And What of the Soil?

This article is from the Summer 2022 Agraria Journal.

By Cheryl Durgans

When my ancestors first had the notion of seeking freedom from the brutality of enslavement, preferring the mosquito and poisonous snake-infested waters of the swamps to which they fled, to the overseer’s whip, some of the women braided seeds into their hair to take with them on the harrowing journey. According to the stories often passed down generationally, hair was parted into carefully crafted rows of plaits, seeds were secretly placed along the rows next to the scalp, and then concealed with thick, kinky, or natural hair that when braided, covered the seeds like soil. Many of these migrating seeds planted along the carefully parted rows of hair, grew to become plants — food and the herbal medicine — that maroons, formerly enslaved people who freed themselves and formed communities with one another by hiding away in difficult mountain terrain or in dense swampy areas, utilized for survival.

We often think of seeds and the beautiful plants and trees they produce, but maybe we should take more moments to feel immense gratitude for the soil from which the magnificence of life emerges. The story of the soil embedded in these swampy maroon landscapes is also the story of resilience in the face of extreme hardship for my ancestors. I do wonder, if these brave people knew that the seeds that they carried so protectively in their hair, would grow in the soil where they settled in hiding? Was there some internal GPS system that called them to a location where they could hide in the backdrop of nature, while living on and cultivating lands very few dared to traverse?

We know from history that many enslaved people were gifted agriculturalists. Their survival can be attributed, in part, to the cultural exchange that occurred through the sharing of food and herbal medicinal practices with the Indigenous population whose lands they found themselves on, and whose rich soil helped keep them from starvation.

But what of the soil itself ? Home to trillions of microscopic life forms that contribute to the growth of fauna and are charged with running the largest communication network on the planet, through which trees speak to one another. And what to make of the welcoming soil, which accepted non-native seeds whose original habitats were not swamp lands or dense forest terrain? Why did the soil in the Americas and in the Caribbean accept seeds that produced crops native to Africa, like okra and black-eyed peas, even some types of rice? How did the soil and the seed find common ground?

The story of soil is one of mutual exchange, of discovery and new relationships among different species. It is the story of plant and human lineage, of discovering environments that promote growth even in the harshest places, under the most tragic conditions, of adaptation and inclusiveness, of diversity and of cooperation. Soil, with its healing and regenerative properties, is the supportive surface on which my ancestors, hidden by the darkness of night, followed the constellations that led them to liberty.

My personal journey with soil began with the realization that my dark brown skin — with its strong iron-colored red undertones — matched the soil underneath my feet in many of the places I traveled, including Georgia, where part of my family is from. “I literally came from the earth,” I marveled to myself one summer’s day, when I noticed that my arm appeared to blend seamlessly with the clay dense soil underneath me. And yet my disconnection from ancestral healing practices, which were based in the soil, became painfully apparent soon after. My mother, whose memory was faltering because of the effects of dementia, couldn’t remember some of the plants our family had used to treat illnesses, and I had not understood the importance of keeping those practices alive.

Many subscribe to the belief that fauna are also our ancestors, and so do I. For it was plants that led me to another way of reclaiming some ancestral knowledge through a broader understanding of my own lineage. I recently found out via DNA testing that a large portion of my ancestry can be traced to the African island of Madagascar. Located in the Indian Ocean, the Malagasy people have a shared lineage with Indian and African ethnic groups. The island itself has rich, iron-red soil, which I imagine matches my complexion. I hope to compare the two — skin to soil — when I visit the island one day.

How Malagasy people came to this country is for another story. But long before I found out about my Malagasy heritage, two of my favorite plants were vanilla and tulsi, both native to the island and fed by nutrients from the iron-laden soil.

Memories it seems will reclaim us, if we are open to the ways in which they decide to make themselves known.

Cheryl Durgans is the editor of the Yellow Springs News, a licensed massage therapist, artist, and herbalist enthusiast whose healing work is centered in the re/discovery of plant-based ancestral healing practices and traditions. She is a 2022 participant in the United Plant Savers Deep Ecology Artist Residency program.

Click here read the full Summer 2022 issue of the Agraria Journal.