Through a few gifts redirected into the hands of others, all my family members received this book for Christmas. My mom, dad, and I each read it over the holidays (and discussed it at length‚ by which I mean that we excitedly shouted back and forth at each other about all the things we agreed with.) We had all previously read Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, transformed by her creative, deeply-grounded, interdisciplinary writing about the lessons we learn from the natural world through interdisciplinary practices. My family members are scientists, far more informed than me on the workings of natural world, the carbon cycle, varieties of grasses, the balance of ecosystems (I pick up some things through osmosis.) I’m fortune to have had a significant part of my upbringing influenced by nature; growing up in rural Maine, my family raised sheep and chickens, tapped maples trees every late winter and boiled sap down to syrup, hand-picked berries for pies and jams, canned green beans and made tomato sauce from the treasures of my mom’s garden. While I dragged my feet through many of these chores as a kid and teenager (there was so much firewood to stack as our primary source of fuel, and I actively dreaded “haying” out under the brutal July sun), I appreciate these tasks differently as an adult. On a deep and instinctual level, I understand Kimmerer’s appeal to living with the land. Her insights that are grounded in her indigenous culture and practices expand my thinking and knowledge. Her ability to blend this wisdom with scientific knowing repeatedly inspires me due to her creativity and breadth of perspective.
The Serviceberry’s short and profound narrative distills Kimmerer’s broader framework into a focused and compelling argument for a gift economy. We can, she argues, shift away from the Capitalist system which defines and controls our thinking, our value systems, and our behavior. Introducing a gift economy—even within or alongside Capitalism—offers us new ways of understanding ourselves and our relationships to the land and to each other, Kimmerer explains. In a gift economy, we fundamentally understand the resources we use as gifts rather than as our property to covet, to amass, to hoard. This mindset shift naturally leads to a shift in our behavior: we see the world in terms of reciprocity, rather than transaction. Inspired by the gifts of others—the gift of ripe berries from the bush, freshly laid eggs from the chickens, biscuits dropped off by a neighbor—we want to meet this spirit of gifting with gifts of our own. We offer our resources, in turn. Our resources might be food, or those of time, care, money, or possessions.
In one of my favorite examples from the book, Kimmerer tells the story of an indigenous hunter-gather in the Brazilian rainforest who has brought down a large animal. He summons his neighbors to a feast. When asked by an anthropologist why he didn’t dry and salt the meat, storing it for himself, the confused hunter responses, “I store my meat in the belly of my brother.” This simple phrase cuts to the heart of the distinction between a gift economy and Capitalism. When one has excess, one invests this resource into others, into the community, into the things that are held in common. This is, in a very different sense than the Capitalist term, also investment. Building our community and caring for others means we have strong relationships—and others will, in turn, share generously with us. The next day, someone else with excess will share what they have because it’s more than they need. The gift economy also understands excess and “what is enough.” Some of us, living under Capitalism, might understand this, but we invest in our own future or we save for “a rainy day.” Is there any guarantee of enough if we are on our own in trying to secure it? What about if we pour our excess outward as gifts? Close friendships, supportive communities, resources held in common and for the good of all—these are the true security. Nothing will ever feel like enough (and we have plenty of evidence of this under Capitalism) unless we can shift our understanding and see “security” and “excess” for what these truly are.
A key success of this book for me was Kimmerer’s ability to articulate the value of small, incremental change. So often, focusing on the evils of Capitalism overwhelms me. It’s hard to see our way out of such a perversive system that seemingly suffuses everything we know, use, and take part in. However, Kimmerer shows us how many gift economies we already have and support—from public library systems to the Little Free Libraries, from social media creators who share their expertise to free-cycling programs in neighborhoods and on college campuses, from local farm stands to generous neighbors in every community—humans understand how to give gifts, and we’re drawn to do this instinctively and our of immense care for each other. It’s easy to see humans as inherently selfish, inherently competitive. But this is also the fear-driven outlook that Capitalism gives us. Kimmerer explains how Capitalism relies on scarcity; systematically, it creates the illusion of scarcity where it doesn’t actually exist (although, Kimmerer points out, through the gluttony of Capitalism we’re swiftly arriving at a place of true natural scarcity from which there may be no return). Facing scarcity in a Capitalist system, we see the risk of becoming one “without.” We hold on tightly and fearfully to what we have. Living inside a gift economy influences our mindset in the exact opposite way: inspired by the generosity of others, we see what we have as enough and then some. Even reading through Kimmerer’s examples of gift economies, and recognizing how many exist in my daily life, moved me. Looking at those examples, I wanted to participate more fully. I want to give back.
A gift economy can co-exist with Capitalism (it already does) and we can expand it. We can start new gift economies that thrive in small communities. Kimmerer uses the example of Scandinavian countries sometimes labeled “cuddly Capitalism,” pointing out that these communities simply hold a greater number of resources in common than we see in America’s “cutthroat Capitalism)—free healthcare and education, for example, are the investments of the whole, where everyone’s resources are supported by everyone collectively. These countries are still Capitalist, but they privatize fewer resources. Perhaps the smaller size of these countries, with a stronger sense of community, makes these aspects of a gift economy easier to achieve? Kimmerer does highlight how pure gift economies can and do function both today and historically in small, tightly-knit communities. In shifting toward shared resources and investment in our communities, we change ourselves in the process. Yes, this economic shift is morally better for our planet’s sustainability, for achieving an equal distribution of human resources, but it’s also actively impacting us for the better. We should opt in to gift economies for a number of reasons and one key one is that, within the gift economy, we flourish. We feel secure, connected, and safe. We achieve the deeply meaningful bonds that are the true thing human beings seek.
I was also taken with Kimmerer’s metaphor of reforestation to explain the potential future shifts we might see in our economic systems. She explains how, as plants return after a forest fire, the most competitive species claim ground first. The focus is on “out-competing” others. But, as the forest arrives at capacity, the focus shifts. Now, more complex relationships provide an advantage; relationships of reciprocity and interdependence arise and become more numerous. These are the species found in the mature forest. Might our highly competitive, self-focused economic system also shift in this way? Might more complex, interdependencies come to take center stage in our economic systems? Kimmerer gives me reason to hope. And, regardless of the big picture of American Capitalism, Kimmerer inspires me to make change in my life and in my community. It’s so clear how a mindset of “seeing our resources as gifts” shifts our focus, inspires us to keep giving. Like the renewable energy of the sun, Kimmerer says that “maybe it’s love” which flows endlessly through our human systems, encouraging us to continue giving and caring and investing in relationships and people rather than stockpiling like frightened dragons amassing our personal treasure.
