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A-dae Romero is a co-founder of the Cochiti Youth Experience at the Cochiti Pueblo near Santa Fe. She and others were alarmed that kids were tuning into video games and sugary treats and tuning out centuries-old traditional agriculture.
Funding from First Nations has helped run a program that pairs children with elders in their families to continue the specific farming practices of the Pueblo.
“The strong tie to your land influences your political system and your religious system and your social system,” Romero said. “The idea was if we had kids reconnecting to traditional foods they would be reconnecting to all these other institutions that make our community.”
It’s been a struggle, Romero said. “We are battling against iPads and video games and computers and TV.”
The Cochiti are also battling modern taste sensations from ubiquitous processed foods engineered to be sweeter and saltier.
tribal member, Santa Clara Pueblo
“We need to reclaim the palates of our kids,” Romero said, noting that another aspect of the Pueblo’s youth project has elders cooking traditional foods for lunch during summer language school. “Blue corn tortillas are popular, and we have different stews that combine squash and chiles.”
Not far away at Santa Clara Pueblo, Roxanne Swentzell, a renowned ceramic sculptor and permaculture activist, took her tribe’s seed collection and cultural preservation efforts to the next level. “There was always frustration to get people to try to live it. We were growing native crops enough to keep them from going extinct, but nobody was eating them.”
Swentzell said she was struck that even though her people evolved with specific foods for hundreds, even thousands, of years neither she nor the other research volunteers knew what, exactly, was traditional food.
“We’ve been living in America. We know better where McDonald’s is than we know where the wild rice grows,” she said.
She and 13 others researched and sourced traditional foods from the Pueblo — primarily heirloom corn, squash, beans and chiles — and ate them exclusively for three months earlier this year. Most of the volunteers made it through, Swentzell said, despite what she called “detoxing” from the lack of coffee, fats and sweets. The group experienced healthy weight loss and improved blood-sugar and cholesterol outcomes, documented in before-and-after medical checks.
And there was a bonus related to sense of self, sense of place.
“The physical aspect is cool, but there was something more,” she said. “It was a reconnecting with who we are. If we say we are Pueblo people, native people to this place, what does that mean if we are living just like the rest of America?”
Throughout their time together, the participants of the Decolonizing the Diet Program at the University of Northern Michigan compared notes on recipes. One of their favorites is this one for venison and bison meatloaf. Please note: You'll need to make some bison broth and gather sweet fern and leek salt, but Professor Mark Reinhardt, founder of the program, said it's worth the effort. Click here for the recipe.
The increased attention on indigenous eating is welcomed by Mihesuah at the University of Kansas, one of the early voices for a more indigenous diet. Nearly a decade ago she became alarmed at increasing diagnoses of diabetes among her own people, the Choctaw Nation, but wasn’t sure where to get help.
“I decided to write a book and have recipes,” she said. In 2005, University of Nebraska Press published her cookbook, Recovering Our Ancestors’ Gardens.
Mihesuah had envisioned a paperback that would be handy and affordable for Indians who wanted to recover traditional foods, but was surprised when the recipes were published as a coffee-table book.
“The very people who really needed it and who wanted it, couldn’t afford it,” Mihesuah said, so she secured the copyright, and, “I tore the book apart and put it up on the website, and it took off in all directions.”
Through her website and Facebook page, Indigenous Eating, Mihesuah highlights gardening tips, photos and recipes that she hopes will lead people to a healthier diet. Her efforts inspired Reinhardt to ask if she would be the outside adviser for the Decolonizing Diet Project.
Reinhardt said his epiphany at Northern Michigan evolved into a university-endorsed research project that included intensive consultation with national seed databases and international seed and plant experts to determine the makeup of a pre-contact landscape in the Great Lakes region. The USDA seed database and experts from as far away as the Netherlands and Germany were consulted to see what plants were present when, Reinhardt said, and has resulted in an extensive master food list to guide the DDP.
There were also before-and-after health checkups to get a medical baseline, and journaling by the 18 volunteer research subjects. Throughout their year-long challenge, participants shared recipes and tips at a group website.
Reinhardt said the DDP was not intended to be a grim survivalist experience with people eating dandelion leaves and berries. Varieties of squash — especially pumpkin — corn and beans were staples. Turkey was on the menu as were fish and duck eggs. Bison, which roamed the Upper Peninsula before European contact, was also a popular protein option, though expensive, Reinhardt said.
Many of these foods could be found in supermarkets. But the DDP participants also foraged for wild foods and had workshops on learning to garden and even to hunt. Reinhardt killed a deer for his larder, he said.
“Overall we’ve seen significant healthy weight loss,” Reinhardt said. But like Swentzell, he said there was a deeper understanding of identity and self: “We can’t decolonize humans. I’m a mixed-ancestry person, and I can never be a decolonized person. Plants and animals are forever changed by changes in the environment,” he said.
Yet the experiment has deepened his respect for his Ojibway ancestors. He hunts game, gathers wild food. It’s widened his knowledge of diet and the environment. All because he asked a seemingly simple question
“I look back now and what was it that moved me? It really was the ancestors speaking to me through that question. I’m glad I was able to heed the question. What a good blessing,” Reinhardt said.