About Dr. Jennifer Grenz

As you worked to weave together the worlds of Western science and Indigenous knowledge, storytelling is one element that was lacking in the former. How can we reclaim the land’s stories? 

Our [Indigenous] stories are still with us and very much part of our lives. For us, they provide many important life lessons, including communicating the laws of our lands such as how to care for them such that there will be abundance for future generations. Western science is also storytelling, just of a different type. It too is conveying information that help us to better understand something, it is different though because of the type of information that is limited to informing it and its translation is not necessarily accessible to everyone. I think that for us to better understand our lands, we need to be bringing both types of storytelling together to get a more complete picture of the past, present and future. 

In the book, you often reference “Eden ecology” and how much of the restoration work we do today is to return the land to a “perfect” state. Why is this pursuit flawed? 

Immediately I ask the question, what is perfection in an ecosystem? Who is determining that definition? Perfect to who? Then I ask, when was that perfect state? I think as soon as we begin asking such questions, it becomes apparent that we are aiming for a target that doesn’t exist at all, and never has. There are two important pieces here. First, the earth is a dynamic planet that is changing all the time-- the climate conditions are changing, populations of people are changing, what we need from the land is changing. Second, we as a species have done a lot of damage to our Earth Mother, and many people feel badly for that. So, motivating by guilt, we pursue restoration and conservation initiatives that attempt to write ourselves out of the picture entirely without realizing that we just need to do a better job of writing a story that includes us in ways that are respectful and reciprocal, recognizing that human relationship is a critical piece of ecological health.  

You’ve said environmental stewards, yourself included, are working to alleviate environmental guilt with concepts that aren’t enough to save our planet (i.e., recycling or creating recreational bike paths). When it seems daunting, where does one start with meaningful work that can promote change? 

To clarify, everything helps. Even those small things that we do that help us to alleviate that environmental guilt. What I raise is that those initiatives, while meaningful, are not enough to get us the results we need. We need everyone to make active, environmental stewardship part of their everyday lives. That we are not simply enjoying trails or watching wildlife without doing anything to sustain them. There is so much power in community members coming together for a greater good. This is where I would start. Bring people together and ask, what can we do in our neighbourhood or a favourite place that will achieve goals such as promoting biodiversity or improving food security for animals and humans, while keeping in mind how we centre reciprocity in whatever it is that we do. 

In the book, you talk about bringing ceremony to science. What is an example of this in your everyday work, and why is it so important? 

I have a sticky note in my field research truck that says, “Walk gently, Listen, Work humbly.” I remind myself of this every day as it brings a reverence to my work that I think is so often missing when we only apply a western scientific worldview. If we do not treat our work in this way, we are too quick to make assumptions, too quick to make judgements, and too confident in our decisions. This is where I see too many critical relationships or information missed in the context of restoration ecology. For me, while I have been creating site prescriptions for two decades, it is too easy to think I know what to do and treat one site the same as another. Now I walk gently so I can learn about each place from the people of those lands, I listen to learn all of the stories of those places and let the land speak to me to inform my research questions, and I always remain open to learning something new and to being wrong. 

You write about the power of language to influence our action. What are some words or terms that you feel are the most dangerous in our path to healing—and what words/terms would be better to use. 

Words are incredibly important to setting the intentions of what we are doing, and I have seen how they can limit our path to healing. In my book, I talk about the commonly used term to describe what I do, “ecological restoration”, as problematic. If we are pursuing restoration, it implies putting something back to the way it was by its definition, and it limits us to thinking only about the land, but not the people. We can end up limiting how we think about and approach things simply by what we call it, and I think it so important for us to keep that in mind, no matter what it is we are working on in life. This is why for me, calling what I do, “land healing” has created a critical change in how I approach my work, how I ask research questions, the methodologies and the outcomes. A word right now that I hear a lot that I find concerning within this context is, “coexistence” particularly in the context of wildfire. To me, asserting that we learn to live with wildfire, is limiting our imagination and ideas on how to handle climate adaptation and resilience. To me it is telling us we need to simply accept this frightening reality as the new status quo instead of freeing ourselves to change the very land management and economic systems and that got us into this mess. 

You write “in an era that promotes self-care, let us redefine that to include land care.” What does this look like for you. 



Land care is what I do, day in and day out, and while it has the tremendous power to make me feel good many days, it also makes me very weary as we continue to face many uphill battles. Given this, it has been critically important for me to intentionally make land care part of my daily physical and spiritual practice, not just my work. For me this looks like growing food for my family and spending the time harvesting and preserving that food almost every day, even if it is something small. It is also spending time to help bring healing to the lands of my own Nlaka’pamux Nation, which includes spending time learning our language and stories, which is also personally healing to me. 

You’ve written: “You only see what it is you’re looking for.” How can we shift our view/lens on a micro scale? 

It is as simple as slowing down intentionally. I continue to remind myself to do this and challenge myself to see something new in a place I otherwise have good familiarity. That is all it takes, and I am so grateful for what this has brought to my life. I find myself marvelling at so much these days that I would have otherwise overlooked. 

Your book is packed with knowledge. If readers could hold onto one lesson, what would that be? 

To be open to thinking about things differently and to trusting yourself to do that. I think we need to make sure we do not limit our learning by what we’ve always been taught. In my case, it was giving myself permission to set aside the version of western science I was taught, and making space to include an Indigenous worldview that ultimately has made my science and research so much better. Challenging our status quo may not always result in anything life altering, but it does ensure we continuously remain open to new possibilities and curious about the world and relationships around us.