Walking on This Earth, Finding Belonging: Ruminations of an Unsettled Settler

In this paper, I contemplate my positionality as a non-Indigenous settler of Scottish, English and German descent. I (re)visit places that have shaped my life-journey and engages in a thoughtful participation between language, land and my positionality as an emerging researcher within an Indigenist paradigm. I consider Regan’s (2010) concept of the unsettled settler, defined as nonIndigenous people learning to embrace the struggle to face truths of colonialism and the consequences of the Indian Residential School system. Through photovoice and poetic inquiry, I reflect on my own encounters with the land and more-than-human relatives as a way to disrupt colonial assumptions. Ruminations, pictures and a collection of poems invite an exploration of the curricular implications of land-based teachings and reconciling ways of knowing with the land. By delving into and sharing my own personal experiences on the land, I hope to invite non-Indigenous educators to consider their own positionality and relationship with the land as part of their response to the Truth and Reconciliation (2015) calls to action.


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Being on the land is a highly intellectual practice that is a living interaction between heart, mind, and movement. (Simpson, 2017, p. 215) Who Am I and Where Do I Come From? y name is Stephanie. My ancestry is Scottish, English and German, and I grew up on the un-ceded land of the Qayqayt First Nation, members of the Coast Salish peoples. I am a mother to two children and have been an educator for 21 years. I now live in Blackfoot territory where I am guided on a journey by Blackfoot Elder Saa'kokoto, Randy Bottle. I seek to inspire myself and other educators to build relationships with the land and Elders so that we can teach children to care for each other and the Earth.
I am learning to develop a kinship with the land and connect Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing to education in respectful ways (Donald, 2016;Kelly, 2018;Wilson, 2008). Eve Tuck and Ruben Gaztambide-Fernández (2013) critiqued the field of curriculum studies, pointing out that the field has "played a significant role in the maintenance of settler colonialism" (p. 76). Similarly, Dwayne Donald (2016) has challenged curriculum scholars to move past a reflective response to current events and colonialism towards a complete (re)imagining of what curriculum could look like during these times of reconciliation. Both learning on the land and thinking about positionality and relationships are critical responses to curriculum studies that are urgently needed.
I am keenly aware of my heritage and the assumptions, barriers and misunderstandings that I carry (Regan, 2010;Tuck & Yang, 2012). I recognize that my connection with land is flawed. No matter how much my identity is shaped by land, I grew up in a position of White privilege on unceded land that belongs to Indigenous peoples (Adams, 2006;Simpson, 2017;Tuck & Yang, 2012). I do not seek to ignore, erase or appropriate Indigenous knowledges, nor do I seek to make them my own (Tuck & Gaztambide-Fernández, 2013). Understanding a path towards truth and reconciliation requires engaging in the ongoing work of recognizing the colonial project in its past and present forms (Battiste, 2013;Simpson, 2017;A. Smith, 2005;L. Smith, 2012). This includes acknowledging my role in the colonial project as a result of the privilege of being born a settler. Growing up, I spent more hours than I can count lying on my back staring at the trees, the clouds and the mountains. This genuine appreciation equates to Sandra Styre's (2019) definition of land with a lower case "l", which refers to "physical geographic space" (p. 27). That is, I enjoyed visiting M places of personal significance and felt both peaceful and energized, but I didn't understand or couldn't articulate what it meant to be in relationship with those places. On the other hand, Land with a capital "L" is "both space (abstract) and place/land (concrete). . . . Land is spiritual, emotional, and relational; Land is experiential, remembered, and storied; Land is consciousness-Land is sentient" (Styres, 2019, p. 27, italics in original). I visit with Indigenous perspectives to better understand our relationships-with each other, the Land, and our more-than-human relatives-as important aspects of truth and reconciliation. I can't ever fully understand the sacredness of Indigenous peoples' relationships to the Land. I am, though, trying to practice respect, responsibility, and reciprocity, as I nurture a relationship with the Land 1 (Wall Kimmerer, 2013;Wilson, 2008).

Where Am I Going?
In my work, I turn to an Indigenist paradigm to understand how I can immerse myself respectfully in Indigenous research (Martin & Mirraboopa, 2003;Tanaka, 2016;Wilson, 2007). Cree scholar Shawn Wilson (2007) describes an Indigenist research paradigm as a deeply personal call to engage in Indigenous research, regardless of the cultural background of the researcher. Non-Indigenous scholar Michele Tanaka's (2016) research and teaching is guided by Elders and influenced by relationships with herself, with others, and with the Earth (p. 12). I feel a sense of tentative affirmation to discover that there is a space for non-Indigenous researchers who find themselves, as I do, between two worldviews: Western and Indigenous ways of knowing, being and doing. Yet, engaging in Indigenist methodologies requires that I do the ongoing hard work of understanding both perspectives, as well as the ongoing impact of colonialism (Coulthard, 2014;Kovach, 2015;Simpson, 2017;L. Smith, 2012;Tuck & Yang, 2012).
This exploratory paper seeks an ethical balance between two worldviews (Little Bear, 2000) using photovoice (Cook & Buck, 2010;Higgins, 2014;Wang & Burris, 1997) and poetic inquiry (Leggo, 2019;Prendergast et al., 2009;Sameshima et al., 2017). I see balance as a careful attention to the four "R's" of Indigenous research methodologies, which are respect, responsibility, relationship and reciprocity (Kirkness & Barnhardt, 1991;Wilson, 2008). Aesthetically, the photographs and the accompanying poetry are aligned in the centre margin to represent my effort to find balance between worldviews.

Walking as an Unsettled Settler
Director of Research for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada Paulette Regan (2010) describes an unsettling pedagogy as when one takes "the necessary time to critically reflect upon one's own decolonizing journey in ways that translate into action" (p. 197). She goes on to explain that "the challenge for settlers is to listen attentively, reflectively, and with humility" (p. 211).
Although Regan refers to dialogue between Indigenous peoples and settlers, this paper is an attempt to extend the concept of unsettling towards shifting relationships between humans and the Land.
The collection of poetry that appears later in the paper is an active contribution to my unsettling as I move from understanding land as places with meaningful memories, to a relationship with the Land and our more-than-human relatives.
Rooted in a space of "critical hope" (Regan, 2010, p. 22), I look to Indigenous peoples, the Land and more-than-humans to listen and to learn. Robin Wall Kimmerer (2020) acknowledged that the work of reconciling ways of knowing is a struggle. This active struggle to recognize truth seems to be a necessary part of the journey towards a hopeful future. Paulo Freire writes that, "without a minimum of hope, we cannot so much as start the struggle. But without the struggle, hope . . . dissipates, loses its bearings and turns into hopelessness. . . . Hence the need for a kind of education in hope" (Friere, 1995, p. 8-9). Connecting to my past and present through the Land is hopeful to me. I lean into this struggle.
Reconciling ways of knowing for the future of the Earth asks that Indigenous knowledge systems be valued and understood as vital to environmental stewardship (Wall Kimmerer, 2020).
Robin Wall Kimmerer (2020) shared that this is not about environmental management. It is about relational teachings with the Land. Further, Sandra Styres (2019) wrote that "there is a Haida teaching that states 'we do not inherit the land from our ancestors-we borrow it from our children'" (p. 28).
This teaching awakens the senses. If we borrow the land from our children, then it is an imperative that we care for it lovingly and carefully.
As I experience learning on the Land with Elder Saa'kokoto, I am becoming more attuned to It's what's at the kitchen table that matters. The family is learning from what the kids are learning in school. Students are dealing with colonization every day. But when we take them out on na'a and teach them to appreciate the lessons of na'a and the Blackfoot language and history, we plant the seeds of Indigenous knowledges for the future. We plant the seeds and the students go out and educate the community. The students are the ones who carry this forward. It's the kitchen table where we change attitudes (Saa'kokoto, Kainai Nation, lives in Calgary, Alberta; oral teachings, September 25, 2020).
When children have the opportunities to learn and teach others, we all move forward on the path towards truth and reconciliation. Educators are required to address the Truth and Reconciliation (2015) calls to action. Accordingly, a deep inquiry of self-in-relation to colonial and Indigenous worldviews provides an opening of how educators could begin or further their own journeys so that they can seek learning experiences for their students. Learning to appreciate the land and different stories and teachings should never be a one-time experience that reinforces the colonial project 217 (Tuck & Gaztambide-Fernández, 2013). Instead, working together over time with Elders and knowledge keepers helps to keep knowledge moving forward towards a collective future (Elder Saa'kokoto, oral teachings, c. 2017-2020Tanaka, 2016;Wall Kimmerer, 2020).
Where possible, I use Blackfoot words that I have learned through experiences on the Land with Elder Saa'kokoto. I am drawn to the verb-based, action-oriented Blackfoot language. African scholar Bagele Chilisa (2012) suggests that using Indigenous language wherever possible as part of an Indigenous research methodology becomes an act of decolonization. Learning words as part of an encounter with Land or a more-than-human relative feels like a small, significant gift of traditional knowledges for me to respect.
I offer the following glossary of Blackfoot words in Figure 1 as a pedagogical invitation. Traditionally, Blackfoot language is an oral language. I have provided a phonetic guide down the centre of the glossary, created with Elder Saa'kokoto as an invitation to practice these words as they appear in the poetry that follows.  As a reciprocal act, I practice these words-roll them over my tongue and squirm at my mispronunciation when it takes many tries to pronounce a word properly. But taking the time and effort to pronounce a word properly matters (Basso, 1997;Kovach, 2015). Slowing down to listen carefully demonstrates the significance of the words that I am learning. Taking the time to practice

Blackfoot Word Phonetic Pronunciation English Translation
shows Elder Saa'kokoto that I understand the responsibility that I carry to now refer to these relations by their original names.

Research Methods
Together, photovoice and poetic inquiry simultaneously connect and juxtapose different perspectives. Photovoice originated as a process where people were invited to take pictures and reflect critically about their own photos in relation to a participatory research study (Wang & Burris, 1997). Though rooted in a Western research tradition, photovoice is compelling here for two reasons.
First, Marc Higgins (2014), a scholar who seeks to articulate the space between Indigenous and Western ways of knowing, recognized the impact of photovoice with/in research participants. He conceptualized a "rebraid" of photovoice that draws upon Indigenous research traditions and community values so that it fits within Indigenous cultural contexts (p. 209). Second, photovoice as a pedagogical tool is introspective and empowering (Cook & Buck, 2010). Deeply pedagogical in its own right, poetry is a nourishing and loving response to my insights (Leggo, 2019;Sameshima et al., 2018). I will walk you, Reader, through a tangled mix of words and photos representing a topography specific to Indigenous and settler land-based experiences. The pictures amplify my words, helping me to articulate how I walk in the world as educator, researcher, human. In so doing, I simultaneously contemplate the pedagogical implications.

Process
Many of the following poems reflect Elder Saa'kokoto's teachings. I followed Blackfoot ceremonial protocols and asked for his guidance. Elder Saa'kokoto gave his permission for me to share his teachings within the context of this paper. In a series of what Sto'lo scholar Jo Ann Archibald (2008) refers to as informal research chats, I took care to share various drafts of my evolving work, incorporating Elder Saa'kokoto's thoughts and feedback into various drafts and revisions. Even with guidance, I often heard the voice of the unsettled settler within (Regan, 2010) chiding me, reminding me that there are stories about the Land that I can't share as a settler. Then, the voice of my Elder teacher, telling me that I can trust my heart. That it's ok. And that his lessons and stories will help me to understand my own. When speaking about truth and reconciliation, Elder

Saa'kokoto reminds people that
what happened generations ago in residential schools is not your fault. But you need to listen to the stories. To learn. Once you know, it is your responsibility to share the knowledge that you have gained. To share with others so that they will know. That is the action. (Saa'kokoto, Kainai Nation, lives in Calgary, Alberta; oral teachings, February 3, 2020).

(Re)Imagining Curricular Spaces
The original purpose of this poetic photovoice inquiry began as a way to define my positionality. Through this work, I hoped to inspire other educators and researchers to do the same through experiences on the Land. The reflexive practice of photovoice evolved this intention to also evoke purpose and a counter-reaction to feeling burned out from the institution of school. When Elder Saa'kokoto and I visit with teachers out on the Land, their first comments are inevitably "I had forgotten what this feels like" or "I need to do this more often. I am too connected to my technology" or "I am too busy" or "I need to stop rushing". Inspired by the notion of (re)imagining curriculum, I am reminded of Elder Saa'kokoto's message about the importance of sharing these land-based stories, teachings and noticings around the kitchen table.
This was not a straightforward task of collecting photographs and writing up my thoughts.
Poetry and Elder Saa'kokoto's teachings nudged me to write to discover what exactly moved me in each photo. I became part of the writing experience as evocative memories activated a sense of the familiar from my Western upbringing and also of new possibilities, inspired by Blackfoot ways of knowing, being and doing. It is important-but not enough as a settler-to love a place. I sought a critical understanding of a place. I listened for the language and stories that reside there, and the relationships with the more-than-human. This reciprocal love with the Earth and our more-thanhuman relatives provides a desperately needed path towards reconciling ways of knowing so that all humans can learn and practice stewardship of the Earth. As Robin Wall Kimmerer (2020) points out, we can only learn by placing Indigenous values and traditional knowledge at the centre of these conversations.

(In)Conclusion
Working together with poetry and engagement with these land-based pictures revealed that I am constantly searching. Searching for strawberries and kakhsin and sweetgrass and okonokii.
Engaging in photovoice empowered me to look at my experiences in a different way. These poems and photos circled around, revealing the ever-present connections to patience, reciprocity, and love again and again. Like educational philosopher Maxine Greene (2001), "I am what I am not yet" (para. 1)-I am always becoming. As I spiral slowly over time through land-based teachings, scholarly readings and critical self-reflection, I am learning. Indigenous ways of knowing ask me to behave differently in the world. I continue to adjust and (re)imagine (Donald, 2016) my positionality as an unsettled settler within my work. I tread carefully, and listen to the voices of our Elders, natoosi, the berries, kokokomokisum, the Land and the grass rustling in the grove where ksisktaki and ipootaiks visit together.