tribal people and learned about the area’s Native plant use firsthand.

The California Indian Basketweavers Association (CIBA), a statewide orga- nization of Native basket weavers, is doing similar outreach activities. CIBA’s members have been working to educate the public on the California Indian basketry tradition, advocate for increased access to traditional gathering sites, and oppose pesticide use on or near traditional gathering areas. For Indigenous basket makers, a full understanding of relevant plant materials is a necessity of their craft. Knowledge of plant habitats, growth and maturity of the plants,

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and proper harvesting techniques are essential to creating high-quality baskets. Angela “Tangie” Bogner, is a Cahuilla basket maker who works as a com-

munity health representative for the Riverside–San Bernardino County Indian Health Service. She lives on the Cahuilla Indian Reservation and near her home grows a thick patch of juncus ( Juncus textilis), one of the main plant materials used in the creation of southern California coiled baskets. The patch is well known among basket weavers, and they come from all over southern Califor- nia to gather materials for their baskets. But Bogner says the juncus patch has changed over time. Drought and overgrowth have affected the health and quality of the plants. “One of the practices we used to have was to burn it . . . to help sustain it and help it grow,” she says. “At one point, we were ready to burn it, but the Bureau of Indian Affairs stopped us and said we needed their approval, so we never did it.” Today, government agency interference in traditional manage- ment practices is common. Even a tribal person with an administrative pass for gathering cultural material is not immune from harassment by rangers and Forest Service personnel. The questioning of identity and motive, and outright refusal to allow the gathering of materials in the forest, are common. Bogner and her husband, Sean, have sought out their own solution to the access issue: “We planted deer grass, sumac, and other basketry plants right here in our yard,” she states. “That way, the rangers can’t say anything.” Plans for burning the juncus patch at Cahuilla continue to progress. The Cahuilla Tribe, CalFire, Riverside County Fire, BIA, and even CalTrans all have parts to play and must cooperate in order for this to be achieved. Proponents of the burning are busy educating the various public agencies about their practices, their tribal traditions, and the cultural importance of the management of their environment.

INTO THE FUTURE

A theme that consistently comes up when speaking with people knowledge- able about plants and traditional foods is a strong connection with Indigenous language. While many Indigenous California languages are endangered, numer- ous Native communities are teaching language classes as part of their efforts to reinvigorate their tribal customs and traditions. In many of these classes, the names of plants and the places they grow are prominent components of vocabulary lessons, as are songs and stories relating to plants.

Another theme mentioned by people who actively gather is the psychological benefits of plant gathering. Each may state it differently, but all express feeling gratitude, connection, and calming while out gathering foods and medicines

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in the environment. Many express pride in participating in an ancient and continuing practice that is something bigger than themselves and is part of the continuum of their culture.

Indeed, it is hard to speak about tribal sovereignty without acknowledging the roles that plants, traditional foods and medicines, and the environment have played in molding tribal identities. As we move through the twenty-first century, the current efforts of California’s tribal communities seem to be on a trajectory to the restoration of cultural knowledge and of the health of both the community and its ecology.

NOTES

1. Alfred L. Kroeber, Handbook of the Indians of California. Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 78 (Washington, DC: BAE, 1925), 474.

2. Lowell J. Bean, Mukat’s People: The Cahuilla Indians of Southern California (University of California Press, 1972), 165.

3. M. Kat Anderson, Tending the Wild: Native American Knowledge and the Management of California’s Natural Resources (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 4.

4. James Miller Guinn, A History of California and an Extended History of Los Angeles and Environs (Los Angeles: Historic Record Co. 1915), 39.

5. Pacifica Historical Society, Portola Expedition, July 18, 1769, Diaries, 2017, https:// pacificahistory.wikispaces.com/Portola+Expedition+July+18%2C+1769+Diaries.

6. “Past and Present Acorn Use in Native California,” Anthropology Museum, Cali- fornia State University, Sacramento, https://www.csus.edu/anth/museum/pdfs /Past%20and%20Present%20Acorn%20Use%20in%20Native%20California.pdf.

7. R. F. Heizer and M. A. Whipple, eds., The California Indians: A Source Book (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 239.

8. USDA NRCS National Plant Data Center, “USDA NRCS Plant Guide: Holly Leaf Cherry,” 2002–3, https://plants.usda.gov/plantguide/pdf/cs_ pril.pdf.

9. Jan Timbrook, “Use of Wild Cherry Pits as Food by the California Indians,” Journal of Ethnobiology 2, no. 2 (1982), 172.

10. Kristin L. Zouhar, Pinus monophylla, in Fire Effects Information System (Missoula, MT: US Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Rocky Mountain Research Station, Fire Sciences Laboratory, 2001), http://www.fs.fed.us/database/feis/plants/tree/pinmon /all.html.

11. John C. Frémont, The Exploring Expedition to the Rocky Mountains, Oregon and California; To Which Is Added a Description of the Physical Geography of California, with Recent Notices of the Gold Region from the Latest and Most Authentic Sources, Project Gutenberg, http://www.mirrorservice.org/sites/gutenberg.org/9/2/9/9294/9294-h /9294-h.htm.

12. Anderson, Tending the Wild, 162. 13. Kent Lightfoot and Otis Parrish, California Indians and Their Environment

(Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2009), 225.

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14. Lowell Bean and Catherine Saubel, Cahuilla Ethnobotanical Notes: Aboriginal Uses of Mesquite and Screwbean. Archeological Survey Annual Report (Los Angeles: University of California, 1962–63), Page 193.

15. M. Kat Anderson and Michael J. Moratto, “Native American Land-Use Practices and Ecological Impacts,” in Sierra Nevada Ecosystem Project: Final Report to Congress, vol. 2, Assessments and Scientific Basis for Management Options (Davis: University of California Centers for Water and Wildland Resources, 1996), 187.

16. Anderson and Moratto, “Native American Land-Use Practices,” 187. 17. Rose Ramirez and Deborah Small, The Ethnobotony Project: Contemporary Uses

of Native Plants: Southern California and Northern Baja California (Self-published, 2015).

18. Anderson, Tending the Wild, 328. 19. See Kumeyaay Community College, http://www.kumeyaaycommunitycollege.

com/index.html.

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