Our Mother's Mothers
Reflecting On Roots
I dedicated my book, Awakening Artemis to “my loving mothers: Andrea and Mother Earth for nurturing, supporting, and guiding me. And to my wild green friends, especially the so‑called weeds, who have led me back to myself and helped me heal.”
My mom was born on Mother’s Day in 1952. This year, I gave her a bouquet of wildflowers as we sat outside waiting for brunch at a busy cafe. We spoke about her mother, her mother’s mother, and on and on, as far as we could go. Like other mammals, it is likely that I started life as an egg in my maternal grandmother's womb. While recent research1 suggests that females produce new eggs throughout their lives, most develop in utero and one of those eggs, when ‘pollinated,’ develops into us.
How far back can I trace my mothers? If I look at evolution, I share a common ancestor with the weeds, wildflowers and every other plant, animal, fish, algae and invertebrate2.
Like plants and all other animals, humans evolved in the sea. Scientists have determined that we - in our earliest, unrecognizable life forms - were confined to the ocean for at least 600 million years because the land was bathed in lethal levels of UV radiation. But thanks to plants who gradually ventured onto land, photosynthesis raised atmospheric oxygen levels high enough for earth's protective ozone layer to form, making it possible for us to crawl onto the land from our vast oceanic womb. Without our relatives, the plants, we wouldn't be where we are today.
After brunch, my mom, my partner Enrique and I walked around Puffers Pond and the Mill River Conservation area whose woodland paths are just beyond a house where I lived until I was twelve years old. Wild raspberry bushes surround the perimeter of the forest, and at the far end, a narrow doorway between their dense thicket of thorns leads to a world of trails, brooks, and mysterious fungi. I wandered into those woods every day I could as I child, listening to the brook and looking for evidence of a mystical world that seemed just beyond my reach.
The other day, Enrique and I walked around the same pond and were silent as we watched a pair of hawks circling above us. I felt a profound spiritual connection to the hawk, the water, the land around us. We spoke about that feeling of recognition and about the imperfect words used to describe it.
He described the feeling as ancient, not spiritual. Not tapping into something otherworldly but a genetic recognition of our deep time connection to this world, this one, shared reality.
I used to like the romantic idea that I had known loved ones for lifetimes. But it can make life more vivid to recognize that this may be all we have. Right here, right now. We are connected to something ancient. The “carrying stream3” of every other living being. Our ancient ancestors, our mothers.