Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses

“Within the circle of stones, I find myself unaccountably beyond thinking, beyond feeling. The rocks are full of intention, a deep presence attracting life […] Held in the gaze of the rocks, my presence is acknowledged.”

When Kimmerer is inside the clearing, she is literally inside a circle of stones—this makes her, symbolically, an “insider” to their world, no longer “Outside the circle” of knowledge (3). The anthropomorphizing of the stones as “full of intention” and turning their “gaze” on Kimmerer to “acknowledge” her reinforces the quasi-mystical, spiritual nature of her experience. It also reinforces the theme of Learning Through Relationship With the Nonhuman World, as Kimmerer feels that she is in a literal communion with the landscape around her.

“Mosses are not elevator music; they are the intertwined threads of a Beethoven quartet.”

Kimmerer metaphorically compares looking at mosses to the attention required to listen to and appreciate a complex series of sounds, such as a Beethoven quartet. The appeal to ethos in invoking Beethoven’s name makes the case that the effort required to deliberately attend to mosses is worthwhile—because mosses are as elaborate and emotionally rewarding as great classical music.

“In Indigenous ways of knowing, all beings are recognized as non-human persons, and all have their own names. It is a sign of respect to call a being by its name, and a sign of disrespect to ignore it.”

Kimmerer continues to follow through on the intention she stated in her preface, offering an Indigenous perspective alongside that of Western science and conveying her belief in The Value of Indigenous Approaches to Environmental Stewardship. She explains that using the Latinate names Western science has given various mosses is not of supreme importance: What is important is using some kind of name to acknowledge each moss as an individual being. This demonstrates respect for all beings, which is a core value in most Indigenous cultures.

“Like my niece, mosses eventually need to escape from protection by their elders and find their own places.”

The simile comparing moss spores to Kimmerer’s niece anthropomorphizes the spores, suggesting they have a conscious intention to escape from their “elders” and strike out on their own, like human children. This is characteristic of Kimmerer’s approach and demonstrates her commitment to making room for the nonmaterial in science.

“The fat, rounded eggs remind me of being pregnant, the sensation of carrying around my own wiggling tadpole in the warm pond within.”

The title of this essay, “Back to the Pond,” literally refers to the way Kimmerer feels drawn to spend time at the pond over and over. At a more symbolic level, however, the title points out how all life must find a way to honor its aquatic origins. She focuses in this essay on reproduction—of spring peepers and of mosses—but, in this quote, she detours slightly to connect the behavior and biology of plants and animals explicitly to human reproduction. Her lyrical description of her own amniotic fluid as “the warm pond within” and the analogy comparing her daughter to a tadpole are not really meant figuratively—they are not really metaphors, because Kimmerer’s point is that these things are literally connected, through evolution.

“Competition in a family decreases everyone’s potential success.”

In a literal sense, Kimmerer is explaining why adaptive radiation and sexual asymmetry lead to greater success through decreased competition. Because she chooses to contextualize this discussion by talking about human families—the Satellite Sisters and the imagined family of the conceit that runs through much of the essay—this aphoristic pronouncement takes on a wider significance, pointing out that humans, too, benefit from specialization and suffer from engaging in needless competition for resources. This illustrates her belief that humans can learn important lessons from studying mosses.

“The mutuality of moss and water. Isn’t this the way we love, the way love propels our own unfolding?”

Kimmerer uses a rhetorical question to prompt the reader to consider the point she has been implicitly making throughout the essay with the juxtaposition of her journal-style entries about her daughter with factual information about mosses. She does not directly state her conclusion as a fact, however—the device of the rhetorical question frames her claim as a tentative idea, one that she is still exploring and wondering about, herself.

“I, too, can have a covenant with change, a pledge to let go, laying aside resistance for the promise of becoming.”

Throughout the essay, Kimmerer juxtaposes information about mosses’ relationship with water with her own struggles to accept her daughter’s moving into adult life and her grandfather’s imminent death. Interspersing scientific information with these personal reflections demonstrates her commitment to making room for the nonmaterial in science. She concludes the essay with her desire to be more like the mosses and have a more accepting attitude toward change. Although she does not explicitly say so, this is another of the lessons that Kimmerer feels humans can learn from mosses.

“Its logging scars healed by succession, it is an unbroken expanse of second-growth forest. Unbroken, save for one open wound.”

Kimmerer’s frequent use of imagery increases the intimacy and immediacy of the relationship between the reader and the landscapes Kimmerer discusses. Emotionally charged diction like “scars,” “healed,” and “wound” personifies the landscape and creates empathy for the blighted site of the abandoned mine this essay is about. In turn, this promotes appreciation for mosses, which will be the source of healing for the blighted land.

“Disregard is also a positive feedback loop; garbage attracts garbage.”

The early essays in Gathering Moss are devoted to offering scientific information about mosses and do not tend to emphasize the ethical dimensions of ecology. Here, Kimmerer’s tone shifts as she bluntly offers the observation that “garbage attracts garbage.” It is a refrain she will return to later in the essay, on page 46, when she notes that illegal dumping is occurring at the mine site. This sets up her later use of antithesis, in her discussion of mosses on page 49, when she observes that “Life attracts life.” This casts moss in the role of an ethical agent, cleaning up the messes careless humans have left behind.

“The process that allows these beings to hover at the boundary between life and death is still a profound mystery that is continually played out in the mosses beneath our feet.”

In her discussion of the shared ability of mosses and tardigrades to survive desiccation in a state of suspended animation, Kimmerer stresses how much is still to be learned from the study of mosses. Most people might see mosses as uninteresting, something that simply exists in the disregarded space “beneath our feet,” but Kimmerer sees mosses as the inspiring site of “profound mystery.”

“The apparent destruction of a disturbance is in fact an act of renewal, provided the balance is right.”

Kimmerer’s post-flood observations of the species along the rock walls that line the Kickapoo reveal that patches of Conocephalum have been dislodged, making space for less vigorous species to colonize, at least temporarily. She uses this observation as evidence that ecological disturbances can be beneficial. Implicit in this statement is another lesson for human beings—this time, about how to shift one’s perspective about apparent setbacks and loss. These do not have to be viewed solely as destruction—they can also be seen as offering new opportunities.

“Every spore is like a lottery ticket.”

This short, punchy sentence emphasizes the importance of the idea it conveys: Mosses that show high reproductive effort create more genetic variety among offspring, which creates more opportunities for lucky adaptations. The simile comparing spores to lottery tickets is typical of Kimmerer’s relatable style and conveys the excitement Kimmerer feels over the potential genetic advantages these mosses create with their reproductive style.

“This question led me into a long and intimate relationship with Tetraphis, one of fascination and of respect where Tetraphis taught me a great deal about doing science.”

Kimmerer’s comment about her studies of Tetraphis clearly conveys her belief in the value of Indigenous approaches to environmental stewardship. The prolonged and intimate nature of her “relationship” with the plant as well as her feeling of “respect” all speak to an Indigenous approach to environmental science. She also nods to the principle of learning through relationship with the nonhuman world when she speaks of Tetraphis teaching her lessons about how to think scientifically.

“There is a home for everything, the puzzle pieces slip into place, each part essential to the whole.”

Kimmerer’s reflection on the gap dynamics of a moss colony emphasizes the almost miraculous way that the many parts of an ecosystem function in harmony. The “puzzle pieces” metaphor implies intentional design, hinting at a spiritual perspective on this functioning. It also contributes to a positive tone, importing the familiar satisfaction of snapping a puzzle piece into place into her discussion of gap dynamics. Her comment that each piece is essential to the whole conveys respect for the value of each individual species in the environment; this sense that everything belongs and has significance is reinforced by diction like “home,” a term that has a strong association with humans’ sense of belonging.

“Shouldn’t the moral high ground belong to the folks who’ve found a way of living with natural processes rather than battling them?”

As a part of her discussion of mosses that live in human-created environments, Kimmerer argues for living with them rather than trying to kill them off. She finds it ironic that people with moss-covered roofs are seen as somehow lazy and negligent, when in reality they are doing what is best for both themselves and the environment—and those trying to kill mosses are forgoing the benefits of mosses and actively harming the environment. This marks a shift in the tone of the collection’s discussion of environmental ethics from the merely implicit to much more explicit arguments about the moral way to treat the natural world.

“It expands the question beyond how coltsfoot lives beside the creek, to the question of why, crossing over a boundary where plant physiology cannot follow.”

In her discussion of the medicinal plant coltsfoot growing in the creek bed, near where children often catch colds by swimming in too-cold water, Kimmerer introduces the idea that there is some purpose behind this location. The “boundary” she talks about is the line between Western science and spirituality, and here she makes an implicit argument that there are aspects of the natural world that cannot be understood by Western science alone. This supports her themes of the value of Indigenous approaches to environmental stewardship and making room for the nonmaterial in science.

“Our ancient teachers tell us that the role of human beings is respect and stewardship. Our responsibility is to care for the plants and all the land in a way that honors life.”

Kimmerer connects the idea of environmental stewardship to “Our ancient teachers,” meaning Indigenous ancestors. This makes it clear that her explanation of what stewardship means—”to care for the plants and all the land in a way that honors life”—is an Indigenous definition of stewardship. This is a key part of her arguments regarding the value of Indigenous approaches to environmental stewardship.

“Here the seen and the unseen worlds our elders speak of coexist in close proximity, the sunlit surface of the bog and the dark depths of the pond. There is more here than meets the eye.”

Kimmerer portrays the surface of the Sphagnum bog as symbolic of the meeting of the physical and spiritual worlds. Throughout the essay, she metaphorically compares the bog to a Water Drum, which is also a symbol of this meeting place. She ties her Indigenous identity to existing in this meeting place, both by the action of dancing on the bog and through diction like “our elders.”

“Splachnum ampullulaceum occurs in one, and only one, place in the bog. On deer droppings. On white-tailed deer droppings. On white-tailed deer droppings which have lain on the peat for four weeks. In July.”

In this essay, Kimmerer makes the implicit point that the existence of mosses like Splachnum ampullulaceum is somewhat miraculous, because the conditions for their existence are so narrow. Here, she emphasizes this narrowness through amplification, adding a series of ever-more-restrictive details in a string of sentence fragments. The choppy, abrupt sound of the sentence fragments conveys a tone of amused disbelief at how specific the conditions for the moss’s growth really are.

“I thought of the doctors consigned to meet slave ships at the shore. They would inspect the human cargo to pick out the healthiest […] the ones most likely to survive in their transplanted environment […] I wandered among the ailing rocks and felt as dislocated and powerless as they were.”

Kimmerer’s distress over the treatment of the rocks and moss is clearly conveyed in her simile: She is being asked to function like the doctors who triaged enslaved people, and the mosses and rocks are like the enslaved. The strong emotions attached to the plight of enslaved human beings lend pathos to her argument that what “the Owner” is doing is immoral.

“[Mosses] take only the little that they need and give back in abundance. […] I hold tight to the vision that someday soon we will find the courage of self-restraint, the humility to live like mosses.”

Supporting her theme of learning through relationship with the nonhuman world, Kimmer concludes this essay with a conservationist lesson she has derived from her observations of the forest. Observing that mosses take in few resources from the forest and yet give back in many ways, she believes that humans need to learn restraint and humility from mosses. This would bring an end to practices that benefit only humans—like clearcutting—and re-engage humans in the natural web or reciprocity. This emphasis on reciprocity, which is an important value in most Indigenous communities, also helps to support the text’s theme of the value of Indigenous approaches to environmental stewardship.

“It gives me the shivers to think of that tearing, like a woman stripped naked before her attackers.”

Kimmerer’s anthropomorphizing simile, in which she compares mosses ripped from the landscape to a woman facing a sexual attack, bears a heavy emotional charge. This conveys her extreme distress and seeks to create empathy for the mosses, as if they suffer what a human being suffers in the face of extreme and degrading violence. Kimmerer reinforces this message with charged diction like “shivers,” “tearing,” and “stripped naked.”