I am more of a succulent keeper

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

An excellent book, following the life of Rosalie Iron Wing, a Dakhota woman. Raised by her father in a cabin in Minnesota, she winds up with a white foster family when he suddenly dies. The book is largely her story, periodically interspersed with that of her friend Gaby Makespeace and Marie Blackbird, forced away from her home in the 1860s.

I tend to not necessarily do well with more contemplative books and I was a bit concerned, because a bunch of the book is Rosalie alone in a cabin, coming to terms with the grief over her husband and father and family she never had. And as the title suggests, the importance of seeds and growing and connection to the land is intrinsic to the story, and I...do not have a green thumb, nor particularly have ever felt that connection. However, Wilson manages to balance the book's reflection with plot in a way that hit the sweet spot for me.

Rosalie takes a bit to warm up to (I think having those chapters from Gaby's perspective were key), but throughout the book, you get to know her and her story and she grew on me. The book references the horror of the Indian Boarding Schools, but they're not a focus, though their impact is felt through the generations. Wilson deftly handled the tension between Rosalie and her husband about how to farm; while aching for Rosalie and her attachment to the land and the river, Wilson doesn't write off John's thoughts completely (though their story was so depressing; I was saddened at the progression of their marriage but appreciate its journey).

Before reading this (and yes, I know, but I haven't read Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants), I would've scoffed a bit at the idea of a seed keeper and the importance of seeds, even while being intrigued by the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. After? I understand it much more.

Highly recommend. (And then you should go watch Reservation Dogs if you haven't already.)

Favorite quotes:

He said forgetting was easy. It's the remembering that wears you down. (p. 21)

"Did we--did I--make the right decisions about Thomas? I only wanted the best for him. More than I had."
I was silent. I had certainly asked myself the same question about Thomas. As parents, how do any of us answer it? Especially when we struggle with our own challenges, not realizing when we're young how much the past has shaped us, how we carry our parents' sorrow and that of the generations that came before them? (p. 223)