The Root of Sharing Found in a Wild Lily
Camas Prairie Centennial Marsh, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
I believe in people again. All it took was the story of a wild lily told to me by a Native American on a prairie in Idaho.
Wild Camas Lilies bloom for a few days as May turns into June in the Centennial Valley of South Central Idaho. Tourists flood the now protected wetland with cameras and tripods for images of the periwinkle blossoms.
Fields of Camas Lilies Once Fed the Indigenous Peoples. By Kris Cochran
Nature paints a masterpiece with strokes of white brushed on the peaks of the Soldier Mountains, vivid greens splashed on new grass, and periwinkle pools of Camas Lilies flooded on the valley floor.
But the splendor on the surface is no match for the elegance in the story of the Camas Lily root.
There is more than enough
A Native American woman elder preserves the old ways. By Kris Cochran
On my last day in the valley, I met an Native American woman elder who believes the earth provides more than enough for all when we live in cooperation.
The Memorial Day weekend crowds were gone, and the marsh was quiet again. The elder woman unloaded shovels and baskets from the back of her pick-up truck and passed them out to her daughter and granddaughters.
“I want my children to know the old ways,” she told me. “I want them to learn to live off the land. You never know what might happen.”
An 1866 treaty with the U.S. government gave Indigenous Americans the right to harvest the Camas Lily bulbs. Before the “west was won,” the Camas Lily was a staple food and precious trading commodity of the Bannock, Shoshoni, and Northern Paiute nations.
The roots of the lilies were used as medicine, roasted vegetable, and dried for winter use as flour. The earth required no treaty. The Indigenous Peoples shared the bounty of the marsh in peace for over 10,000 years before the United States Army forced the tribes onto reservations.
The white blossoms of the poisonous Death Camas. By Kris Cochran
The Native Americans knew from their prophecies the white man would come for the land. Yet, when the trappers, miners, and homesteaders entered the valley hungry and low on supplies, the Native Americans shared the Camas Lily harvest.
The tribes also taught the white man to harvest Camas Lilies in bloom and thus avoid the poisonous white blossoms of the Death Camas Lily. Once the flowers are gone, the two lilies are indistinguishable.
We are blind to the bounty of this great land
The Camas Lily is a reminder of abundance once shared. By Kris Cochran
The day before I met the elder woman, I had watched in horror as dozens and dozens of tourists trampled the delicate Camas Lilies in pursuit of selfies.
Vehicles lined the dirt road along the main Camas field. At one time, I counted 14 adults, nine children, five large dogs, and the most ornate living room chair I had ever seen crushing the lilies for use as a photo prop.
When the tourists had their fill of selfies, they pulled armloads of lilies from the marsh and left. They were on to their next Instagram post, which lasts no longer than a picked wildflower.
A kind gentleman I met shared a location where I could get close to the lilies and only be standing in cow patties.
Better to step in it than be it, I thought.
Selfishness is as poisonous as the Death Camas
Camas Lilies appear as a lake from a distance. By Kris Cochran
My tripod remained on the dirt roads as I hiked around the marsh. I don’t have enough Native American lineage to have the legal right to walk out into the lilies. But, I have enough heritage to respect the Indigenous Americans who know the old ways of living in cooperation with each other and the earth.
We are a land of many cultures now, and it’s too late to undo the 19th-century belief in Manifest Destiny, a phrase coined by the press to support the belief in the divine obligation for the white man to claim all of North America.
Yet, I wonder at the abundance we might discover if we included all people in our destiny and shared the roots of our knowledge with open hearts.
Thanks for walking with me,
Kris
