Jess Housty is the author of “Crushed Wild Mint.” Submitted photo
One of Jess Housty’s earliest memories was writing poems back and forth to their dad as they stayed in a cabin on the shores of remote Ellerslie Lake, in the heart of Haíɫzaqv (Heiltsuk) territories on “British Columbia’s” central coast.
Now a mother and community leader of Haíɫzaqv and mixed settler ancestry, Housty (who is also known by ’Cúagilákv or Jess H̓áust̓i in their language) has been a tireless advocate for their community. They are the executive director of the Qqs (Eyes) Project Society, a non-profit healthcare organization that provides land-based and community-based programming.
They are also an Indigenous food systems specialist who recently founded Coastal Foodways Society, a support hub for central coast communities to increase food security.
On top of all the above, they are also the co-lead of the Rights Relations Collaborative, an emerging funding organization whose aim is to reduce barriers and fund Indigenous philanthropic work in Indigenous homelands.
Now, Housty has added published poet to their list of accomplishments with the release of their first collection of poetry, Crushed Wild Mint. A celebration of the plants and animals around them as kin, the collection brings to vivid life the tastes, sounds and touch of damselflies, sap from the spruce tree and every inch of the landscape of Haíɫzaqv. While also interrogating grief and community, Housty’s collection questions what we are attending to and the relationship with land/body.
In the poem “Gwani Taught Me,” they write, “Every berry in my basket is one syllable of a prayer.”
IndigiNews spoke to Housty from their home in Bella Bella.
IndigiNews: What inspired you to write Crushed Wild Mint?
JH: I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, but for a long time, especially through my teens, and 20s, and into my 30s, I didn’t make time for it. It felt selfish. I felt like everything I did had to have an obvious purpose and utility. Over time, I realized I needed more joy and love in my life. It’s hard to do that frontline work and that community work when you don’t have something grounding you. The purpose of writing for me was that it grounded me, so I’ve been making more space for it over the last few years than I have throughout my life. Seeing what emerges when I make room for it has been really beautiful.
Your poems are very much rooted in your traditional lands and your work on the land. How does your personal relationship with being on your traditional lands shape your poetry and your writing?
I was blessed to grow up in a family that spent a lot of time out on the land, doing lots of intergenerational work with my parents, my grandparents and my extended family, whether that was harvesting and processing traditional foods and medicines or just being out in place and exploring the territory. My sense of identity has always been hard to separate from the landscape of my homeland. It’s an honour to write about that and see how the place I come from has always inspired me.
How has the act of returning to writing poetry changed the way you view your land-based work?
It’s made me feel a lot more grounded in my work, given it a lot more nuance. When I make time to write, that gives a new lens of love and gratitude for the work that I do.
Tell me about your advocacy work. You’re very busy with the food security work, advocacy, and now writing. What keeps you going?
For me, it just feels like normal life. I struggle to think of the things I do as a job. It just feels like I’m in community, I live in community, and this is part of my reciprocal obligation to do the things that I do: to care for the territory, culture and people in our community. It feels like a real blessing to be able to do that.
Although it’s very busy and occasionally very stressful, it feels very right.
I was fortunate to grow up with my maternal grandparents close by, who played a strong hand in raising me, and my late grandfather constantly reinforced to me that you don’t get to choose whether or when you’re called to work for your community. Your community will let you know when there’s work to be done, and when you get tapped to do that work, you find good ways to show up.
I have a huge sense of security that when I need things, people will show up for me, so it’s busy but also deeply reciprocal.
How did you become involved in the issue of food sovereignty, which led you to found Coastal Foodways?
Food security became important in the wake of the Nathan Stewart oil spill in 2016. (The tug boat ran aground off the coast of Bella Bella in October 2016 and spilled more than 110,000 litres of diesel and heavy oils into the Pacific Ocean).
I served my community as incident commander during that spill response, where a substantial amount of diesel spilled into an area we used to refer to as the breadbasket of our nation, where there were dozens of marine and intertidal species that community members relied on for food. This oil spill poisoned that area.
I had a lot of deep grief and anger throughout that.
And then the pandemic made it very clear how precarious our food systems are here. We’re a very geographically remote community, and we rely on barges and ferries to bring in freight for groceries. And when global supply chains were dealing with a lot of scarcity interruptions, it became very clear we were only a couple of missed ferry deliveries away from it deeply impacting our community. It was a frightening realization for me that there’s so much we need to do to become more self-reliant and resilient regarding our food systems.
Were some of the poems in this collection more difficult to deal with emotionally and write about?
You’ll find a lot of poems about my late grandmother. At the time, I was doing a lot of the heavy writing for this collection. I was one of her primary caregivers in her final years and spent much time with her as she navigated dementia and her deteriorating health. As I completed the collection and editing process, I was working through the grief of losing her. That relationship with her, such a central figure in my life, definitely comes up a lot throughout the book.
You dedicated the book to your father and the poems that he wrote in Ellerslie. Can you tell me about that?
My dad is from Ontario, and he married into the community about 45 years ago. Over the time he’s been here, he’s developed a beautiful relationship with many of the places and spaces in our territory. I spent a lot of time out on the land with him when I was small, and we continue to do so whenever we can. One of our favourite places to go together was a cabin up in Ellerslie Lake, an incredibly beautiful lake where I have a lot of special memories, some of my earliest memories.
We kept a little notebook in the cabin, and when we were there, we would often write poems back and forth to each other. One of my earliest writing practices was up there, at that lake with my dad, writing back and forth to each other.
What do you hope people take from reading Crushed Wild Mint?
If there’s one thing I hope for folks reading it, it’s that it makes them think of the places they are connected to. Certainly, I feel very connected to my territory, and I can see how that shapes my life, identity and work. Not everyone has a homeland in the way that I have, and people have very different relationships with the places they come from. I hope it helps inspire people to think about their relationship to place in a deeper and more meaningful way.
The post Jess Housty’s debut poetry collection is a love letter to Haíɫzaqv homelands appeared first on IndigiNews.